The Not-Outcast

He told me all about a certain one-nighter he had that he wished could’ve been a whole one-monther, but he wouldn’t go into specifics about why she couldn’t have her ‘deadline’ extended. That was his thing. He gave his girls ‘deadlines’ about how long he’d stay with them. They never knew, but I did.

I never wanted to know.

He just whined about her, a lot, and complained about all the fun he could’ve had with the wannabe-Russian. He said she had no accent back then, so that was new. I was tempted to text him, let him know his one-nighter was back if he wanted another go? Whatever reasons had to have expired by now since we’re what? Four years after college? Hell. Longer. He said he bagged her our freshman year, but since that was the only time he and I were at Silvard together, I never thought to ask him about an update on his Russian one-nighter.

Me, because I obviously got drafted the next year to Kansas City. And him, because he followed me and attended Kansas University, going into their business program. He was a club promoter now, which was perfect for him since my boy liked to party. A lot.

Her hand started rubbing up and down over my bicep.

Totally texting my boy.

I was pulling my phone out when another person hit our group, stopping and smiling at the Not-Russian chick, holding his drink and taking a sip. “Well, hello there.”

Franklin. He was first line with me, and his eyes shifted to mine, knowing I wasn’t going to be tapping this ass. My tastes ran more toward girls who wouldn’t be likely to try to knife me after the condom was pulled off. I avoided the crazy at all costs.

I grinned back and nodded just the slightest, giving him my go-ahead.

His grin turned into a smile and he shifted, putting his drink on the bar between us, insinuating himself more between her and me.

I moved back, just fine with this turn of events.

Cut: Your Russian ass from Silvard is here.

Chad: Where?

I sent him the address and put my phone away. If he didn’t believe me, he’d still come. Chad didn’t turn down any event. It was perfect networking for him, especially at these events. A lot of high-rollers were here who enjoyed being photographed with the players. This one was more off-the-books, so the liquor had loosened most everyone up, including myself. I had a two-drink rule, but we kicked ass at our pre-season games, so I was feeling the celebrations tonight.

“What’s your name?” That was Franklin, doing his thing.

“I’m Sasha.”

I could hear that she was pissed. She knew she got handed off.

I moved farther back, taking my drink with me.

“What’s going on over there?”

Hendrix moved to the bar beside me, nodding to Franklin.

I turned, my back going to the room. “Frank’s doing his thing.”

“Thought you were taking her number.”

“Nah. I know her from college.”

“What?”

I grinned at him, signaling the bartender for another fill. “She hooked up with my boy.”

“Is he coming?”

Hendrix and Franklin both started the team with me, so they knew Chad well. Unless you were brand new to the team, which was only two guys this year, they all knew my best friend. I was usually more disciplined with partying, meaning that I might attend parties, but I didn’t partake in the activities that much. Chad was the opposite. He partook—and partook a lot. He made up for me missing three more years of college frat parties, and that was fine with me. I’d cut loose at the house if I was feeling it, but generally during the season (which was long and brutal) I stuck close to my workout and eating regimen.

“She came in with two other chicks.”

“What?”

“She came in with others.” He moved to scan the room.

I took note of the interest in his tone. “They’re hot?”

He didn’t answer. He was still scanning.

Yeah. They were definitely hot.

Then, he said, “Everyone noticed, dude. You would’ve, too, if you hadn’t been bagging off those two society girls before that one saw you.”

I grinned. He wasn’t wrong.

It came with the job. Sometimes I enjoyed it. Other times I didn’t. Most times I tried to avoid it, but since Hendrix was making a point of mentioning them, I turned, too.

“There’s one.” He pointed with his drink. “Black hair.”

I saw her, and I watched as she was moving in on Cassie, one of our physical therapy staff.

Hendrix realized it the same time I did. He straightened. “Damn.”

I started laughing. “You’d have more luck moving on Cassie, I think.”

Cassie was bisexual, so I wasn’t wrong in my statement, but Cassie had made it known she wasn’t interested in anyone on the team, or anyone in the whole organization. She lived by the mantra, ‘don’t shit where you work.’

Hendrix groaned. “Where’s the other one? She was hot, too.” A second later, another groan. “Damn. She’s worked all up in that guy. Who is he?”

I was looking. I wasn’t seeing anyone. “You need to be more specific. Who am I looking—” I was looking, scanning, and bam. I saw her.

Hol—holy fuck.

Like, seriously holy fuck.

It was like I was being slammed into the glass by five guys all at once, and they were giving me enough space as they were moving off of me. When suddenly, the rest of their team, one by one, all started checking me. Bam. Bam. Bam!

That’s how it felt, because ho-lee fuuuuck.

This girl was seriously hot. Not like hot hot. She was hawt hot.

Long legs that you could tell were toned and shaped under whatever the fuck kind of skirt that was, and her top—I had to take a second to compose myself. I stopped breathing for a minute. I had no clue what kind of twisted top she was wearing, but all I knew was that it was black leather and it wrapped around her torso in a way that caused my dick to weep. I wanted to be that fucking leather. I wanted to peel it off her, and watch her spin around as I uncovered each layer, and discover whatever secret shit she was wearing underneath. A bodysuit? A thong? Nothing? I wanted to see her nipples. I wanted to sink three fingers inside of her as my hello, then push her back against the wall and drop my mouth over hers. That’s exactly how I wanted to introduce myself to her. Then maybe I’d tell her my name before asking hers.

Guy.

Hendrix said she was talking to a guy.

What fucking guy?

I was already growling, wanting to tear his head off, whoever it was.

“Dude.”

That was Hendrix again, and his voice sounded like it was coming from a distance.

A part of my brain finally clicked in. I knew he was still beside me, but I was in the middle of having a reaction like one I’d never had before in my entire life. This was me and I wasn’t giving a damn.

That girl was mine. Everyone else just needed to learn it. And fast.

I was normally a very chill guy.

I came from good parents. My dad was a rare breed—smart with money, but also not an asshole at home. Good father. Good husband. My mom was and still is a stay-at-home parent and crazy supportive. She ran an Etsy shop—one that she didn’t like to let anyone know about, and she was super low-maintenance. Liked to joke with us, share a beer and watch a football game. My two little brothers were the same. I mean, they had attitudes. What teenager didn’t? They were both good athletes, good-looking, and they got their fair share of party invites and DMs from girls their age, sometimes older.