Chapter Three

Marissa

That slink tries to kiss me in the car on the way to the stadium, and I have to make it even clearer than crystal that I’m not the kind of girl that fucks on the first date, or ever in this case. What gave him that impression in the first place, I have no idea, because this princess has been playing it cold hearted and frosty from the offset. It goes like this: We leave the restaurant, Elon tries to snake his arm under mine and pull me towards him, to which I resist, step apart from him and give him a look that under no circumstances could be misinterpreted, before we get into the car, and in less than two minutes between there and here, he’s slid over, to wrap his chubby arm around me again, in an attempt to twist me towards him and steal what I intend to never let him have.

I almost have to fight him off, which Elon interprets as playful resistance, before settling back into his own personal space again and leaving me to mine. Half of me thinks he likes the fact that I’m playing hard to get, the other half of me worries he thinks it’s just a matter of time before he woos me with his charm. I had expected him to be the typical tech geek who couldn’t hold a conversation properly let alone have the balls to try and kiss a princess because of a lifetime behind a computer screen, but unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be the case. Social ineptitude he does have, timidity, not a single bit at all.

Thank God the journey to the stadium doesn’t last too long, because in here, I feel totally trapped. Swap Elon out for a footballer, and this would be a totally different story altogether, that’s not too much to ask, is it?

We get total VIP treatment at the ground, where Elon has managed to arrange for us to sit in a completely private room, with waiters on hand for our every need. The view from up here is incredible too, and out on the balcony, the noise of the audience is enough to make my bones shake.

Elon is clearly uncomfortable in this environment, and not the least bit interested in the game. He orders a bottle of champagne, despite the fact I can’t and won’t drink any, and more food, even though we’ve eaten enough to last us for the rest of the day.

The private suite comes with a private terrace, separated from the other balconies below us, and is clearly considered to be the best seat in the house for its exclusivity. I understand why Elon chose it, why it probably has the price tag it does, but in all honesty, even though this is extremely enjoyable, I’d just as much like to be close to the ground and in amongst the crowd. I’m used to this treatment and I’ve never liked separating myself from what’s going on. That buzz is ten times as exciting from within, perhaps because it’s ten times as dangerous too. I’m not going to complain, though. As long as I can see the players, I’m happy just to be here.

“Your first?” Elon asks, leaning out across the balcony a little too close to me for comfort.

“Yes”, I nod, sliding slowly away from him and pretending to do so just to get the full effect of the outside space.

“It’s better inside”, Elon says, briefly attempting to move towards me again. “You don’t get bothered by the noise.”

“I like it out here”, I say. “It’s much more real. You can feel the atmosphere.”

“That’s not always a benefit”, Elon admits. “Sometimes it’s more enjoyable being able to control the environment a little more. That’s why I paid for this for us.”

I change tact because I know I’m not going to get anywhere arguing my point with him. “How often do you come?” I say, trying not to be too distant.

“Oh, now and again”, Elon says, clearly lying. “Whenever it suits me and I can get away from the office.”

I bet he doesn’t know the names of any of the players or even who the different teams are. I’m not going to embarrass him, though, that kind of approach is unlikely to achieve anything. I’m going to sit back, watch the game and sneak away when I get the opportunity to see if I can meet any prospective men.

“Well, I’ll be inside”, Elon says, “But feel free to stay out here if you want. I have a little bit of work I need to catch up on if you don’t mind, and I should call your parents, tell them where you are, how we are getting on.”

“Sure”, I say, surprised and absolutely delighted at the very same time. “You do what you need to do.”

You may think I’m some kind of sex crazed nymphomaniac talking about men all the time, perving over football players, kissing staff members in potting sheds or dreaming about how I want to lose it, but actually I’m a pretty normal teenager when it comes down to it, especially if you compare me to other women in my generation. Those that don’t have to deal with the societal burden of being a princess and can’t get on with their lives as normal. Perhaps I have a slightly above average sexual drive, but it’s easy to relate that to the upbringing I’ve had.

Imagine being watched twenty-four seven. Imagine being different to every other girl you read about or see on TV. Imagine having to conduct your social life in accordance with your elevated status. All that has done is set me apart from everyone else and provide a long list of expectations I never ever wanted in the first place. No wonder my parents are disappointed with me because the way they see it, I’ve completely failed in my role. Here it’s a little different, and I love it. Nobody recognizes me, which means I can pretend I’m just a normal girl like everyone else. At home, I can’t even leave the palace without armed guards, let alone go on a date with someone I like. That’s the kind of thing that drives me crazy about my family and makes me wonder whether being a princess is worth it at all. If I refuse to marry someone my parents pick out for me then maybe I’ll eventually get what I want, except that I know nothing in my life will change for the better. When my parents say they’ll disown me, or disinherit me, or whatever they are threatening, that just means they’ll no longer continue to support me, perhaps no longer even talk to me, and right now, I’m not ready for a change that big.

I don’t want to disgrace my family either, or for them to feel like I’m doing that, I want to convince them that they should let me choose who I want to be with, and not have to choose someone that represents a better option for the royal family as a whole.

I guess I’m just worried that time isn’t really on my side at the moment, especially with this impromptu trip, and combined with my first taste of freedom, my horniness is going through the roof. These footballer players aren’t helping either, not that I’m complaining. They haven’t even started playing yet and I’m already salivating watching them warm up.

The one issue I have with this game is the fact that these men wear far too many protective layers. I can’t see faces, or torsos or bare chests, but I suppose in exchange, I do get to see tight lycra shorts hugging perfect asses and bigger than average packets.

I wonder if every other girl in the crowd is thinking the same, and then I kick myself for being stupid because I know everyone other girl in the crowd is thinking the same. Women don’t come to these things just for the sport of it, they come to these things to drool over the men, and some of the really lucky ones get to take them home after the game as well.

Perhaps Mom and Dad would let me marry a quarterback. It’s not exactly the image they usually go for, but they’re definitely not short of money. Bad boys with big balls are infinitely more exciting than computer geeks with bad breath. If I did get disinherited, maybe this would make it worth it. A pair of football players to wake up next to every morning, a pair to send off to sleep every night.

I could cope with not being a princess if that was the other option, but being a princess might be the only way for that to happen. Talk about a catch-22 situation. I’d much rather it were a catch-69, but that kind of thinking has got me and a few other men in trouble before.

When the game begins, and the crowd explode in a wave of noise, Elon is on his cell and facing the other way. It doesn’t matter, and in fact, it’s better this way. The last thing I want is to have him creeping on me while I’m trying to concentrate on picking out my future husbands.

It doesn’t take me long to narrow it down either. There are a bunch of players that stand out as much better than the rest, three or four of those that would be perfectly suitable for what I want to have them do to me.

After the first quarter is up, I’ve narrowed it down again, to just one player from each side. The Patriots go into the break with a narrow lead, and the star player in the entire game is the wide receiver, Logan O’Connor. As soon as I get his name, I have a gallery of pictures up of him on my phone, with just as many stories of his naughty behavior. He’s renaissance art gorgeous, with incredible blue eyes, a square jaw, flat chest and perfect abdomen, with a seemingly insatiable desire for drinking and partying. He has been romantically linked to a number of high-profile celebrities, but currently considers himself single, available and on the lookout for love. It doesn’t say that exactly but more or less infers it in not so many words. Logan has the physique of a Viking, the mischievous smile of a troublemaker and the drop dead gorgeous good looks of a serial casanova, and before the second quarter begins I’ve already decided that I’m determined to make him mine. This is the kind of thing I came to America for, not the kind that is busy finishing off his third glass of champagne, while he crams foie gras vol-au-vents into his mouth at a hundred miles an hour.

The other I’ve decided I’ve fallen in love with, who will be my dual plan A, my back-up plan B or my one and only if all else fails, is the quarterback of the other team. Carter Kane is considered to be the best quarterback playing football at the moment, perhaps even the finest of his generation. Someone else’s words, not mine. After a somewhat checkered rookie year, Carter has cleaned out the skeletons in his closet, doubled down on his focus and never once looked back. He has the potential to be the most decorated player in American Football history and from my perspective, Carter has the potential to be an incredible fuck, on a permanent basis. With his towering profile - Kane stands at over six foot seven inches tall - his muscular aspect, strong arms and tree-trunk thick thighs make him an athlete with incredible strength, stamina, and force. He has an incredible natural ability, the type of look that makes panties melt in a four hundred mile radius, and oozes sex appeal without even having to try. This guy is the guy that teaches everyone else how to be sexy without even breaking a sweat doing it.

After a few troubled relationships, Carter has admitted to putting his search for love on the back burner, while he concentrates on his football career, but hasn’t outright denied the possibility of falling in love. This coming from a man who use to change women more often than his socks. The idea of just being next to him makes me squeal in delight. The idea of being sandwiched between the two of them, enough to make my pussy tingle like it does just before I come.

I’m getting wet looking at the profiles of them online, and then even wetter watching them perform on the field below me. How can anyone get turned on by money or power, when the best thing in the world is clearly seeing a strong man do something better than anyone else? And these two Gods of men are clearly better than anyone else in their chosen field. Carter has an arm like a cannon, while Logan could pluck an apple from the top branch of a tree and still have time to do a somersault and double pike before his feet hit the ground again. What Carter has in sheer strength, Logan has in speed, Carter is experienced, focused and serious whereas Logan is a rookie, full of energy and doesn’t seem to take life too seriously. The two together would be an unstoppable force, each man complimenting the other, while they both work together to compliment me.

No reason not to set my sights high after all, especially when these men are both single and looking for love.

For me, love would be the perfect conclusion, but lust would ultimately do. I’d prefer to be locked up in a turret rather than have sex with Elon, and if that’s going to happen I might as well make it worth it.

Who can resist a princess anyway? I know Carter says he’s given up looking, but that’s only because he hasn’t met me yet. Logan looks like he’d be easy to convince if I let him know what I’m happy to give him. The difficulty might be convincing them both to please me together. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I’ve still got to somehow got rid of Elon, while I arrange a meeting with Logan and Carter. I’ve got a bracelet that gives me access up here, so I suppose there’s a possibility it might give me access down there too, and I guess if I can slip away without Elon following me there’s no harm in trying while the players are off the field for half-time. If the bracelet doesn’t work I’ve always got the princess card in my locker too, that’s never failed me so far.

And in the unlikely event that none of that works, I’ll just have to think of some other way. Logan and Carter may not be the perfect men for me after meeting them, but as long as I’m searching I might as well begin somewhere. I already know they are the best on offer in this crowd of thousands, and one thing I’ve learned so far as a princess is never accept anything but the best.

At half-time, it’s all square. The Jets have drawn level and the two sides disappear off the field with little to separate them. My heart is beating hard when I step back into the private room, my plan already concocted and ready to play out beat by deceptive beat. Leave the room (without Elon), head downstairs, find the entrance to the player's room, find Carter and Logan, make an indecent proposal, kiss (optional), make my way back up here, act as though I’ve missed Elon and I’ve done nothing wrong.

“Are you alright?” Elon says, looking up at me suspiciously from his cell phone.

“It’s half-time”, I say.

“Okay, good”, Elon says, his face becoming animated. “We could-.”

I cut him off. “I was going to go for a walk, look at the stadium.”

“They do a tour after the game has finished”, Elon says. “A private tour.”

I sit down next to him. “Have you ever wondered what it’s like to be part of a royal family”, I say.

Elon’s face lights up enthusiastically, perhaps thinking that I’m suggesting that at one point he might get the chance as my prince. “Yes”, he says.

I ignore him and continue. “Well, life is kind of restrictive at home, but here, I have a freedom I’ve never experienced before.”

“Yes”, Elon says again. “America truly is the land of the free.”

“Well, I can’t walk around a football stadium at home and buy a hot dog and pretend to be normal.”

“I can order hot dogs if you like”, Elon says, missing the point entirely. “You don’t have to queue up with everyone else. You should have told me you were hungry.”

He’s reaching for his cell when I stop him.

“It’s not that”, I say. “I just want to feel what it’s like to be anonymous in a big crowd for a while.”

Elon looks at me suspiciously as though I’m speaking a completely different language.

“Anonymous?”, he says. “Big crowd”, he says.

I nod. “Wait for me here?” I ask. “Will you do that for me?”

I give him my princess eye flutter and remarkably it works. He may not understand the why, but he clearly understands the potential long game.

“Take as long as you need”, Elon says. “But don’t get lost and call me if you need me.”

“Don’t tell Mom and Dad, will you?” I say. “They just wouldn’t understand.”

“Our secret”, Elon says, his hand gripping mine tightly.

“Thank you, Elon”, I say, my heart beating so hard at the deviousness of my plan it’s ready to jump out of my body altogether. Elude Elon, find real men, convince them to show me what they are capable of.

“Shall I send security with you?” Elon says.

“No”, I insist. “Nothing like that. Just give me a little while to walk around and experience what it’s like to be a normal girl for once. I’ll be back before the second half starts.”

“Okay”, Elon says, “But I don’t-.”

And I’m out of the door before he has a chance to finish.

Carter

That was the most intense half of football I’ve played this year. Everyone’s pretty pumped up in the locker room, but I’m disappointed we’re not going to go out there again in the lead. Logan has been all over our defense, running the backs ragged, but without him, their team is nothing. We’re much more solid throughout the side, we just aren’t playing hard enough to win.

Sometimes this team just doesn’t get that no matter how hard I try and drill it into their skulls. I see a lot of rookies come through happy to settle for second best, but as far as I’m concerned that’s a bullshit attitude. If you don’t want something hard enough you’ll never get it. Logan’s got that appetite to win, which is why he’s already got the stats he has coming into this game, the problem is he just happens to be on the wrong fucking side.

If we were to change up on defense and concentrate on closing him down, we’d need an extra player just to hold him back and if we lined up like that we’d risk exposes ourselves on the off-side. What we need to do is make sure the ball doesn’t get out from the quarterback and into a space anywhere near his hands, but for some reason our ends just aren’t stepping up. It’s embarrassing, but there is little else I can do but give them a few choice words of motivation and hope they can pull it together for the third and fourth quarter.

If we lose today it’ll be because we let them play, not because they were the better team, not that half of these players share the same sentiments. Sometimes I fucking wonder. Go long or go home has long been an internal motto of motivation for me, but the more rookies I see come through who are happy to give just enough needed to get by, I wonder how much things have changed in the years since I became a pro.

There is emotion here, that’s for sure, but the drive that we had in our Superbowl year doesn’t seem to be with us yet in this campaign. Patriots are topping the division, and game on game, the cracks are beginning to show in both our defensive and offensive units. I’m excluding myself from that statistic, by the way. Without me, this team would be scraping through week to week, thinking more about damage protection rather than another Superbowl final.

I go out to the tunnel to take a breather. Twelve minutes is way too short to spend it all in the heat of the locker room. I need to fix my head and focus on turning this into a win. If Patriots turn us over here today it’ll give them the belief they can go all the way. If we crush them in their own backyard, however, there is every chance this will be a season turning point.

There are security officials out here and the usual marshalls, clipboard holders, high visibility jacket wearers, police, and paramedics, but there is also someone that doesn’t look like she belongs at all.

Even from here, and half-hidden in shadow, I can tell she’s absolutely gorgeous. As I get nearer, I can see she’s smiling at me and gesturing in my direction. She has hair that looks like it goes on forever, tied up in the kind of pleat you see princesses in fairytales wearing, a petite but beautifully defined body and huge, incredibly gorgeous eyes surrounded by a perfect, honey milk complexion. She’s a woman, there’s no doubt about that, but she can’t be more than eighteen or nineteen years old. That’s not the only thing I notice about her either. Before I even get to her I can tell she’s dangerous. Her look may give off innocence and butter wouldn’t melt, but I know women well enough to know this one has got all kinds of naughty going around her head.

That’ll probably explain perfectly too, why she’s stood there next to the one man that could sniff her out in a crowd of ten million.

“Carter Kane”, Logan O’Connor says casually as I approach. “Marissa and I were just talking about you.”