Fallacy (Apprehensive Duet Book 1) (3 page)

Alex

“YOUR ASS IS mine for the next two weeks,” I call out to Heller as he makes his way to the bathroom at the back of the plane.

He stops and gives me a wide-eyed look. “What? Why?”

“You’re still favoring your kicking leg. I thought we worked that quad out three weeks ago. You’re not going to make anything longer than thirty yards with those pussy ass kicks you were putting up today,” I say, looking up from my cards to make sure he knows I’m not kidding. I spent three weeks working out his tight quad during pre-season. He told me he’s been feeling great, but it’s clear he's not. He lied!

“I … I didn’t notice,” he stutters.

The entire roster knows not to lie to your trainers. We’re only here to help them. We can’t help them properly if they aren’t completely honest. It’s a pet peeve of mine. But unfortunately for him, there isn’t much I miss. And I didn’t miss the way his leg wasn’t getting a full extension while kicking today. He’s getting worse not better. Sometimes the whole game relies on his leg, and it needs to be in the best possible condition, or he doesn’t belong on the field.

“Bullshit,” I scoff. “And, I’m going to make you pay for withholding. You know the rule.”

“You're cold, man,” Booker, another player, interrupts. “Cut the kid a break, he didn’t miss any today.”

Heller takes the opportunity given and jogs to the bathroom, probably eager to get the hell away from me.

“I got nothing,” Mullins, one of our inside linebackers, says throwing his cards down. “I think you need to get laid,” he adds as he sits back in his seat, now out of this hand.

“You assholes better hope you don’t go down injured anytime soon,” I caution throwing my hand down having nothing but a pair of twos. These guys ante up more than I can afford for a low pair.

“Didn’t you leave the bar the other night with the hot number who cornered you by the bathroom,” Tanner, my best friend and the team’s starting quarterback, asks as he throws a hundred down, raising the pot.

“I did,” I nod.

“So if you just got some pussy this week, what’s with the stick up your ass?” Booker asks before matching Tanner’s bet.

“I don’t have a stick up my ass. You all know the rules about being honest about your injuries,” I defend myself.

“I think it’s ED. Not being able to get it up can make a guy a real asshole,” Darren, our rookie wide receiver, laughs throwing in his two cents. “You’re not as young as you used to be.”

“I’m twenty-seven, dickhead,” I say flipping him off. “I’m not old. And my dick works just fine. Want me to show you for confirmation?”

“Nah, because then I’d have to show you what a real dick looks like, and I don’t need the two hot flight attendants passing out. I want to try and bring them home tonight. Don’t want to frighten them with the monster too early,” he responds, everyone laughing.

“Please, no,” Mullins groans. “We’ve all seen your junk, man. We don’t need to see it again. That shit ain’t normal.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Darren chimes in again. “Your dick too little to work the middle?”

“For fuck’s sake, there’s nothing wrong with my cock. It’s just been awful lately,” I confess knowing they aren’t going to stop until I say something. “I honestly didn’t think it was possible to have bad sex. I thought it was a myth. I mean, how can sex be bad?”

“I guess it could be bad. But I would think you have to work really hard to have bad sex,” Tanner says with a chuckle as he flags down the flight attendant and asks for a round of beers. We’re on our way home from an away game in Oakland, and we’ve got four more hours to kill.

“I don’t know what the deal is, but it’s been bad for the last month, even the road groupies have been meh. I don’t know if ‘bad’s’ the right word. I mean, it's sex. Sex feels good, but lately, it’s just been blah,” I try to explain. Normally, I’m not the type of guy to talk about my sexual exploits with my friends, but I know something is off. I need some help figuring out what the hell is going on with my dick.

“And before you ask again, no, I don’t have a problem getting my big dick hard,” I say pointedly at Darren knowing he was just about to make another dick joke. “I don’t know how to explain it without sounding like a bitch,” I sigh before taking the new beer Candi hands me.
Candi, really?
Her name alone suggests she only took this job hoping to fuck a football player or some other high-class person who charters these private planes.

“Try us,” Booker says, entertaining the idea of me spilling my guts to them and sounding like a pussy. He probably wants to hear this so he can save this info to use as blackmail at some later date. “Full house,” he calls out laying his hand down.

“Fuck you,” Tanner chuckles laying down his three eights.

“Thank you.” Booker smiles, dragging the pile of money toward him. “So…?” he prods.

“All the technical points are there—the hard dick, the hot chick, the wet pussy. I bust a nut, but I don’t feel satisfied.”
Fuck!
I sound like a whiny bitch even to myself.

“Unsatisfied as in you’re ready to go again, but she’s not? Unsatisfied as in you wanna add something to the mix? Unsatisfied how?” Mullins asks sounding like he genuinely wants to help me get to the root of my problem.

“Unsatisfied as in I’m tired of doing the same kind of chicks. It’s not hard to pick a woman up in the club, bar, or even a groupie who will be just as happy to fuck the trainer. They’re everywhere. I’m kind of tired of the easy lays. The girls who just spread their legs and let you do whatever you want. I've had enough of the exaggerated porn moans and chicks doing what they think I want them to do. I want a woman who has no problem telling me ‘this is how it’s going to be.' The empty lays have lost their appeal.” I was able to explain it much better than I thought. That’s my problem; the ass has become too easy and the fucks boring and uneventful.

“I get what you mean. If we had this conversation a month ago, I wouldn’t have the slightest idea what the fuck you’re rambling about, but after meeting Ashley, I understand. But I don’t understand where this is coming from. It’s been a long time since you had a connection with anyone you’ve slept with.” Tanner says, raising his eyebrows as if he’s expecting me to make some crazy revelation.

Shaking my head, I tell him, “I haven’t actually. It’s just a feeling I’ve been getting, you know? Something’s missing.”

“Well, when’s the last time you felt good after sex?” Booker asks, turning in his seat to face me. He leans his elbows on his knees like he’s a therapist about to talk me through some big life epiphany.

“There was your girl’s friend,” I say to Tanner. “Man, she was something else.” I take a moment to relive that night in my head. Quinn was Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s all rolled into one. Just thinking about the way she opened herself up for me makes my dick twitch.

“Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner,” Mullins says with a shit-eating grin on his face.

I feel my face scrunching in question before I even ask, “Winner for what?”

“That chick’s your problem,” he answers with a smug smirk before bringing his beer back to his mouth.

“Quinn’s my problem?” I repeat not understanding what he’s saying.

“Dude, after you mentioned her, you went dark for like five minutes. You were thinking about the sex. Your face said it all. She’s your problem. You said sex has sucked for a few weeks, right?” Mullins asks as he shifts back to a reclining position in his seat.

I nod my head and wait for him to go on.

“Well, you hooked up with her a few weeks ago, dipshit. The night we all went to the club in the city, right? Have you had decent sex since then?”

I think back racking my brain for a time I enjoyed banging a chick since her, and before I even realize I’m doing it, I’m shaking my head. “No.”

“She must have a magical pussy if she fucked up your game in one night,” Darren says, grinning at me with an ear to ear smile. These assholes are enjoying this way too much.

Having the sudden need to defend myself, I tell him, “It was one night and one morning if you must know.”

“You got a morning out of her?” Tanner asks, apparently surprised.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, from everything Ash has told me about her, she’s the one and done type. She doesn’t like to get attached to people. She’s every playboy’s dream.”

“It’s not like she spent the night or anything. We went a few rounds. I think she may have slept for about an hour before heading out,” I say so he doesn’t try to make something out of nothing.

I give some thought to what Mullins said. Things haven’t been the same since I spent that long night with Quinn. I haven’t thought about it too much since then. I mean, I thought about it for a few days after; it’s par for the course when you find a woman who’s good in bed. I’m surprised I wasn’t able to put it all together for myself.

“Maybe I just need another night with her to flush it out of my system?” I ask, thinking out loud.

“I don’t know if it would help you or make things worse,” Booker says. “Besides, Tanner just told you his girl said she’s not the type of girl to do repeats.”

“Maybe she hasn’t met anyone worth repeating?” I counter. It’s a solid argument. Some people are set in their ways until they find someone to make them question those ways.

“Well, if she thought you were worth repeating, why hasn’t she called?” Darren debates.

“We never exchanged numbers,” I sigh. I didn’t give much thought to the fact she didn’t leave her number. I figured she was just out for a simple one-night stand. Not that she was a serial one-nighter. Although, it could explain her lack of inhibitions. She didn’t care because she didn’t have any intention of seeing me again.

A look of mischief takes over Tanner’s face before he says, “Well, we could test your theory this weekend.”

“Huh?” I grunt, not following his line of thought.

“I’m spending the weekend with Ashley going to a few places she has to cover for work. I’m sure I can get her to bring Quinn along, and the four of us can hang together. Give you some time to try and see if you can get her to let you have another go.” He waggles his eyebrows up and down like an immature tenth grader.

“You may be a tool,” I say. “But you’re a tool with genius ideas.”

Quinn

I SWEAR THE next relative who asks me, “When are you going to find a husband?” might wind up with a salad fork in their eye. Why are all bridal showers a fishing expedition to see who’s going to get married next? I usually find a way to get out of going to these things, but Kami is my favorite cousin on my mother’s side, so I made an exception today. Not that I condone her relationship any more than any other one. Her fiancé is an asshat too. I saw him sneaking into the bathroom with one of the servers at the family Christmas party last year.

Why do people think the only goal a woman should have in life is to find a husband? I have my goals and aspirations, none of which include finding a man to help me achieve them.

I have a company to take over. It’s known I’ll head my father’s venture capital firm one day. Except the douchebag decided a few years ago, he was going to make me work for it. I have to rise up like everyone else. He’s not handing me anything. Punishment for my hatred of him. But I can take it. I’ll beat him no problem. I won't let him, or anyone, hold me down.

Which is why I don’t get the point of the song and dance of marriage. You spend a small fortune to get married. There’s the engagement party, bridal shower, ceremony, and reception. Hundreds of thousands of dollars spent to celebrate something that ends up being an illusion for most people.

As far as I’ve seen, there’s no such thing as happily married. At least one person’s never truly happy. Someone’s being held back. One person is always changing to make the other happy. One person is always wondering if the grass is greener on the other side, or mostly if sex is better elsewhere. And because no one understands the definition of the words “commitment” or “faithfulness,” in the end they always decide to find out how the other half is living. Then they, again, spend hundreds of thousands of dollars for a divorce. And don’t forget there’s betrayal and humiliation for one of the parties.
Yeah, fuck that.

I wonder if Kami will regret this fanfare when she finally sees the true colors of the man she’s marrying. Will she think the ridiculous three-foot-tall flower centerpieces were a waste of money? Will she see how stupid the wine bottles with labels professing their love were? As if putting it on a wine bottle makes it indestructible. How do you look at the people who fill this room—wishing you a long, happy life together—when you’re miserable? When you put a smile on your face anyway, pretending? Yeah, ask me again if I want to get married.

I inwardly groan as I see my mother approaching with my grandmother in tow. Her blue dress pristine. Not a blonde hair astray in her French twist. I can sense the attack coming a mile away. Mother knows I have no qualms telling her to mind her own fucking business when it comes to my personal life, but she also knows I won’t get nasty with Gram. She’s going to use her to get the inside scoop. It’s hard to get mad at a seventy-seven-year-old woman who gets a pass at being polite because she’s old. If I’m honest, I’m jealous of her.