Chapter 23
Calling in a Favor
Beau
Once I finally got back to New York, I took a cab to Dave Leroux's apartment building in Brooklyn and gave him a call.
He came out slowly, checking over his shoulder, looking like he half-expected me to jump out of the bushes and attack him on the sidewalk.
I rolled the window down. “Hey Leroux. Over here.”
He spotted me and neared. “What's up, Bradford? What's this about?”
I climbed out and explained.
First, I told him how much I hated to ask him for that favor—because, as far as his hit went? To me, the matter was already solved. He didn't owe me any apologies or favors.
If anyone needed to apologize, it was me. I told him I was sorry for the mind games I'd played in the media and on the ice last week. I told him what I really thought about him: that he's a damn solid player with a great hockey mind, and not to give one single fuck for a second about who thought he might be overpaid, because he's not overpaid, end of story.
And then I told him how I'd met a girl I liked. One that was helping me turn things around, on and off the ice. And how much she meant to me, and how I wanted to make her happy.
Leroux was a married man—thus a bit of a softie, just like Hunter. I was counting on that.
“So, I'm not asking you for this favor because of the hit, but like … I'm reaching out to you for help because you seem like a good guy and I can't do it on my own. I need help, Dave.”
He shrugged. “Well uh, alright, what is it?”
I told him.
“Alright. Sounds easy enough.”
“Thanks, dude. It'll mean so much to her.”
“When do you wanna do it?” he asked.
“You got time right now? We're in the neighborhood.”
“Sure. Let's do it.”
We climbed into the cab and took off for Velvet Bakery.
***
Finally.
The longest fucking week of my life was over.
And there we were, together at last, frozen in time.
How badly I wanted to jump across that counter and kiss her. She looked so goddamn beautiful, eyes shining, long hair shimmering, flawless skin radiating. The tops of her breasts drew my eyes in, the way they jiggled so firmly in her dress with every movement …
“And who's this?” Camille asked politely.
I'd gotten so caught up in the moment, I'd almost forgotten why I'd come here.
“Oh, right. Dave, I want you to meet Camille Kennedy, an old high school girlfriend of mine.”
“High school girlfriend,” she muttered under her breath with a laugh.
“And Camille, this is Dave Leroux.”
Camille's eyes suddenly narrowed. “Dave … Leroux?” She turned those slit-eyes at me. “The guy who hit you last week?”
“Erm, yeah, but babe it's okay—”
She turned those angry eyes back on Dave. “You really almost hurt him, you know? He could've been paralyzed!”
Dave held up his hands. “Whoa, hey. Believe me, I get it. I have a wife and kids at home myself, so I know what it's like. I—”
“Then how could you possibly hit him like that?” she asked, shaking her head. “What the hell came over you to do such a thing?”
I smacked my forehead. This was going wrong.
“Cammy—don't—he's not a bad guy. I asked him here for a favor.”
She folded her arms, looking as stubborn as an ox. “A favor?”
“Heh …” Dave laughed uncomfortably. “Tell you what. I'm gonna go grab a breather out front real fast. Grab me when you're ready.”
When he stepped outside, I explained. “Dave's a vegan, sweetie. I asked him and he agreed to do a little photo-op. He'll grab a cupcake, we take his picture, he posts it on Twitter and recommends it to all his vegan followers and Scouts fans.”
“Why can't you do that instead? You're a professional athlete too.”
“People still hate me, sweetheart. Especially New Yorkers. I'm not going to help you sell any cupcakes to a bunch of 'sewer rats'—remember?”
She stifled a laugh. “But all week, everyone was talking about how you've turned your game around.”
“Sure. But not everyone's convinced just yet. These things take time. Plus, Dave's a hero here in New York. And like I said, he's a vegan! C'mon, can't you see this is a perfect opportunity?”
She went quiet and stared at Dave as he stood on the sidewalk watching traffic go by.
“I still don't like him,” she said sternly.
“I know. And believe me, I'm flattered by that. But I'm telling you. He's a good guy and I really do respect him.”
She sighed. “Well … okay. I trust you. Let's do it.”
I went outside and grabbed Leroux.
“Hey bud. I'm really sorry about that.”
He laughed. “Don't worry about it. My wife's the same way. You should've heard what she had to say about you last week.”
I clapped my hand on his back. “Ha! I can only imagine.”
***
Two hours later.
Camille legs wrapped snugly around my back. With every thrust into her sopping wetness, she squeezed her legs against me and forced me into her deeper.
When I tried to pull back out, she clamped her legs against me, struggling to keep me in her hot, tight grip for just a second more.
But I always overpowered her strength and pulled out anyway.
And then we came together again, our bodies slamming together with the wet, pounding thwack of sweaty flesh; the sound of my hips stapling her to the mattress.
I pumped harder, faster. Her nails dug deep into my back as she let loose with a fury of passionate screams and moans.
“I'm coming, Beau,” she wailed, her voice wavering in orgasmic falsetto. “I'm coming so hard!”
The two of us exploded into a crescendo of grunts and groans as I emptied my balls inside her.
We held each other tight while we tried to catch our breaths.
“Damn,” I panted, still buried deep inside her. “I've been looking forward to that all week.”
“Me too.” Her blissful smile looked so innocent with her flushed cheeks. “Thanks for arranging that favor with Leroux. Sorry I was a jerk about it at first.”
I gave a shrug. “He understands. He's a good guy.”
“It really was sweet of you, Beau. It says that you care.”
“I do care.”
“I know. I'm starting to see that.”
I smiled. “So? Does that mean you trust me now?”
“Trust you for what?”
“Trust me enough to be my girlfriend.”
“Beau!” She slapped at the round meat of my shoulder. “You're serious? After one week you want to make it official?”
“You don't?”
“… Of course I do. I just can't believe it. How much will we even get to see each other? We live in different states! You're so busy, and well, so am I, but …”
“We'll find a way to make it work. I'll fly you out to Colorado as often as you can come. And I'll come visit you here anytime I can.”
“Beau … you make it sound so easy.”
“That's because it is easy. If you want it.”
A calmness set over her. “Okay then: yes. Yes, I'll be your girlfriend.” She paused and smacked her forehead. “Wow, I can't believe I just said those words to Beau Bradford.”
I smiled. “Hey babe. You should be getting used to the thought of me by now.”
As for me?
The thought that Camille was now my girlfriend made me harden like a rock. I swiveled my swollen cock around inside her, just wanting to feel her from the inside.
“I've got one last confession,” she blurted out in a panic.
I ground to a halt, my heart fluttering with a little worry. “What's that?”
She squeezed her eyes shut and admitted it. “It was me. I added you on Facebook.”
“I fucking knew it!” I laughed. “So you knew that all along?”
“No. I forgot—or made myself forget, I dunno. But while you were gone, I searched my e-mail and found the confirmation from Facebook. Five years ago, I added you. The day you were drafted, in fact. And then the memory came back.”
“Tell me,” I said. And slowly, I started thrusting back into her—and she struggled to speak without moaning and gasping for air.
“Well … I was hanging with some friends—ohh!—and, ugh, we watched the draft on TV. We were all talking about what a dick you are … and how glad we were that we wouldn't have to see you—”
I sunk my cock deeper into her, and the words got caught right in her throat. Her whole body quivered on the end of my cock.
“Go on,” I teased.
“Fuck that's good!” she gasped. “But I was secretly sad we wouldn't see each other anymore. You looked so cute in your—ooh!—suit when you got drafted, Beau … I hated it … I hated you. But I couldn't let you go.”
I grinned. “That's a hot story, babe.” With every pump into her, my cock displaced more of the cream I'd unloaded into her earlier—and a trickle of frothy cum dribbled down her ass cheeks and pooled on the bed sheets.
“Fuck, Beau,” she panted. “This—is a bad idea. Bad, bad idea.”
“Since when are we a bad idea?” I asked.
“Since you've got a hockey game to go to, mister,” she panted, pointing at the clock.
But her hips writhed with me, daring me to thrust into her again.
“We better make it quick then, huh?”
I sunk my weight into her wet, velvet grip. Our lips met, and she let out a deep, sexy moan—right into my mouth.
Hell yeah. I'm fuckin' crazy about this girl.