Playing For Keeps (18 page)

Three hours until practice.

“Ryan, you okay?” mumbled Samantha.

He froze at the sound of her voice. He didn’t want her to see him this way. Bent and crippled, unable to tie his own shoelaces. Helpless until his knees cooperated. Would she think him any less of a man? Or stupid for not retiring years ago? What if she used it for a story, for his coaches to see and worse yet, the opposing team? “Yeah, I’m fine. Go back to sleep, it’s stil early.”

“But I’m hungry.”

He leaned over and stroked her cheek. “Whose fault is that?” His stomach growled.

“It takes two, honey.”

Ryan smiled. “Wel , the deli doesn’t open for another hour.”

Samantha grumpily turned over, yanking the covers with her. “Think a girl could get breakfast served in bed.”

“I’m on it.” Ryan looked down at his knees. Just a few more minutes, then he could get up and whip up some eggs. He kind of liked the idea. Hel , he’d serve her breakfast in bed every morning if it meant she spent the night. He stood slowly. He thought it would take a crane to get him off the playing field. Three broken bones, two knee surgeries, and a hundred stitches later, he wondered how much longer he could run onto the footbal field. Most players talk about going out while on top, but how many actual y do it? He would. He had no choice. Ryan battered his body until he had nothing left to give.

He took a detour to the whirlpool, careful y sliding his body into the swirling hot water. To an observer his body looked in top form - shaped and sculpted flesh. He thought the scars from his stitches and surgeries marred him, but he knew from experience that chicks real y did dig scars.

Hunger brought him reluctantly out of the whirlpool. He eased on his sweats. Final y, his muscles were beginning to relax and stretch. Before going to the kitchen he checked on Samantha. At first he panicked when he saw the empty bed, then heard the running water. An erotic picture of Samantha wet and soapy, touching herself, formed in his mind. He grabbed his cock and rubbed at it, trying to ease the ache. But there was only one way to fix that. Breakfast would have to wait. He fol owed the trail of rumpled sheets to the bathroom.

***

Samantha was hesitant to wash away Ryan’s touch, but the spray of the six-head shower eased the soreness in her muscles. It took her a good five minutes to figure out how the futuristic control panel worked.
Men and their toys.

She ran the soap along her body, tracing the trail of kisses Ryan had feathered across her. So many kisses, until he had her pleading, no begging, to take her. Even when he final y did, he took his time. Slow, deep strokes – so different than before. It wasn’t sex; it wasn’t lust. It was that other L word.
Say it, Samantha.
Love.

Despite the hot steam, she shivered as a sudden chil swept through her.

Closing her eyes, she raised the soap to her nose and inhaled deeply. The smel of him, woodsy and male, hung in the air. It brought back the memory of their first kiss. Maybe, she would buy herself a bar, so whenever she used it she would think of him. She turned it around, trying to determine the brand, but the emblem had already been washed away. She could take this one.
Like you would in a hotel.
His place certainly looked like one. Ryan didn’t even have a trophy wal up like many sport stars did, never mind the photos or accessories like a normal person would have.

Why?

The shower door opened abruptly. Startled, she dropped the soap.

“I was right, you do need my help.”

Even though the shower could fit four easily, she backed up as he got in and picked up the soap. “Um…” Having never showered with someone before, Samantha instinctively crossed her arms over her breasts.

“Stop hogging the water,” complained Ryan.

Feeling foolish, she dropped her arms and moved over so he could get wet. And so she could enjoy the view. Catching a peek in the locker room couldn’t compare to this. With the water cascading over his rippling muscles, he looked like a fountain created by Michelangelo.

Then he ruined the effect by sweeping his hand along the top of his head, smattering Samantha with water.

“Thanks a lot,” she sputtered.

“Always thought of you as bath type of girl.”

“I was eyeing your tub, but I don’t have enough time.”

Stil holding the soap, he waved it in the air. “Better get to it then.”

“Get to…oh.”

Ryan’s soapy hands roamed her body freely, like he was the sculptor and she was his creation. “Like the soap?”

He expected her to put together a coherent sentence? To talk? “Smel s. Good,” she stuttered.

“I’m glad you like it.” His slippery hands began to concentrate on her breasts.

“What’s it cal ed?”
Oh man, she was going to have the cleanest breasts on the planet.

“Prey, it’s from my line of men’s product.”

Prey?
Adeptly named. Not only ensnared in his trap, she wasn’t even thinking about escaping. “I didn’t know that,” she choked out.

“There’s lots of things you don’t know about me,” he whispered. After placing the soap on the ledge, he gently turned her towards the spray. “Like how good I am at water sports.”

Ryan kissed and lightly bit her neck. One hand tugged at her nipple, while the other took her hand in his, and traced along the curve of her hip, across the navel, and down. He used two of her fingers to separate the folds of her sex so the pulsating water hit her sensitive nub. Her orgasm rippled through her slowly at first, then he spread her fingers wider, and a tidal wave shook her body as he held her safely in his arms.

Taking the soap from the ledge he held out her hand and dropped it onto her palm. “My turn.”

She blinked. He expected her to stand on her own? To wash him? She worked up a lather and began massaging his back. Her fingers dug into his muscles, bending them to her wil . He groaned as she reached his rear, lightly racing a finger along the divide. She kneaded his tight butt, giving it the same attention he spent on her breasts. She reluctantly moved onto his legs, massaging his upper thighs, feeling him tense as she missed touching his erection. Done with his backside, she inflicted a sharp smack on his butt. “Turn around.”

“Ow! Samantha!”

“Turn around or you’l get another.”

“Maybe, I want another.” He looked over his shoulder with a devilish grin.

She laughed and smacked him again. “I don’t have al day.”

He faced her and placed his hands on her hips, pressing her closer to his hard-on. “Hmm, that didn’t seem to be the case when you were washing my ass.”

“That’s because its sooooo big!”

“Hey, this ass was voted the cutest butt in the NFL, by femalefan.com.”

“Wow, did you get a trophy?” she asked sarcastical y.

“Not even a certificate.”

She lathered up his chest and then fol owed the trail of dripping suds down to his abs. The foaming soap gathered at his manhood, which she took into her hand. Staring mischievously into his eyes, she said, “Now this is…”

“You better not say cute,” he growled.

“Massive.” She stroked his hardness. The burning look in his eyes emboldened her. She stroked again. “Majestic.” And then again.

“Magnificent.”

“Samantha,” he gasped. His hands gripped her hips tightly, his head coming to rest on her shoulders.

She reveled in her power to make him go weak. With each word and caress he jerked forward. As a writer she was armed with an extensive vocabulary so the torture went on and on. He began to shake as she tightened her grip and increased the pace. His head became heavy on her shoulder and she didn’t know if she could support his weight. Then, he picked her up roughly. Her hot body shivered as he pushed her against the cool tiles and entered her.

His loud groan echoed off the wal s of the shower. “You’re a naughty girl, Samantha.”

She opened her eyes and looked down at where their bodies joined. Soapy and wet, her body hummed with expectation. She inched him in deeper as her gaze met his. “Only for you.”

He pul ed at her hair. “Damn, straight, only me.” He sucked on her neck as he began to thrust in and out. Hard. Deep. Fast.
Yes!
She knew Ryan had lost al control and she reveled in it.

“Only me,” he growled out before they both shouted out their release in unison.

This time it wasn’t about lovemaking; it was pure lust. Lucky was the girl who could have both.

He sat down, pul ing her onto his lap. He twined his arms around her as the water continued to pulse down on them.

Samantha relaxed into him. As the haze lifted, she realized they had used no protection. She began to panic. Ryan nuzzled her neck and whispered into her ear. “Move in.”

***

Did he say that out loud? From the way Samantha froze in his arms, he must have.
Real smooth, Ryan.
She struggled to stand. He dropped his hands to the side before he pul ed her back down. He bit his lip while she showered off. Kept his cool as she got out without a word or a backwards glance.

He let the water pound down on him for a minute. Being ignored didn’t sit wel , but it was obvious she needed to mul it over. Of course, he couldn’t let her have too much time. Samantha had a tendency to over analyze, conjuring up worse case scenarios. He stood.
Yeah, can’t let her
have too much time to think.
Ryan grabbed a towel from the shelf and wrapped it around his waist.

After wiping away the steam on the mirror with a sweep of his hand, he took a long hard look at himself. He rubbed his fingers across the stubble on his chin. God, he needed a shave. Or maybe he needed a new face.
Man, I’m getting old.
Where was the young rookie that used to gaze back at him? Not that he’d trade places with him. That kid didn’t know shit.

But did Samantha stil see him as a dumb jock? Is that why she acted like she didn’t hear him? No, not like she didn’t hear him. It was more like she didn’t know how to let him down easy. Maybe she’d been slumming it. Pet the big dumb jock.

Now he was the one coming up with worse case scenarios.

He strode into the bedroom with the towel low on his hips and another wrapped around his neck. Samantha was already dressed, sitting on his bed. She wore the same brown jeans as yesterday, but opted for one his buttoned down striped shirts in yel ow, which picked up the gold in her light brown eyes. Those same eyes stared at the v of his abdomen, right where the towel stopped and his bare skin started. Then her gaze met his.

She swal owed hard and he hoped it was because of what was under the towel and not because she couldn’t get out the words, ‘it’s over’.

She pul ed at the shirt. “I hope you don’t mind. Mine’s a bit, wel …and I don’t like leaving in the same clothes. Seems kind of trampy.”

“Is that how I make you feel?” He’d feel like crap if it did.

“No!”

He sat down next to her. “Look, forget I asked.”

She leaped off the bed as if he set fire to it. “It’s too fast. Only two weeks since we’ve seen each other again.” She paced the floor. “Only a month since I’ve been back from Iraq.”

“I understand.”

She stopped and faced him. “Do you?”

He took the towel from around his neck and threw it into the corner. “Yeah, I get it. It was stupid of me to ask that of you.”

“It’s not stupid. It’s sweet.”

“No, it was selfish.” He reached out for her, taking her delicate hands in his. Unspoken words of love nearly choked him. If he thought it would make a difference, he’d tel her. But she wasn’t ready to hear it.
Face it; I’m not ready to say it.
He didn’t even mean to say ‘move in’. It popped out of nowhere. Wel , not from nowhere, sitting there in the shower with her wrapped up in his arms, he felt truly happy, completely at peace, and he wanted the moment to last forever. But she had issues that were deeper than the reporter and the athlete. He turned her palms up and ran his forefinger along the lines. He wished he could read those lines and know what her future held - if he was in it.

Samantha took her hand and cupped his chin, lifting it so he could meet her eyes. “I’m sorry I freaked out.”

“Just don’t shut down on me.”

She tried to pul away, but he placed his hand over hers. “See, you’re doing it again.”

“I…”

“You don’t have to run from me. Talk to me, Samantha. About Iraq. Trust me.”

“I…”

Ryan waited patiently, watching her mind at work, going through each angle, then discarding it, and moving onto the next. Her cel ’s ring-tone fil ed the air and she turned towards the sound. Feeling defeated, he released her and she ran to answer it. Or to run away from him. She walked into the bathroom as she flipped the phone open.

He got up, grabbed some clothes, and mindlessly put them on. Man, he was tired. He contemplated skipping practice. As Samantha emerged from the bathroom, he could tel something was wrong. “What’s the matter?”

“Hannah broke up with Jake. She’s crying…I gotta go.”

“Sure, we okay?”

“Yup. But you owe me breakfast.” She pointed a finger at him.

“Any time. Samantha?”

She looked up at him.

“If Hannah broke up with Jake, then why is she crying?”

***

Samantha wondered the same thing as she raced back to the apartment they shared, which kept her from dwel ing on Ryan’s move in proposal.

She found Hannah sprawled out on her bed. A box of tissues sat on her chest. “Thank God you’re here.”

Samantha sat down on the bed and reached for Hannah’s hand. “What happened?”

“God made men jerks,” she cried.

Worry gripped her. Hannah was known for her theatrics, but this seemed different, like the real thing. “Hannah, tel me what happened.”

“I got a huge offer from Playboy,” she sniffed. “The cover.” She blew her nose. “I was on top of the world until Jake made me feel like I belonged in the gutter instead.”

Samantha slouched in relief. Hannah and Jake could work this out. “What did he say, exactly?”

“That only wanna-bees and has-beens do Playboy. That I was too good for that.”