Angel

I roll over in bed and come face to face with a brick wall of muscle. When I open my eyes, I squint in the bright California sun streaming through the window of an unfamiliar bedroom. I blink several times, and when the fog has lifted and the headache pain has settled in, I lie staring at the famous River Kelly, star quarterback for the San Francisco Sparks. He’s lying on his back with his dark hair ruffled and one tanned, muscular arm slung over his eyes, softly snoring.

The comforter that protected us from the cold as we did naughty things underneath it last night lays haphazardly on the floor where it was thrown, and the sheets are tangled around our feet.

Without moving a muscle, I begin a perusal of his peaceful, relaxed face. His five o’clock shadow covered jaw and his lips are fuller than usual from a long night of kissing and nibbling and, oh hell, what was I thinking?

I continue my walk down River Kelly Lane, marveling at the dips and grooves of his pectorals and washboard abs. And then I am rewarded with what I consider the best part of this visual breakfast, the sight of an impressive morning hard on straining against the billion thread count sheets.

I knew having fun could be dangerous, but never in a million years did I expect this.

But Cat did. She was right. She knew I wouldn’t be able to send her a selfie from my bed last night. Do I come off as desperate? Am I so pathetic that she knew I was a sure thing? Did River think I was a sure thing?

I got drunk and had sex with a famous NFA star in a stranger’s house in another town. If someone had told me this was going to happen a week ago, I would have laughed until I peed my pants.

I haven’t had time for an affair in years. I’m probably the only person at the San Francisco School of Dance who hasn’t been involved in an orgy, and I’m pretty sure I’m one of a handful who hasn’t gotten drunk and gone home with a stranger.

River isn’t a stranger, though, not really. I’ve known him for two days now. Two days with this man, and I feel like my whole life is derailed.

My life. Shit, I’m supposed to be at MBS this morning at nine for one last physical therapy session with Marcus. My ankle is fine. He has made sure of that, but I’m not about to take any chances with my audition looming in the near future.

Everything has to be perfect next Tuesday, and Marcus’s hands are magic. I can limp into MBS miserable and in pain and walk out with a spring in my step. He’s that good. I didn’t think I’d ever meet someone with hands as powerful and talented as Marcus’s until last night.

This amazing man knows his way around a woman’s body, and not just with his hands. His mouth is pretty damn masterly as well. River made me feel things I never knew existed until last night, and he did it over and over until I was weak and ready to drop, and then he did it again.

It’s not easy to wear me out. I’m used to hours of grueling workouts, but a night in bed with River is like the Ironman triathlon and a Tough Mudder event combined.

I am sore.

Every muscle from my head to my feet is aching, and I haven’t even moved yet.

I need to find out what time it is. I have my day planned down to the minute, as usual, and if I get a late start, the delicate balance of my crazed schedule will be tipped.

Miss Valentina does not stand for tardiness, and she is second on my list of things to do today after MBS. We have two hours of time scheduled together, followed by two on my own to perfect all of the mistakes and imperfections she will find in my performance.

Then I have a rare lunch date with my mother to discuss my future. She is still hell-bent on changing my mind about dancing as a career. My mother is a dream come true for an old-fashioned man, and my dad is old school all the way. She stands by her man, and her man wants his daughter to go to medical school, nursing school at the least, so she won’t rest until he has what he wants.

After that bit of torture, I have three hour-long classes of teaching two hundred and fifty-pound men the art of being graceful and another two hours of being critiqued by Miss Valentina.

The anxiety of a full day with a headache and screaming muscles is building in my chest. Sleeping Beauty here doesn’t look like he’s getting out of bed anytime soon, and I can’t risk another distracting, mind-blowing sex-athon happening with River and his morning wood, as tempting as it sounds. Time to get cleaned up and find a way home.

I carefully roll away from him letting the sheet slide off my body as I go. I grab my wrinkled, discarded dress from the floor and pad down the hall naked, searching for a bathroom.

The beautiful dress is still in one piece. At least Cat wasn’t right about that one. I can return it tomorrow in its original condition with my head held high.

She may know with one look that my born-again virginity was taken by River, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to owe her for this dress.

Three doors down, I find a bathroom with a glorious shower. I cringe as I turn on the water, praying the noise doesn’t wake River. I moan out loud when the hot water hits my skin, and I stand there with my hands pressed against the wall, letting it beat on my sore muscles.

This is a different kind of sore. It’s not like the burning ache after hours of practice. This is the I need a full day lounging in bed to recover mentally and physically kind of sore. Too bad I don’t have the luxury of doing that today or any day.

This thing with River is addictive. I'm worn out right now, but there is no way I could resist him if he came down the hall and dragged me back to bed for another round. I need to make a stealthy exit and leave a note. It’s not the most romantic way to end a date, but I’m still not sold on whether this is even supposed to be romantic.

The steam rolls out of the shower, filling the bathroom until I can’t see my hand in front of my face. I pour some coconut summer body wash in my hands and wash up quickly.

I do my best to fix my beyond tangled hair, running my fingers through it. There isn’t a bottle of conditioner in sight, and I have a feeling I’m running late.

I reach out for a towel on the bar next to the shower and get a big hand around my wrist instead. I jump and nearly slip in the shower when River’s body appears out of nowhere in front of me through the steam.

“Thought you were going to sneak out or what, Pretty Dancer?”

“No, well yes. I mean, I have a full day, and I should get going.” I can feel my resolve disintegrating as his hands roam my body, and I melt against him.

He turns me so that I’m facing away from him, my back to his front. His hands are on my breasts, and that impressive hard on from earlier—yep, it’s still there. He presses it against my ass and props his chin on my shoulder to speak directly into my ear.

“Me too. You finished in here?”

That was not what I was expecting. I thought he would at least try and sway me from my plans with some hot morning shower sex. I need to get going, but I can’t deny I’m a little disappointed that he’s so agreeable about keeping me on schedule.

“Yeah, I’m done.”

“I left you clean towels on the sink, and I think you and my sister are close to the same size. You can grab something to wear home if you don’t want to do the walk of shame into your building wearing your dress.”

“Thanks. Yeah, that would be nice. Are you sure Olivia won’t mind me borrowing her clothes?”

“She would be thrilled, believe me. She’s probably floating around her father-in-law’s farm this morning singing the wedding march. That woman has been on me forever to find someone special.”

I don’t know how to respond to that, so I don’t. Is he insinuating that I’m special, or is he complaining about his sister’s nagging? I can’t think about it right now. I have to get moving.

“Okay, I’ll see you in the kitchen in ten?” I ask. He spins me in his arms when I reach to open the shower door.

“I’d eat you alive if we weren’t both late, you know,” he whispers in my ear, and I feel the heat rise into my cheeks.

“I didn’t know, but thank you for setting me straight.”

“Go get dressed before I make us both late.” He holds my head in his hands and places a gentle kiss on my forehead before slapping my ass.

“Hey, that stings.”

“Good, I don’t want you forgetting about me during your busy day.”

I shake my head. “Not a chance.”

I move away from him and open the shower door, still holding his hand. With our arms stretched as far as they can, he gives my hand a quick squeeze before releasing me.

I step out without looking back. The sight of him standing there with water running in rivulets over his taut muscles and his impressive cock standing full-mast would be too tempting to resist.

Fifteen minutes later, he strolls into the kitchen dressed in the same clothes he had on last night, looking fresh and pressed.

“How’d you manage that?”

“Manage what?”

“Your clothes look like they’ve been to the dry cleaner.”

“I hung them on the back of the door in the bathroom. You had enough steam going on in there to get the wrinkles out of a Shar Pei.”

“You don’t like the water hot?”

“I’m not complaining. I like everything hot, especially you in the shower first thing in the morning. Next time, we will have to do this on a weekend so we can take a proper shower and hang out in bed all day.”

“A proper shower, huh? What’s that?”

He approaches me and bends to slide his arms around my waist and look me directly in the eyes.

“It’s when I press you up against the tile on my bathroom wall and bury my cock inside your wet pussy so deep, your feet leave the ground, and you’ll beg for mercy. It’s a shower where I get you clean and dirty over and over until your legs turn to mush and I have to carry you to bed.”

My mouth dropped open when he said my feet would leave the ground, and the silk panties I borrowed from his sister officially need to be wrung out. God, how does he do that? I’ve never been with a man who was so descriptive in his intentions.

“Ready for breakfast?” he says, popping up and releasing my face like he didn’t just nearly make me come with mere words.

“Uh, what time is it?” I say, stammering in the wake of his sexual energy.

“Almost eight. Your bag is over there.” He points at the kitchen table, where my tiny clutch is lying. I don’t even remember bringing that into the house with me. There are a lot of things about last night I don’t remember.

I remember him picking me up and eating dinner, but things get foggy until we were in his sister’s bed later on. Everything in between is like a sketchy dream.

“Thanks. I have an appointment at nine, though. I should get going.”

“We can stop and grab something on the way. I have to be at MBS by nine thirty. I should get moving too.”

“That’s where I’m going. My appointment is at nine, though.”

“Why are you seeing them? Everything seemed to be working more than perfectly last night.” He shoots me a sexy side-glance from across the kitchen, and the butterflies make an encore appearance in my belly.

“I sprained my ankle a month ago, and it’s my last appointment. I audition next week, and I want to be sure it’s as strong as possible. Why are you going? I thought you only had someone come and stretch you out at home before games.” I wiggle my eyebrows up and down, teasing him.

He rolls his eyes. “I have an old shoulder injury I see them for regularly, as well as my pregame stretch outs. It’s not as kinky as it sounds, I assure you., The guys on the team think I’m a pussy, but it’s a proven fact that I play better when I’m totally relaxed.”

Thoughts of how I could help him relax before his games zoom through my mind and I shut them down. Now that I’ve had a taste, I can’t even have an innocent conversation with this man without thoughts of us naked and sprawled out on a bed, defying gravity with some of the moves he taught me.

“They’re not as open-minded as you are,” I say.

“Yeah, you could say that. We have a lot of older guys on the team that who aren’t into new age healing. If they get an injury, they wrap it up and keep going, which is fine until later, when they’re whining about a lack of range of motion and arthritis.”

“Gotta find a way to teach those old dogs some new tricks.”

“If you have any ideas, let me know. Let’s go;. I don’t want to make you late. Are you feeling okay? Need some ibuprofen or a bottle of water for the road?”

“My head does hurt a little, and I’m sure I could use some water.”

He opens the fridge and hands me a glass bottle of water.

“I’ve got ibuprofen in the car.”

“We had a driver bring us here last night, remember? You don’t have your car.” I accept the water, pop the cute little cork on top, and chug half of it.

“I had someone bring it from the restaurant this morning.”

“I’m impressed,” I say and nod my head up and down.

“Of all the things I’ve done in the past twelve hours, that’s what impresses you?”

“I’m a sucker for an organized man. What can I say?” I tease.

“I’ll remember that,” he says, and I feel guilty for not complimenting him on his bedroom skills. Surely, someone has told him he’s exceptional. He doesn’t need my inexperienced opinion to boost his ego, does he?

He’s quiet when he takes my hand and leads me out the front door into his car. I reach out and stop him when he tries to close my door.

“Thank you for last night. You impressed me in a million ways, and I had more fun than I’ve had in forever.”

I know how it feels to be denied a well-earned compliment. I’ve always given credit where credit is due, and River should be no exception.

One side of his mouth lifts in a smirk, followed by a slow wink, and I know I’ve done the right thing.

On the way home, we run through a drive-through for coffee and a bagel. The hour-long drive is spent eating, drinking and listening to a top forty pop song countdown, where I learn River has a pretty magnificent voice and a playful sense of humor.

He sang every suggestive song on the countdown to me with an invisible microphone and a multitude of crazy expressions on his face, and I laughed more than I have in years. A few times, I even join in and sing the female half of a duet. I’m not a great singer, but I can carry a tune enough to play around.

The last ten minutes of our trip, exhaustion takes over, and we hold hands and ride in silence. In the quiet car, flashbacks of our night together start to come back to me as the coast flies by outside my window.

A shiver runs up my spine when memories of how dominant and demanding River was in bed surface. I’m an independent woman, and I don’t like to be told what to do, but if River said jump, I’d ask how high.

He is a perfect amalgamation of sex appeal and jocularity, sweet and salty, playful and dominant, and he just showed up in my life and gave me things I didn’t even know I wanted.

How am I supposed to fit him into my regimented life? And how will he fit me into his when the off-season is over? He will be busier than me with practices and traveling all over the country for games. And if I’m accepted by the San Francisco Dance Company, I’ll be doing my share of traveling and working out.

It seems like a dream come true today, but down the road a few months, it could turn into a nightmare. I don’t see how this can go anywhere. I could go with the flow and have fun until we both get too busy for each other, but I’m afraid my heart is already in danger of being broken, and we’ve only had one night together.

“You’re thinking too hard,” he says, breaking the silence.

I loll my head to the left to look at him through tired eyes.

“How do you know?”

“You have this little wrinkle between your eyes, and your lip is poking out. You looked the same way the first day of ballet class, when you were choosing our music.”

I reach up and smooth out the wrinkle between my eyes and suck my lip between my teeth.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“Not true.”

“What makes you say that?”

“When I asked about it, I could see the gears stop. What’s on your mind?”

I might as well try to nip it in the bud now before my heart gets destroyed.

“I was thinking about this, whatever it is,” I say and wave my free hand over our joined hands resting on the console between us.

“Those are our hands. They call it holding hands. It’s an ancient tradition that started with monkeys.”

“Stop, you know what I mean.”

“What were you thinking about this, whatever it is, then?”

“That I don’t see a future for it with our careers.”

He is quiet for a moment, contemplating my statement.

“I’m interested in the fact that you’re already thinking about us down the line. We’ve only had one date, but last night, I found myself thinking the same thing. Why don’t we just take this one day at a time and see where it goes? I promise, I won’t ask you to marry me the next time I take you out. And no pressure to meet the family, cross my heart.” He briefly releases the steering wheel and makes a cross over his heart.

My thoughts are on tilt. He just admitted that he has feelings for me too, strong enough feelings to be considering a future with me.

I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

“What if I fall for you?”

“Then that’s great,?” he says with confusion written all over his face.

“No, it’s not great if we are both jetting around the country, doing our own things, without being able to see each other.”

“Angel, if you want a full, happy life, you have to stop thinking of how it’s supposed to be and just let it be. If you only allow dance in your life, what will you have when you can’t dance anymore?”

“You sound just like Cat.”

“Well, Cat must be brilliant.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty smart, and I get what you’re both saying, but to be the best at something, you have to be fully dedicated to it.”

“That’s true, but there’s a difference between dedication and obsession.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Being obsessed is irrational. Being dedicated is rational.”

“You think I’m irrational?”

“I think anyone who lives their life for one thing and one thing only is irrational.”

Am I obsessed with dancing? Has my love for it morphed into something unhealthy? Am I so unbalanced that I’m chasing a dream that’s only going to burn me in the end?

“I’ll probably regret this, but okay, let’s try this one day at a time.”

He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses the tip of each one of my fingers. Then he places my open palm on his cheek and covers it with his hand.

“You won’t regret it. I promise.”

My heart is beating in my throat, and I’m swooning. I regret it already.