Chapter Five

Marissa

Elon has opened another bottle of champagne in my absence, while the first one remains unfinished. I wonder if he does this just because he can, or whether he just thinks that’s the bit that never gets drunk anyway.

According to his online data, he’s not always had money, but he certainly seems like he’s adjusted himself rather easily to the change.

“Good walk?” he asks as I move more deeply into the room.

“I saw the field”, I say with a courteous smile, my still trembling hands gathered behind my back to keep them out of view.

“Excellent”, Elon says. “I’m glad you’ve got that out of your system.”

He doesn’t know the half of it. “I spoke to your parents”, he continues. “Your father was particularly pleased about how well it’s going.”

“Oh?” I say.

“I told him I’ve already arranged another date for us. Something a little more romantic.”

“Oh?” I say again, this time my tone one of hard-to-hide surprise.

“You did want?-”, Elon begins.

“Of course”, I lie. “To get to know each other better. It’s important-.”

“That’s what I thought”, Elon beams. “It’s clear we have a good connection. A mutual interest in football, a mutual benefit from being in a partnership together.”

“Yes”, I say. “I just need, you know, before we rush into anything, a connection is very important to me. A feeling.”

“An attraction?” Elon guesses.

“Exactly”, I say. “An attraction.”

Like the one I had immediately with Logan and Carter. Like the one I’m not currently experiencing with Elon. If Carter and Logan had taken me to lunch and brought me to a football game it would be so different.

Those two would be bitching at each other all the time for fun, and I’d be trapped in the middle giving and receiving affection. It would be absolutely amazing. Instead, I’ve had to put up with Elon trying to create an interest where there isn’t one, while talking about his own life and achievements and not caring too much, or at least not seeing that there is little we have in common.

Besides which, Elon is way too old for me. Carter and Logan are both older, but nothing like Elon is. Him with me is just dirty, and not in a good way either.

I suppose I need to tell my parents. There have got to be other suitable businessmen that they can line me up with. Perhaps I can just make one up and pretend it’s Carter or Logan, or something like that.

Just the idea gets my creative juices flowing, because after this, I’m going to have to work out how to get back in contact with Logan and Carter in the first place, and then in the second place work out how to convince them both that it’s either both of them, or neither one.

If I get rid of Elon, though, maybe my parents will insist on who they choose next, and it’ll be even harder to get time to get away. As much as I hate to admit it, I might need Elon to get what I want, and, at least for now, as long as I don’t have to do anything with him, it makes sense just to keep this going for a little bit longer to see what opportunities it leads to.

It’s led here after all, which has, by pure incredible coincidence, allowed me to meet two of the best-looking football players in the whole of America.

“Elon?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Would you be able to arrange it for me to meet some of the players?”

“Which players?” he asks suspiciously.

“Oh, I don’t know, the famous ones, I suppose. Would that be something you could organize?”

“Is that something you’d like? Football players are notorious assholes, you know? They don’t know how to treat women.”

“All the same, I’m sure there are good ones”, I say.

“I suppose I could look into it if you think it’s something that you might like”, Elon concedes. “Everyone is happy to do something for the right amount of money.”

I can’t help thinking that he’s making reference to the agreement he’s made with my parents, a deal I can only imagine the grubby ins and outs of. Me, the princess, in exchange for a constant supply of filthy lucre to do the repairs on the castle and keep my family in the state they have grown accustomed to, by a man who thinks himself worthy of associating with our name.

My interests, obviously, are not considered.

“I’m going to watch the rest of the game”, I say, pointing to the balcony. “Do you want to join me?” I add, keen to be polite.

Elon gives it careful consideration, his eyes flitting between me, his laptop and his cell phone. “I’ll be out in a while”, he says, “you go and enjoy yourself.”

There exists the possibility that Elon doesn’t actually find me attractive enough for this proposition, or won’t eventually after our time spent together, which can only work in my favor. I hadn’t considered that before, but realizing how easily he proffers disinterest, I can only assume the possibility a real one.

Outside, the third quarter has already begun and the Patriots have retaken the lead, this time from a field goal. I sit down and quickly scan the field for my men, one of whom is out on the grass, the other waving insouciantly at me from the sideline.

It’s seems like typical Logan behavior, and I don’t even know him yet. I laugh, and wave back, wanting nothing more than to be on the sidelines with him instead of up here working out how to make it all a possibility.

Logan

Man, that girl is hot. I’m out in the tunnel taking a break from Doug’s bullshit motivational talk in the locker room and she just appears out of the shadows like an angel coming out of a forest. Hair done up in some kind of plait that must have taken ten people three hours to get right, super skinny jeans and some kind of T-shirt, top, off-the-shoulder sexy-as-hell I don’t even know what to call it clinging perfectly to the kind of pointy teenage tits you could put a pencil underneath and watch drop to the floor any day of the week. The kind of girl I’ve been warned away from and can’t leave alone. She had me salivating in seconds, all from ten meters away, and like a moth to the flame, I just had to go to her.

Nobody is meant to get past security, even with one of those access all area bracelets on, even with those access all area hips and tits, except this one did. She strides right past six security guards, and then I watch her just lean casually up against the tunnel wall and give me the big round come and get me eyes.

Minding my own business, keeping my head together and this one comes out of nowhere to just stand there and tease me over. I mean, what the hell was I meant to do? Maybe this is some kind of divine test, or maybe it’s Doug fucking with me to try and trip me up and make me see the error in my ways, or maybe it’s none of those things and just blind luck instead. Whatever it is, it’s got my mind racing at four thousand miles an hour and my dick throbbing like I’ve gone a whole year without getting it wet.

And then Carter has to turn up. Marissa and I are getting on perfectly well alone and then the terminator has to turn up and give it his serious, I’ve done what you used to do and now I’m totally reformed, play it by the book act. I suppose it doesn’t matter, though. It might even be better. When we win this game it’ll give me something to rub in his face for the rest of the season.

We’re in the lead again just after the interval, and while I’m supposed to be concentrating on a million and one other things, I can’t focus on anything but her. She kind of liked it when I called her princess too, like there was some kind of joke there I wasn’t quite getting. Without even bullshitting, it’s clear that we had some kind of connection and when I wave up to the balcony I figure she must be standing on, I get a huge kick out of seeing her wave back too. I almost want Carter to look up from the line of scrimmage so he can see it. Marissa, the goddamn angel princess who’s come out of nowhere, waving at the man she’s going to fuck next.

Just the idea has my whole body screaming. Watching her squirm to orgasm all over my dick is going to make everything else I’ve done pale in comparison. I’m not even exaggerating here when I say she’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever had the fortune to lay my eyes on. Perfect complexion, big wide eyes and that body you just want to cover in chocolate sauce and lick all over.

She has this dirtiness about her too, but an innocence as well, as though she’s done a hundred things in her head but not a single one for real. It wouldn’t surprise me if that little sex kitten wanted us both at the same time, me and that machine, Carter. I could get with that if it meant getting with her, as long as Carter could handle the possibility that our balls might touch. Carter would probably flip out, though. I can’t imagine he’s the kind of man who likes to share, especially with someone like me.

Their attack fizzles out to nothing, and they’re not even close enough to kick a field goal. There’s plenty of time left in this, but if we convert here, it’s going to be nothing but an uphill struggle for them and Marissa will definitely be mine. As we take to the field, I make sure I get within earshot of Carter.

“She’s mine”, I say as I jog past him, but either he doesn’t hear me or he doesn’t care because I don’t get anything back in response.

One more look up to the balcony confirms she’s still looking at me, and while we get into formation, I’m determined to give her something to congratulate me for later.

Carter

That cocky asshole is going to come apart before this game is over, I’m going to see to that. They may be a field goal up, but there is plenty of game left in this match and I’m not prepared to let his arrogance drown us out, pretty girl or not.

To begin with, we should be winning this game already, we are the better side both on paper and out here, and the only reason we aren’t is because of bad luck and decisions working against us.

In addition to that, I’m not going to let him win, because it’ll do nothing good for his ego. A pretty girl appearing out of nowhere has got to be a trap, either by a paper, or the committee. I shouldn’t care, but I do. If he goes looking for it outside of here then it’s his own fault - if it comes here looking and Logan is too damn stupid to see it for what it is, then it just isn’t fair to let him fall for it. This could ruin his career if he allows himself to get fucked over.

One, no-one, no matter how good looking gets past security and into the tunnel area, not even with a bullshit gold bracelet, and two, no-one makes a proposition like that. A date for the winner? I mean, what the hell is that anyway? Like we’re all muscle heads like Logan that can only think with our dicks?

Five years ago that might have worked on me, but it definitely won’t now. When I win, I’ll tell her straight just what I think. And it’s not because I think she’s not attractive either, that’s precisely why she’s been given this job, I’m sure, she’s absolutely stunning.

She's probably one of the best-looking girls I’ve ever seen, and in other circumstances, in a different world, I’d do everything I could to show her what it’s like to be with a real man like me, because just standing next to her I could feel my dick jumping, but she’s got danger written all over her and even though Logan’s too dumb to see it because he carries his brain in his dick, I’m not going to be fooled so easily.

I’m going to win this, take her on a date and find out everything I need to know about the mysterious girl with the fuck me eyes, the supermodel looks and the innocent air that gives the impression she could suck a football through a party straw behind closed doors, while looking like a princess outside of them.

If I’ve got it all wrong, and she’s just an innocent eighteen-year-old girl that’s made her way past security with nothing but a smile, things might be very different indeed. Whatever it is, that girl wants something, and until I find out what it is, I’m going to keep my cards close to my chest.

First things first, though. Win this, keep Logan from making an absolute tit of himself and go ahead and open up my prize.

Marissa

From a smart play that confuses the hell out of everyone on the Patriots frontline, including almost all of the members of the watching crowd, Carter dummies, runs and then throws the ball high towards the end zone only for Freddie Laker, the veteran wide receiver to pluck it superbly out of the air and fall to the ground for a last minute touchdown that puts the Jets back into the lead. I watch Carter celebrate in a subdued manner, first with a little wag of his finger over to the sidelines where Logan stands open-mouthed, and then a little salute up to my balcony which gives me a hot, horny flash of energy through my tummy and towards my pussy.

There is a minute left on the clock and the touchdown has come out of nowhere. Logan is the first of the Patriots back onto the field, waving his arms encouragingly to the other members of his team and up to the home crowd. Carter taps him on the shoulder as he jogs past and says something that makes Logan shake his head and smile widely. I’m on the edge of my seat as they line up quickly, only for the ball to come out to the quarterback and stick to his hands too long for him to be able to release it before he gets smothered by the approaching opposition players.

The second down produces little more of note, this time the ball flying high and out of bounds, too far up for Logan to gather it from the air. Instead of reprimanding the quarterback, Logan looks up to me, shakes his head and kicks at the earth below his feet.

He has thirty seconds left on the clock to turn this around, which he can only do if the ball manages to find its way into his hands. Logan looks like he has the speed to outrun any of these players, so if the pass is good, he has every chance of winning both the game and me for the night. He definitely doesn’t lack desire, I can tell that from here. He’s bouncing around the field like an excited puppy, and I like to think that if there wasn’t an added element here of winning me, he might have already given up.

Carter watches on, one eye up on the clock, one on the field. Every couple of seconds, he looks over up to me with that air of experience only mature players have, that have put in hours and hours and know the game inside out.

Third down, and this time the quarterback dummies a pass, skips past a tackle, finds open space and launches the ball into the air towards Logan who has gained a meter and a half on the cornerback. The excitement pushes me to my feet while the rest of the gathered crowd do the same and Carter, who for all the world thought the game was already over, pushes his way to the best viewing point.

The ball glides over the cornerback, too high for him to do anything other than get the very tips of his fingers onto the ball, and there is an audible intake of air from every single person in the stadium, as the ball changes its trajectory ever so slightly taking it the inch or so away from Logan’s outstretched hand that would have made the catch a certainty.

Logan has to adjust himself as the ball slaps clumsily against his outstretched fingers, bobbles twice on his palm and refuses to stay still. There are ten seconds on the clock, thirty yards to the end zone and a wall of advancing players, ready to smash Logan into the earth if he doesn’t get the ball under control.

There is a tendency for things like this to happen almost in slow motion, and the same is true here. I watch the ball jump around as though it has a life of its own, while Logan twists his body in the air at full stretch, desperate to tame it. There is a moment when it looks for all the world that he’s done so, before the ball pops out from his grasp again, and while Logan falls backward to the earth, it’s clear he’s definitely not going to catch it.

Time speeds up again as Logan hits the dirt, while the ball spins away from his grasp and stutters to a stop about a meter from the sideline. There is only enough time left for Carter to look up at me and give a regal bow, before the referee blows his whistle and signals the end of the game.

The Jets have won, Logan lies dejected on the ground and Carter has won me for his date. The visiting crowd screams in support, while the Patriots stare at each other in stunned silence. It’s Carter who makes it to Logan first - the rest of his teammates too shocked to do anything other than wander around aimlessly like the sole survivors of a bloody battle - and I’m excited to see Logan let him pull him to his feet. There are words exchanged between the two players I can’t hear, but what I can tell from here is that they are definitely not fighting as they walk back off the field. Carter salutes the supporting crowd, while Logan looks up towards me and shrugs.

I blow a kiss over the balcony towards them both, and Logan makes fun of himself by pretending to misjudge the catch, juggle it for a while in his hands and then finally catch it before it slips out of his grasp.

It isn’t until a few seconds afterward that I notice the whole thing has been played up on the big screen to the right and the commentators are waving to me from their little box too.

“Is it over?” Elon says, his voice making me jump a little.

Over the noise of the crowd, I hadn’t heard him sneak over.

“It’s over”, I say. “The Jets won.”

“Oh, is that good?” he says, confused who he’s come here to support.

“Perfect”, I say. “But it’s a shame that it couldn’t be a draw.”

“Well there has to be a winner and a loser, that’s life”, Elon says diplomatically.

“Winners in this case”, I say, thinking about how I’m going to give both of those men a prize at the same time.

“I spoke to the agents”, Elon says. “The ones that handle the PR and publicity here for the team and the players. I’ve agreed to make a large donation for a chance to meet the players.”

“Really?” I say, shocked and excited.

Elon can tell he’s done a good thing, his cheeks flushing red with delight.

“You won’t mind if I don’t join you?” he says, “It’s not really my thing.”

“I just want to congratulate them”, I say, my tummy already turning over in excitement. “I won’t be long.”

“Okay”, Elon says. “I’ll keep myself amused up here until you are done.”

This couldn’t be better. Elon out of the picture while I congratulate Carter and commiserate Logan, by telling him he’s won second prize for participation.

“They’ll call you when they are ready”, Elon adds, “If you’re lucky, they might even give you a tour themselves. I can’t think of anything worse myself. Being surrounded by large, sweaty, badly educated men, that think of nothing but their muscles and their cars, isn’t exactly the right kind of environment for a princess. I’m sure you’ll realize that when they take you down there.”

The thought of being in the locker room with so many gorgeous men makes me gurgle with excitement.

“You’re probably right, Elon”, I say. “I’m sure I’ll absolutely hate it.”