Rushed: A Second Chance Sports Romance (12 page)

“What's that?”

“Take me home, and I'll show you.”

T
here's
none of the rushing or tearing at each other like the first time Tyler and I had sex. It isn't that the desire isn't there, it's there more strongly than ever. But there's a certain sense of comfortable anticipation, like savoring a meal at a Michelin star restaurant. You want to tear through it with a gusto, but you know the experience is better if you take your time, draw it out and savor each moment.

So instead of rushing from the elevator to the front door, we walk slowly, hand in hand to the front door, pausing at the door to allow Tyler to take out his keys.

He quietly unlocks the door, and scoops me up in his arms, carrying me like a feather through the apartment. “I've been wanting to do this for days now,” he rumbles, his blue eyes flaring with desire. “You have no idea.”

“I do. Trust me, I do,” I reply, wrapping my arms around his neck for balance.

We reach the bedroom and he carries me across, laying me on the sheets. “We're taking our time, and I don't want there to be
any
regrets between us.”

Before he can reach for me, I sit up, putting my hands on his stomach. “Then let me get rid of a regret I've had for a while now.”

Tyler nods just a few inches, knowing what I want as I get to my knees on the bed in front of him. Reaching down, I cup his cock through his jeans and rub slowly, humming in pleasure as he grows hard under my hand. “I still haven’t returned the favor.”

Tyler nods slowly again, enchanted as I unsnap his jeans and pull the zipper down, his cock bulging against his shorts. I have to laugh when I see that he's wearing the electric pink boxer briefs that I'd teased him about before. “Lucky game undies?”

“Something like that,” he says as I pull them down, and his cock emerges. He's so big that despite him being iron hard and even twitching with his pulse, it still droops down, and I'm caught off guard again. I hesitate reaching out, shocked at how warm he is, almost burning, but in a way that warms the fire inside of me even more. I start to slowly pump him, pulling back on the skin around the head and down his shaft, looking up as I stroke him tenderly.

“You're ruining me for other men, you know that?” I whisper as I pump his shaft with my hand. Tyler groans as I speed up slightly, enjoying the feeling of having this strong, powerful, sexy man literally in the palm of my hand.

Tyler moans, and I push his t-shirt up with my free hand until he takes it the rest of the way off, exposing his ripped upper body to me. I scoot closer, kissing the swells of muscle on his chest and finding his nipples, giggling when his moans increase as I lick around one nipple.

“Mmm, I like your sensitive side,” I murmur as I kiss higher, until I'm pressed against him, nuzzling and sucking on the skin around his throat. Tyler's hands stroke my hair and back, but he's letting me have total control, knowing that at this moment, that's just as important as his touch.

I kiss my way back down his body until his cock his directly in front of my face, and look up in his eyes while I reach out with my tongue and run it around the tip of his cock. Teasingly, I wrap my lips around the head and slide him into my mouth, the thrill of my control as heady and powerful as sex itself as I take inch after inch inside me. Tyler's hand comes to rest on my hair and I stop, slowly shaking my head side to side, and he pulls back, understanding. I'm the one to control him right now.

I pull back, letting his head pop free of my lips with a smack and a grin. He pushes his pants the rest of the way down and gets on the bed. While he's doing that I push my shorts and panties down, and pull my green shirt off, which I'd bought just yesterday to make sure I got the exact shade of Western Kelly green until my little surprise for next week gets here. Finding Kelly green lingerie is more difficult than you'd think.

I look over and see Tyler lying on the bed, his arms at his side and his eyes gleaming in the overhead light, a small smile on his lips as I move over his face and lower myself slowly toward him. I reach out and take his cock in my hand again and lean forward to lick his cock from base to top and then suck him in deeply just as his tongue finds me, and sparks jump through my body, electrifying every inch of me.

I suck Tyler up and down, deeply pulling him inside me even as his tongue teases and traces my labia, tearing me in half between wanting to push back into his face and wanting to please him. Caught in between, I force myself to do what I wanted, which is to worship him, to show him how special he is and how much I have come to think of him. I can't even say the word to myself yet, but it's burning on the edge of my thoughts the whole time as I suck him in and out, my tongue swirling around his shaft and tip each time.

Tyler's extra height allows him to keep licking me even as I speed up, both of us not pushing the pace but just going with what’s natural, beautiful and harmonious. We're rising, pushing each other as we go higher and higher, and I reach around, grabbing his hips and ass even as he grabs mine, burying my face on his cock all the way until my nose is pressed against the crinkly hairs at his base and the head pushes against my throat, wanting to gag me but I won't allow it. I caress him with my lips and mouth, drawing him in faster and faster.

I nearly lose control when his tongue finds my clit and starts flicking over it, each feather light lick blasting through my body in rapid, machine gun bursts of pure pleasure. I'm being driven toward my orgasm, and I want to bring Tyler to the brink first.

We're moaning, groaning into each other as we get caught up, Tyler's cock sliding in and out of my mouth faster and faster while he licks me, both of us not holding back anymore, greed and serving mixing together until I'm trembling on the edge, one lick away. I feel Tyler swell in my mouth and he groans, exploding deep into my mouth even as his tongue strokes me one more time, and I'm coming, moaning as I feel like I’m floating on a cloud.

“April . . .” Tyler cries out, and I suck him harder, wanting every precious drop. “Oh God . . . April . . .”

His cock slides out and I lick him lovingly before carefully dismounting his face and head toward the bathroom.

I do a quick little cleanup, and lay down beside his exhausted body. We look in each other's eyes for a long time, saying nothing, there's no need for words.

Finally, Tyler breaks the silence. “Will you stay the night in here with me?”

I nod and snuggle in beside him, laying my right leg over top of his thigh, not even needing to say my answer.

* * *

M
y phone rings
, and I stop in my tracks. It's the special tone I programmed in that means it's from the hospital. It’s Saturday night, and if they’re calling, it can’t be good.

“Hello, this is April Gray.”

“Miss Gray, it's Doctor Valkenburgh. There's been another incident.”

“Oh no, what happened?”

“Your father . . . he was trying to help your mother when he stumbled and fell. He hit his head on the wall, and he's had a major setback.”

“Is he all right?”

“No . . . he's slipped into a coma. To be honest Miss Gray, we're not sure if he's going to come out of it with full use of his limbs, he convulsed after falling. Your mother is scared, and as you know, many Alzheimer's patients are difficult when they get frightened.”

“I understand. I . . . I can be there in three hours.” Actually, I can get there faster, once I hit the sticks outside Hamilton, but I'll be peeling the paint off the road to do so, and the RCMP isn't that nice about speeders in that area.

“That would be most helpful. Miss Gray . . . please, don't worry. Your father is in stable condition, and your mother is under mild sedation. But your being here would be helpful for her, and him if he comes out of it quickly.”

“Three hours. Thank you, Doctor.”

I hang up the phone to see Tyler coming in with fresh clothes for me. “I can drive you.”

I shake my head and get off the bed, putting my hand on his forearm. “I appreciate the offer, but I can't accept. This…”

My stress breaks me down and I fall quiet, tears falling down my cheeks as he holds me, comforting me. There's no sobbing this time, just sad acceptance that this may be one of the last times I can see my father alive. “If you need me, I'll be there. I can tell the team about it.”

I shake my head, sniffling and wiping at my nose. “No, you can't. I've already used all my sick days with the team. I'll go down and be back tomorrow night. Tyler, I said you shouldn't go because of Mom, that's all. If she's agitated, strangers can make her more nervous. I'd rather introduce you to my parents when she's maybe going to be able to recognize me and be able to understand what I'm saying.”

Tyler looks me in the eyes and nods. “Fine . . . but you stay as long as you want. If the team asks, or if Mr. Larroquette calls, tell him I'm being a prima donna asshole who's sending you on day long errands or something.”

“You want me to lie to my boss?” I ask with a smirk, and Tyler shakes his head. He goes over to his jeans and bends over, picking them up and taking out his wallet, fishing out a five-dollar bill. He comes back and puts it in my hand, and I raise my eyebrow. “What's this for?”

“Where's the hospital?” Tyler asks instead of answering. “This is important.”

“It's on the east side of London,” I say, wanting to say more . . . but now isn't the time.

“London, huh?” Tyler says with a hint of recognition, and he smiles wistfully. “I knew someone from London once . . . anyway, fine. You officially have an errand from me. I hear that the Tim Horton's in London has the best coffee in all of Ontario, and I'm ordering you to go and get me a cup, to be delivered, well, whenever you get back.”

I give him a quick hug, and he holds me close, lifting me into the air. “Thank you . . .”

“Go. Take care of your parents, and I'll keep the fort here.”

Tyler sets me down, and I get dressed quickly, and by the time I'm finished, he’s got my backpack ready to go and has a reheated thermos of coffee ready for me too. “I put two changes of undies in your bag,” he said, handing it to me. “Just in case.”

I nod and look at him, and I can see that he wants to come with me, but he's respecting my request. “Tyler . . . there's so much more we need to talk about. Another time though.”

He gives me a supporting smile. “For now, go take care of your father and mother. Go, and drive safely.”

I nod and go to the door, opening it. I step through, when Tyler calls to me again. “April?”

“Yeah?” I ask, hope flaring inside me as I see the words trembling on the edge of his lips, the same words that have been running through my head since he hugged me after the phone call.

“I . . . give me a call when you get there. I just want to make sure you're safe.”

I smile, and nod. “I will. Thanks again, Tyler.”

“Be safe.”

“
G
ood evening
, and welcome everyone to Football Canada Today, your number one rated program on all things football. I'm Trisha James, and with me as always are my co-hosts Owen Steen and Mick Wilson. Guys, we've got a great show lined up today!”

I'm just off the set, fiddling with my tie, and wishing that the Fighters didn't have a policy that all non-game day interviews had to be conducted in a suit and tie. It's not that I can't wear a suit, but that doesn't mean I like it. Especially since I'm wearing makeup, am going to be under blazing studio lights, and it's already seven at night. I want to be home and relaxing before tomorrow's game. It's our last home game for a month, with a bye week in the middle, and I’d like to just get some sleep.

“Okay, so remember, we avoid any talk about the injuries on the defense,” Mr. Larroquette, who's accompanying me on this visit, says. I'd rather have April with me, but I sent her on another
errand
, this time to get me some goose sausage from a specialty butcher's in the city. She left this morning, and if traffic is good, she might get back in time for the end of the interview, and we can go home together. If not, she'll meet me at home. “Any questions outside your own play, keep to the prepared answers.”

“I've got this, Mr. L,” I reply, giving him a smirk. He hates when I call him that, but sometimes I just can't help it. “Remember, I've done interviews before. I'm cool.”

“Still, just be careful. Trisha especially, she's gotten more than one player to open up too damn much with that smile and cleavage combo.”

I have to admit, Trisha James is certainly a beautiful woman. Long blond hair, a body that looks like it should belong on a stripper more than a sportscaster, I could see why she's been voted Canada's favorite female sportscaster for three years in a row. She's the sort of woman who probably has creepy YouTube channels in her honor.

“Like I said Mr. Larroquette, it's cool. She's got nothing I'm interested in.” The GM looks at me like I'm crazy, but I'm not lying. Since her first trip back from visiting her parents on the outskirts of London, April and I have grown closer and closer every day. I'm becoming positively domestic, looking forward to a night at home with her more than going out or doing something more akin to what I did in my spare time in college. The only thing that April and I haven't done is say the l-word, but I can feel it coming. Hell, I took the time to learn how to do some cooking, that's gotta say something, right? Even if it is just making Hamburger Helper.

“Just be careful,” Mr. Larroquette says, stepping off the stage as the program cuts to commercial and Trisha comes over to our mini-set. Bending over, she displays even more cleavage, and I'm certain those things are surgically enhanced somehow, there's just no way they can't be.

“Hi Tyler, I'm glad you're taking the time to talk,” Trisha greets me, offering her hand. “And without a handler, even.”

“The GM is still here,” I say, motioning beyond the lights that have come up and temporarily blinded me. I blink, knowing that it'll come around in a minute, but I'm dazzled, and can't see anything beyond a few black outlines against the darker black of the deeper backstage. “I'm sure if I get too out of hand he'll whack me with something.”

“Well, I'll try not to make it too rough,” she says. “Let's have some fun.”

I’m starting to think this is part of her game. She's trying to get a little bit of leverage to ask some tough questions.

“Trisha? We're back in ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .”

“Just relax and we'll enjoy ourselves,” Trisha says as the producer continues counting down. Her eyes sparkle, and I'm certain. She either wants me, or she’s about to try exactly what Coach warned me about.

“Two . . . one . . . and we're on!”

Trisha's smile to the camera is picture perfect and probably has half a million men rubbing their crotches at home with it's innocent naughtiness, and I try not to roll my eyes. “We're back Canada, and with us now is the rookie who's lighting up the scoreboards like he's Father Christmas with a tree, Tyler Paulson. Tyler, thank you for being here.”

“Glad to be here, Trisha. Thank you for having me.”

Trisha smiles and starts on her introductory spiel. “Tyler, in the four games you've played so far, you've set a pace that could have you match or even beat the single season passing touchdown mark, currently set at forty-nine. So far you've got twelve touchdown passes and another two touchdowns rushing. How does that make you feel?”

“Well, I've been fortunate to have the teammates that I have surrounding me,” I immediately reply. Sure, every quarterback gives this sort of same canned answer, but that doesn't make it untrue. “With good receivers like DeAndre, Robbie and Paul, and of course my line in front of me, we've gotten off to a good start.”

“Yes, I'd say a good start would be an understatement. Still, some say the Fighters have benefited by having three of your first four games be essentially home games, with the farthest you've had to travel being Ottawa in week three. However, starting after tomorrow's home game against Winnipeg, you're going to be on the road for the next month, except for a bye week.”

“I'll admit, playing in front of friendly home fans has been helpful,” I say before Trisha can get out a question. “But I'm confident in our team's ability to play well on the road too.”

“Even with a defense that's giving up nearly thirty-three points a game?” Trisha asks, and I could practically hear Mr. Larroquette groan in frustration. Yeah . . . our defense sucks. Unfortunately for the GM, his gamble of blowing the budget to get me signed meant that the young players on the defensive side of the ball haven't had the chance to learn from seasoned vets that command higher prices. They've taken some injuries too, and we've had to actually sign some guys on free agent contracts just to keep the squad filled up. Still, if we can keep the injury bug off them more than they have been, we'll have a tremendous defense come the last few games of the season.

“Well, I know the GM may not like me talking about our defense,” I say playfully, letting Trisha think that she's got me, “but I think that these guys are tremendously talented. I played against a lot of guys who are now playing pro ball, and I'd match the heart of those guys up against our defense any day. Someday soon, they're going to click, and I feel bad for the quarterback that has to play against our defense the day that happens. They're going to be in for a long, long day.”

Trisha smirks, and I know that while I disobeyed orders, I don't think even he could be upset with my answers. “And what about you, Tyler? There's still fourteen weeks left in the season, after all. Do you think you can keep up this record setting pace the whole year?”

“It's going to be a long season, of course. But I'm excited, I feel good, and I hope to keep making progress. We'll see.”

“Last question, if you don't mind. Are there any games that you're not looking forward to?”

I'd expected this one, and laugh. “Yeah . . . week eighteen at Edmonton. I'm a California boy, I've always hated cold weather games. Playing a team called the Inuits in November has me packing my extra sweater already.”

Trisha laughs. “Well, good luck tomorrow. Thanks for joining us.”

“Thanks for having me.”

She turns back to the camera, all professional. “When we come back football fans, Owen and Mick are going to break down all four of tomorrow's games, and I'll have our in-depth story on Jim Collins of the Calgary Sabercats, who's remarkable comeback from near career-ending injury is inspiring others around the country.”

“And we're out!” the producer says in a moment, and Trisha's professional smile turns to a predatory one as she looks back at me.

“Nice interview. You handled my defense question well.”

“I figured you'd be asking about it. A good QB prepares for the opposition.”

She gives me a half smile, cocking an eyebrow. “Is that what I am? The opposition?”

“The press and the players have always had a sort of semi-symbiotic, semi-confrontational relationship,” I reply, using words that I've not used since some of my college classes. Honestly, who in daily life uses the term symbiotic? “I need you to help my public image, you need me to make ratings. Not that we won't take advantage of each other any chance we can.”

“Taking advantage of me is just what I had in mind,” Trisha says, scribbling on a piece of paper. “Here. I'm staying in town for the weekend, we'll be hosting live coverage of the game tomorrow. Say . . . drinks, after the game?”

I take the paper and see that she's written her hotel and room number, along with a phone number that I assume is hers on it. “Sorry, but I'm taken. Flattered, for sure . . . but not available.”

“Well, you think about it,” Trisha says, giving me a saucy look as she gets up. “Think about it,” she repeats

The producers are getting ready to bring the show back for the two guys who are getting ready for their game by game breakdown. I adjust my tie and get up, going off the set to where I see Mr. L standing, his lips pursed but he's nodding. “Not a canned answer.”

“Still a good one,” I reply, looking at the piece of paper in my hands. “Hey, you're a smoker, right?”

“Yeah,” Mr. Larroquette says, “as much as my wife gets on my ass about quitting, I can't help it on game days, I've gotta have my stogies. Why?”

“You got a lighter or some matches on you?”

He reaches into his coat pocket and comes out with an ornate Zippo, lots of scrollwork etched into the steel sides. He offers it, and I go over to the snack table, where there's an empty bowl that someone left behind. Flicking the spark wheel, I get a flame, and set the piece of paper on fire, dropping it in the bowl once it's fully ignited. “Why'd you do that?”

“Some things are more important than freaky sportscasters,” I explain, only to be interrupted by a cough behind us. I turn and see April standing there, her arms crossed and her leg cocked to the side. “Hi. When did you get back?”

“About five minutes ago, enough time to see her hit on you, and you burn that note,” she says, trying not to grin. “I got your chorizo.”

“I thought you told me you sent her to get goose sausage?” Larroquette asks with a smirk. He's not that dumb. “Either way, get some sleep, you'll need it. You’re going up against a great defense.”

He leaves, and I look at April, who's broken out in a smile as soon as he’s gone. Coming over, she puts her arms around my neck and gives me a kiss. “That, if you don't know, was the sexiest, most romantic thing I think any man has ever done for me. Not too many girls can say that their hunk of a boyfriend actually burned Trisha James' phone number. Especially when she had those huge boobs in your face.”

“She tried,” I tease, patting her butt, “How's your folks?”

“Dad's doing better, he's back in the home, and Mom had a good day today. She thought I was still in high school, but at least she recognized me. How're you feeling for tomorrow?”

“Good. I was just going to head home, will you join me?”

“I've got just a little bit of paperwork to turn in on these trips, since this is the end of the month. If I don't get them in, the accounting people get their panties in a twist,” April says with a chuckle. “So I'll head back to the office first. I'll be
home
by nine though.”

“Great, I'll pick up some butter chicken curry from that place down on the corner, we can relax.”

April smiles and gives me another kiss. “Just relax is right, mister. Remember, women weaken legs.”

She leaves, and I watch her go, smiling wistfully at the sight of her butt in her new jeans. Even April's clothes are changing, and she isn't hiding her figure as much as she used to.

I hear a hum behind me and I turn, seeing Trisha James sipping at a cup of what smells like coffee with an amused look on her face. “Well, at least I can see my number was burned for good reason.”

“A good one. I don’t suppose you can keep this one off your show?”

Trisha laughs and nods. “We cover football — not dating. Unless you do something on the field or involving the cops or something warranting a press release, we don't mess with it. Best of luck with that though, she looks like a nice girl.”

A producer calls out her name and she turns her head and waves. “That's my cue. Take care of yourself tomorrow.”

I nod and head out of the studio, hoping to catch up with April before she's left the parking lot, but I don't see her when I get out there. I shrug and head over to my Mustang, and put my keys in the door. “Excuse me, Tyler Paulson?”

I turn and see a guy in a sport coat and jeans, and he doesn't look like a fan wanting an autograph. Still, he doesn't look like a psycho either. “Yes, I'm Tyler Paulson. How can I help you?”

The guy whips out an envelope, and hands it to me. “Thanks. You've been served.”

He turns and walks away while I stand there, stunned, looking down at the envelope in my hand. Served? As in . . . a lawsuit?

My fingers tremble as I open the envelope, and unfold the notice inside.
Ontario Court of Justice, the concern of Tyler Paulson vs. Catherine Paulinski and Greta Lawson in the matter of paternity and child support . . .

I blink, a pit in my stomach. Catherine Paulinski? Greta Lawson? Who the fuck are they?