Stroker: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (31 page)

With a grimace, he draws himself from my body, lowering my leg, but I’m not done.

I psyche myself up for it.
Prepare to have your mind blown, big boy.

I kneel before his glistening cock and take it in my hand, lowering my head over his wet member and tasting our mutual arousal, that ever-safe girl I knew gone as I curl my tongue around his creamy glans, take in the way he shudders and convulses completely at my mercy.

I lick until he can take no more, the sensitivity too much, pushing me back and drawing me back to my feet. I pat my skirt and shirt down, note the welcome ache that follows between my thighs. I dab at the corner of my lips with a finger.

“You’re killing me, Scarlet Matthews. I never thought…”

I wink. “What can I say? I’m not always the goody two-shoes everyone thinks I am.”

“Everyone thinks you’re a—”

I press up against his chest. “A slut? You can say it. Maybe I want to be a little naughty every once in a while. Are you complaining?”

“No, ma’am.”

“In fact, I think it’s time to take this public.”

“A sex tape?” he smiles.

“I was thinking more like a PDA, let the world know we’re together—officially.”

“You’d be okay with that?”

I trace my finger over his bicep. “Let the haters write their columns and headlines. As long as I have you, nothing else matters.”

“Quoting Metallica now, huh?”

I smile back, almost embarrassed but quite enjoying this new Scarlet all the same. “Time to ride the fucking lightning.”

JENSEN

Ever since I hit the MLS, I’ve learnt more about people than soccer. Act up and they love to cut you down, love to see that star fall from the sky, but you know what they love more than trimming a tall poppy? Watching it rise once more.

It wasn’t easy at first. Getting our PR team to play ball required a lot of groveling, more box tickets and autographs than I can count, but they got it done. By Monday stories were already showing up, the prose far more positive than the piece Angela put together. I used every contact I had, dished out IOUs, favors and interviews like I was a human fucking piñata. The press loved it, but I made sure they ran the full story—that Josh and Scarlet were well and truly over before we started seeing each other. That had to be made crystal.

Scarlet’s scrolling through her feed as we head into town. “Wow, I don’t know what you did, but public opinion is really turning. That kiss after the game? I never thought that would work, but here it is, blowing up.”

I remain still. “Anything about Josh?”

“Just that he’s seeing a new mystery woman. No direct denial, if that’s what you mean.”

“Good.”

I take my eyes off the road for a second to look at her. I’ve got the girl, my game is back. I actually stopped in at the jewelers the other night, thankfully
not
caught on camera. I left empty-handed, but the question’s been bouncing around my head all day. It’s loud and very fucking clear—Scarlet is Neo. She’s the one.

She catches me staring. “What?”

“You’re just…”

“What?” she presses.

“Amazing. Man, that sounds cheesy. Straight out of a romance novel.”

Her eyes light up. “You’re not so bad yourself, even if I did have to wait three years for you to finally grow some balls and save me.”

“Oh, look at you all big and tough now with your words. I seem to remember you falling off your bike back in Rosie and shedding the Mississippi in tears.

She laughs. “I bet you still go home and cry every night into your Dora the Explorer pillow.”

“Hey, Dora’s a happening chick. She’s going places.”

“Boys, real boys, don’t watch Dora.”

“I did and looked how I turned out.”

She taps the dash. “I rest my case. Where are we going, anyhow? Off to another PDA for the paps?”

“They can wait. I want to show you something.”

“Let me guess. It’s big and hard and eight inches long.”

I pull into a park, lifting the emergency brake and shaking my head. “Tell me now. Who are you and what have you done with Scarlet Matthews?”

*

We enter the store and immediately the smell of wood takes me right back to Pop’s shed.

Scarlet looks around in wonder. “Wow, all these wooden toys are authentic?”

“Indeed.”

“How do you even know about this place?”

“Pops was a huge woodworking fan. Kept telling me about this shop for years, not that he even made it out.”

We both turn as the store owner approaches. He extends his hand. “Mr. Collins. I’m a big fan.”

I take it. “Thanks for doing this, Andrei.”

Scarlet’s watching with suspicion.

I lead him over. “Andrei, I want you meet Scarlet Matthews.”

He brings her hand up and kisses it. Guy must be in his eighties, but he’s still got it. “Ahren, a pleasure.”

She looks surprised. “Is that Russian?”

He winks. “Da, it is.”

“It’s a beautiful shop you have here.”

He winks, moving to the front door and flipping over the sign to ‘Closed’, coming back to take Scarlet’s hand. “Come, you haven’t seen the best of it.”

It’s a small miracle I found this guy at all. He was reluctant at first, said he was a fan, but a season pass got him over the line. I thought it might be a bit out there for Scar, but so far, so good.

Andrei brings us into a small workshop at the back of the shop, the shelves littered with traditional Russian nesting dolls in various stages of completion.

I see the wonder on Scarlet’s face and it’s suddenly all worth it.

She walks by the shelves. “You make these all by hand?”

Andrei selects a length of wood from a basket, holding it up to his nose and checking its alignment. “It’s the only way.”

He turns the lathe on. “And now, Ahren, one for you.”

Scarlet looks to me. I act dumb, shrug. The only Russian I’m familiar with is ‘vodka’.

Andrei begins to work the wood, the length soon turned perfectly round before he begins to chip it out with a chisel. Pops is impressive with his hands, but Andrei is a goddamned Michelangelo. In minutes, what was an ordinary stick of wood has been transformed into the first and largest of a babushka doll. He continues to fashion the rest, each movement faster than the last, and Scarlet hypnotized in place.

The shells of the doll complete, Andrei hands them over for Scarlet to examine. She holds them spellbound. “Wow, they’re still warm.”

So were you last night.

Andrei nods. “Now we paint.”

Painting the dolls is surprisingly more involved, but Andrei is patient, has Scarlet sit beside him while he works, even lets her add the eyes. He uses gold leaf for detailing, adding eyebrows with what seems to be a single hair from a brush. It’s fucking impressive stuff, and here I was thinking they were all made in some sweatshop in China.

Andrei adds his signature to the bottom of the largest doll, adding the number of dolls in the set. He places the doll down on a turntable. “What do you think, Ahren?”

She is completely captivated. My grand gesture has paid off. “I think it’s absolutely beautiful.”

“It’s yours. I’ll lacquer it up and send it out.”

“I couldn’t possibly afford—”

“Mr. Collins has already paid.”

She turns, eyebrow raised. “Has he?”

I thank Andrei again as we get up to leave, Scarlet’s joy and interest palpable.

Just as Andrei is escorting us out, Scarlet turns to him. “I’m sorry, but what does ‘Ahren’ mean?”

“Angel,” the old bastard smiles back.

*

We’re at a new bar on the south side, Impulse. The place has a light and airy vibe, set on top of the Marriot, the peachy orb of the sun sinking in the distance.

Scarlet’s highly animated as she describes Andrei to her friend Polly. “You should have seen the guy work that wood. Damn. Jensen should watch out.”

“I can work my wood just fine,” I retort.

I place her cocktail down and sit, drawing her close. “And unlike Andrei, I don’t need a blue pill to please my woman.”

“Who said he needs Viagra?” Scarlet responds, looking fucking stunning in a sleek white mini.

Polly sips on her daiquiri. “I think there’s something to be said for older guys.”

“Oh?” I question. I’ve met Polly in the past, but she always seemed a little put off by my presence, like I was a bad smell that needed to be evacuated from the room. I can’t really work out if she’s forgiven me for whatever I did, or if she still wants to put me down with a can of air freshener.

She puts her drink down, speaking to be heard over a sudden influx of sub bass. “Older guys know how to treat a girl right. Chivalry is a lost art.”

Scarlet locks her arm around mine. “Jensen can be chivalrous… when he wants.”

Polly doesn’t look convinced. “I guess we’ll see, but you hurt my Scarlet and I’ve got a nice little jewelry box on my mantelpiece to store your balls in.”

I press my legs together. “Hope it’s big enough.”

“Just sayin’,” continues Polly, downing the last of her drink.

“You need another?” I offer.

She puts the glass down. “If you’re buying.”

“One hangover, coming right up.”

I head to the bar but make a quick detour to the bathrooms, a guy slapping me on the shoulder as I pass. I’m about to deck him when he says, “Great game last night, man. Keep kicking ass, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I respond, walking in. I’m still wary about people approaching me after Barnet’s first piece.

I’m finishing up at the urinal when I hear Polly’s voice on the other side of the mirror. I look up to the ceiling, notice the roof doesn’t quite seal with the wall.

She’s speaking to someone, a zipper opening. I pause at the mirror, watching myself as she talks.

“I prefer him to Josh, babe, always have.”

Scarlet’s voice, high. “You could have told me a little sooner instead of letting me waste my life away for three years with him.”

Polly, voice slightly muffled, probably putting on lipstick the same eye-shocking color as her hair. “Jensen’s cuter, too. That ass. I would spank that ass so hard.”

Scarlet laughs. “That’s my boyfriend you’re talking about.”

“Look at you getting all defensive, but so you should. Trust me, Jensen’s a keeper, Scar. Keep him close.”

“I will.”

There’s a string of silence before I hear Polly’s voice again, timbre changed. “You know, I wasn’t going to tell you, but now you’re with Jensen…”

“What is it?”

“He hit on me once.”

“Who, Jensen?”

“No, Josh.”

That fucking prick.

Scarlet, surprised. “He did? When?”

“Remember that time you went to see your mom for holidays?”

“Thanksgiving?”

“Yeah.”

“He hit on you while I was away?”

“Texted me.”

“Saying…?”

“He thought I was cute. Asked if I was up for a little ‘fun’.”

Silence.

“I didn’t want to hurt you, Scar. You were kind of happy back then, you remember?”

“Did you?”

She drops something to the floor, knees clicking as she stoops to pick it up. “Hell no.”

“Josh has never been my type. Besides, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Seems I’m learning a lot about Josh lately.”

“Like I said, you’re definitely better off without him. Now, can we get back to your beautiful boyfriend and his rock-hard arms?”

“Lead on.”

I wait until they’ve left before heading out to the bar. For a moment I lean there against it thinking. I can’t believe Josh would even try something like that, but if he tried it with Polly who knows how many times he cheated on Scarlet. Polly’s right. She’s better with me. God, the last thing I would do is cheat on her. It’s fucking insanity.

The bartender sees me. “You right?”

I smile. “I will be.”

*

Scarlet and I are on the railing in front of the commentary box at Atlas Stadium, the field mint green, fog swirling around the lights.

I squeeze her hand. I know it reassures her, one of those things every couple should do no matter how mundane or cliché. She told me Josh wasn’t into that. I want to prove now more than ever that while she might have thought we were alike in the past, we couldn’t be more different.

“You come here often?” she says.

I swing my legs, allow a hint of cheek to remain caught in my smile. “That’s my line.”

“Better bag those berries of yours up. You’re spoken for now.”

“Am I?”

“Admit it, you’ll do anything for me.”

“And you’ll do anything for me. I’d call that mutual ground.”

“Or mutual destruction.”

She nuzzles into my neck. “I’ll watch the world burn with you.”

I nuzzle back. “I don’t want it to end just yet.”

We separate and watch the field. I can almost see the players moving around out there, the roar of the crowd a primordial beast at my back. “How did you even wind up with a key?”

“There’s this girl in admin, petite, redhead, with… You don’t want to hear it.”

“She just gave you a key to the freakin’ stadium like that?”

I let my hand run up the back of her neck, watch the fine hairs there respond in its wake. “I can be
extremely
persuasive.”

“So I’ve learned.”

“And you sit up here and what? Practice mindfulness?”

“Sort of. It’s pretty peaceful without Coach yelling from the sidelines.”

“It reminds me of a church. I don’t know. Something about it feels spiritual.”

I nod. “Now you’re starting to understand.”

“Still doesn’t explain why you’ve got an eagle tattooed on your back.”

“Ah, Eddie.”

“Eddie?”

“The Eagle.”

She almost falls off the railing, she’s laughing so hard, holding her stomach to stop it from exploding. “Oh, man. You have a name for your tattoo?”

I look down at my crotch. “Among other things.”

“Don’t tell me, Ronaldo, right?”

“Jesus, how’d you know?”