I roll my shoulders back and groan. Hell, there’s nothing better in the world than a long, hot shower after crushing it in a game like that. I towel off briskly, wrap it around my hips, and pad into the deserted locker room.

The rest of the team is probably already huddled around drinks and wings celebrating our victory. I’ll catch up with them in a minute, but I like to take an extra fifteen minutes to unwind after a game. My adrenaline pumps for ages after I leave the field, and heading out on the town with testosterone swirling around my system will only end in … well, a whole bunch of chicks to clear out from my apartment in the morning.

If there’s one thing they never tell when you sign up in high school, it’s that getting lots of women will turn from something you only fantasize about as you jack off, to something you need to actively discourage fairly often. It’s insane, the amount of attention we get.

Not that I’m complaining, of course.

I smile at my reflection in the mirror and hear a small, feminine cough from behind me. My grin grows wider. See what I mean? Glancing around, my eyebrows shoot up when my gaze falls on one fine piece of ass.

Fuck me, this woman is hot.

Maybe a couple of years younger than me. Gorgeous waist length blonde hair, but pulled back into an ugly ponytail. Makes me want to curl a fist into that glossy, thick hair while I slam my cock into her. My cock hardens at the dirty thought.

She’s wearing a black pencil skirt and a blazer that my headmistress would have been happy with, but she looks nothing like any mistress I’ve had, either in or out of the classroom. The curves of her hips are perfect. I can already see myself grabbing them tight as I pound into her. Her eyes are enormous and bright blue, but she seems to be having some trouble maintaining eye contact with me. Her eyes slide down to my tented towel and then away fast.

I lean against the locker and let out a low whistle.

She bites her lip and it makes me want to stuff my cock into her mouth.

“Can I help you, sweet pea?” I drawl, deliberately letting my eyes drift lazily across her body.

“Uh,” she begins, and I snap out of my reverie at once.

Her voice is high-pitched, almost panicked, like she’s been caught with her greedy little hands in the cookie jar. We’ve had fans sneak back in here before, and they are almost always fainting with excitement. Something else is going on here, something I can’t put my finger on, yet. I wonder if one of the guys sent her here as a present for me. I did put in the winning score. Thanks, guys, excellent choice.

“How did you get in here?” I ask softly.

She gulps, brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ears, and finally makes eye contact. Whoa! My heart leaps up into my throat as those baby-blue eyes sizzle into mine. They are wide and bright and rimmed with long lashes. An image of her on her knees in front of me sucking my cock while looking up at me with those baby doll eyes jumps, unbidden, into my head. I kick it out. I need to back down, way down and focus on the interesting dynamics in front of me. This woman is not a gift from my teammates, she’s not a dizzy fan, and quite obviously has no right to be here either.

I straighten to my full six feet four inches of lean muscle.

“I’m … uh … I told them I was a journalist. The guys outside, I mean,” she explains nervously, tripping over her words in her haste. “I’m not, obviously. I lied. I just need to ask you something very important.”

“Wait, you told them you were a journalist, and they just let you through? Without any ID?” This was sounding more and more like a setup, but one I found deliciously entertaining.

She swallows hard and tries to smile.

That trembling smile does something to my insides. It’s been a long time since I wanted to fuck a chick this much. I shake my head and pretend to be angry. “We need better fucking security around here.”

“It not their fault. I have an honest face,” she blurts, sounding more and more desperate.

“Or maybe you let them take turns?”

Her eyes flash, but her voice is even. “Look. I used a fake ID, okay.”

“No shit.” I smile at her.

She crosses her arms across her chest defensively, her ponytail bobbing sexily as she does so. “I just need to ask you something,” she repeats, as though she has carefully practiced what she is going to say and doesn’t really know how to deal with any deviations.

“What’s your name?” I ask, taking a step towards her, and closing the gap between us. She holds her ground, though she takes a sharp, involuntary breath.

“Reese. Reese Westwood,” she replies.

“Uh-huh,” I cock my head to the side. “Reese.” The name rolls off my tongue. “So, you lied to get in here to see me. Why?”

“To talk to you. What else?” she responds, her voice a tiny bit sarcastic. So, the pretty doll had a bit of attitude, did she?

“Oh, I could think of a few good reasons.”

She blushes bright red. Her flawless skin turns rosy. Damn! I must be getting jaded. I don’t think I’ve seen a girl blush like this since … I can’t remember the last time. Well, I guess I can give her five minutes.

“Okay then,” I shrug. “What is it you need to ask me?”

She takes a deep breath, balls her hands into fists at her sides, and lets the words tumble out of her mouth in one great big confused jumble.

“My stepmother, she’s dying,” she begins. “And she sent me here to get you because … because … when she was a teenager, she got pregnant, and the baby she had was you, but she was forced to give you up.”

My head jerks back and my palms come up. “Whoa. Back up, back up, sweetheart. I don’t think you got the right guy here.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t have the wrong guy. You’re her son and she just wants to see you again before she … before she goes. She wants to die in peace in the knowledge that you guys have, at least, met, and you don’t hate her. That’s … that’s all she wants.”

“That’s all?” I snorted at the ridiculousness of what she was saying.

For one thing, I know I’m not adopted. I’m twenty-fucking-seven years old. Why would my parents be keeping that from me? My parents and I have a very open and loving relationship, and I know they would have, at some point down the line, mentioned picking me up from some teenage girl when I was a baby.

“You have to believe me,” she cries. “I’m not lying and neither is your mother. She’s a good person. A really good person. At least just meet her. Just once.”

Scowling, I turn towards my locker. I have to, because looking at her stops me from thinking. For one minute, I need to think with my brain and not my dick. What is immediately clear when I’m not looking at her luscious curves and lying eyes is that she must be part of a scam. When you exist in the public eye the way that I do, you learn fast to tell the difference between heartfelt pleas from fans, and cunning con-women trying to count your money for you.

Of course, they’d send along a smokin’ chick to try and seduce me into believing their shit story. I get that and quite frankly, they chose one hell of a candidate. Not only is she a fantastic actress, playing the part of a super innocent damsel in distress to perfection, she’s already got me all twisted up in knots with lust.

I’m quite a good judge of character and I must say there is something sincere about her. Some parts of the scam could be true. Maybe her stepmother really is sick, and she needs the money for her. The way she looks, I’d have been happy to foot her medical bills if they were real, but using this stupid and callous method, one that involves my parents is a bit much. That’s just low. She just lost any sympathy I might have had for her predicament.

I turn back around, my face completely expressionless. She is staring at me with a pleading look. I stare at her in astonishment. What is it about this woman? Even knowing that she is a con artist, all I want to do is slam her up against the lockers and fuck her until she screams my name.

“So, you want me to go meet my biological mother … who is dying?”

She flinches at my deadpan delivery, and for some crazy reason, I feel a small stab of sympathy for her.

“She is your biological mother,” she insists fiercely.

“So you say,” I retort.

“She only wants to look you in the face. Just once. Please,” she pleads.

It’s getting harder and harder to resist her. She seems so sincere. “I get that, but what’s in it for me?”

We stare at each other. Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but my mind is churning with dirty, filthy thoughts.

“Please. I want to help my stepmother. I’d do anything for her,” she blurts out.

My cock actually jerks at that. “Anything?” I consider the word, as it it hangs in the air between us like a promise. I cock an eyebrow at her, and ideas began to take shape in my brain.

Right, I’ve established that she’s a con-woman. I can’t trust her, not as far as I can throw her, anyway. She’s lied through her teeth to get in here, and this last statement, I see it for what exactly it is. A barely disguised offer of her body in exchange for what she wants. Some part of me is furious with her because I really like her and she’s turned out to be nothing, but a cheap slut. Putting herself out so easily. How many men has she offered herself to like this? I don’t know why, but I fucking hate the idea of any other man touching her.

Fuck it. Two can play at this fucking game. If she’s passing it around like candy why shouldn’t I have a piece too? It’s stupid to let her walk out of this room without at least trying my luck. Would it be so out there for me to untie her hair and watch all those glorious golden waves cascade down her body? I bet her skin is like the finest silk, and I’ll lay money she’ll moan when I suck those big, juicy boobs. My cock starts pulsating for her.

If she says no, fine. She can leave, and I’ll put this sorry affair behind me. Shit, I’ll have forgotten her by tonight when I’m buried deep inside some other broad.

“I’ll take her address,” I drawl.

Her face lights up, and she opens her mouth as if to thank me, but I hold a hand up to silence her so I can deliver my condition of acceptance.

“If you lock the door, strip, and let me look at you.”