Stroker: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (7 page)

She takes my hand and guides it down her panties, pressing my fingers against the wet patch at the front of her pussy, bucking her hips against me. She’s so fucking wet it’s unbelievable. “Mhm,” she pants, continuing to stroke me. I’m putty in her hands.

“Do you want me?” she purrs. “I’m close.”

My thumb brushes over her clit. Her mouth snaps open, eyes closed, her breathing heavy and heady. My cock twitches in her grip. I can see the way her nipples strain against her bra, feel her slippery folds super-heated around my fingers.

You can’t.

She grips me a little tighter. “Did you know I can dislocate my wrist?”

Good to know.

Fuck, she’s killing me. I teeter.

I take my hand out of her panties, reach down and unwrap her fingers from my cock. “You don’t know how much I want this,” I tell her, “but it’s not right. I’m not Ethan. This isn’t how I do things.”

“You what?” she says, falling back to the bed and pulling the pillow to her face, continuing to mumble and groan.

Her eyes open once more. “By the way,” she says, “you’ve got a
beautiful
cock”.

Her eyes close and she’s out. Opportunity has left the building.

I pull the sheets back over her and can still smell the earthy pull of her arousal on my fingers. “Get some sleep, baby.”

She mumbles something else, but it’s nonsense.

I back out of there slowly, jumping at Billy’s voice as his head pops around his doorway. “Took your time.”

“She’s drunk.”

Billy comes out scratching his balls. “You don’t say.” He jumps onto the couch and stretches out.

I softly close Tia’s door.

Billy snaps up into a sitting position on the sofa. “We were almost busted, bro. That was too close.”

“I know.”

He points to my face. “You’re fucked up.”

There’s an understatement.

“You should see the other guy.” I open the freezer and take out a bag of peas, wincing again as I place it against my face.
Perhaps you should be applying it to your dick.

“You think Ethan got her wasted so he could have his way with her? Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I do.”

Billy shakes his head. “Ethan, man. What the fuck? He’s out of control.”

“He sure is,” I agree. “He sure fucking is.”

TIA

I’ve never been a rule-breaker. Waking up at 10am with a head full of rocks and an aversion to light reminds me why. Worse, I can’t remember what the hell happened last night, only that I was at the party, drinking and then… blank.

You really overdid it, didn’t you? How’s that college fantasy working out for you now?

I try to sit up, but gentle hands push me back down. Just as well. The room’s spinning so hard we could be in outer space for all I know.

Blake leans over me sitting on the edge of the bed.

Am I dreaming this?

“Tia Reed—life of the party,” he smirks, wearing a panty-soaking smile straight from the bad boy playbook. He’s got on a tight white tee, pecs pushing it out in all the right places.

My mouth’s dry when I speak. “I can’t handle my alcohol, can I?”

The mattress dips where his hand falls upon it next to my side. “This ain’t World of Warcraft. You can’t mosey on down to the local tavern and down unlimited ale without any consequences.”

“I prefer Skin of Dwarven Stout.” The night comes back to me, Ethan on top of me, Blake peeling him off, a fight… but that’s all.

Too close.
Way
too close.

I notice the gash below his eye, point. “Are you going to get into trouble for that?”

He touches it lightly. “This? Could have been from any number of former lovers.”

“Is Ethan okay?”

Blake’s eyebrows knit together. “You’re worried about
that
asshole? The guy who got you completely wasted to have his way with you? If I hadn’t…” he trails off, looking away. “I mean, you’re not seriously into him, are you?”

“It’s none of your business.”

I know I sound harsh, but I’m too tired to care right now.

Blake stands up. “Really? That’s how you’re going thank me for saving your ass?”

I remain quiet. I just want to sleep.

Blake claps his hands together. “Okay. Fucking fine, but don’t come crying to me when it all goes pear-shaped.”

He slams the door on his way out. Guy’s got a temper, not that I’m helping. Still, he doesn’t know the full story here.

He will.

I pull myself out of bed around lunch, managing to avoid both Blake and Billy on the way to the bathroom. I soak long and hard in the shower, pressing my head against the tiles while I close my eyes.

I think of Blake. I think of myself, how I acted.
Who was that this morning?
I don’t know. I was being a bitch. He’s right. He
did
save me, put his body on the line, his scholarship even.

It’s time to bring him up to speed.

Not yet. No, he has to remain clueless for now.

I should repair things a little, though, to make life easier around here. Stepping on eggshells twenty-four seven isn’t much fun.

I nod to myself.
Fine. Whatevs.

I wrap myself in a towel and come out into the living area. Billy’s absent, but Blake’s watching Ellen again on TV. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think that was your favorite show.”

He turns and quickly takes in my toweled form before bringing his attention back to the TV. “If you’re going to stand there all day making cute little quips, you can fuck right off.”

Double harsh, not that I don’t deserve it.

I come around the sofa, stand between him and TV. “Look, I was rude to you this morning. I know that.”

His lips press together, but he doesn’t relent yet.

I take a seat on the sofa, the towel riding up a little and Blake’s eyes following it. I press my legs together. “Can you forgive me?”

He exhales. “You going to keep teaching me World of Warcraft or what?”

I smile. “Let me warm up the keyboard.”

*

Blake’s a quick learner, not that I should have expected otherwise. We’re only a few sessions in and already he’s kicking Alliance ass all over the screen. In a way, I’m proud.

I switch off the monitor. “You’re getting good.”

He stands. “Helps to have a quality teacher.”

“Like Dad?”

“Coach?” laughs Blake. “I suppose you could say that. ‘Slave-driver’ would be a better fit.”

“Come on. He got you here, didn’t he?”

Blake sits on the edge of my desk. It buckles slightly. It won’t take many more sittings. “You’ve heard the story, no doubt?”

“I have. He saw you swimming, saw the talent, got you pulled in here on a scholarship.”

“But did he tell you
where
he found me swimming?”

“He told me it was a public pool.”

Blake puts his chin to his chest, laughing. “Oh, man. In a way I guess the pool at juvenile detention
was
public, at least
paid for
by the public.”

“He did
not
mention that.”
Play it carefully, Tia.
I run a strand of hair around a finger. “What were you in for?”

He comes straight out with it. “Dealing. They start you out young where I’m from. My Uncle Benny was straight, but I reckon he was the only one left in the entire neighborhood. He passed years ago. I’ve heard it’s nothing but cartel land now.”

“And where’s that? Columbia?” It’s a bad joke.

“Little mid-west shithole called Millertown.”

“But you’re reformed, right? You don’t,” I can’t think how to put it, “
use
any more, do you?”

“No,” comes the simple reply. “Besides, it would show up in a second in screening.”

“And if you weren’t here?”

“Probably wasting away in some gutter, bullet hole in the back of the head.”

“That’s a little grim, isn’t it?”

He rubs his arms. “It’s the truth. That’s how my parents went out, not that it was any surprise—motorcycle gang politics and all that fuckery. I barely knew them.”

I’m surprised by this frankness, this trust. “I had no idea.”

If he feels pain at his past, he doesn’t show it. “No one except Coach does. If this place found out about my background, well… you can paint the picture.”

“They don’t know?”

“Sealed records.”

“Why tell me then? What makes you think
I
can keep it a secret?”

He pushes off the desk. “Call it a gut feeling. Enough of this depressing shit. You up for lunch?”

“Only if you’re buying.”

*

I’ve been here four weeks now and still haven’t been to the campus food court.

I’m conscious of the eyes on us as we walk. Blake has a presence. I have to give him that. He walks with confidence, power, like he damn well owns the place. He probably does in many ways. What does that make me by his side?

You’re more than good enough for him. You’re
too
good.

Maybe, but I can’t deny the little flutter of excitement it gives me to think people see us and assume we’re together, that the mighty Blake Johnson is finally giving up his womanizing ways and settling down. And I was the girl to do it—little ol’ Tia Reed.

Blake leans over to my ear, his breath hot on the lobe. “Avoid the flapjacks at all costs. They’re wholegrain, but trust me, you’ll be in a ‘whole’ lot of pain the next day.”

I point over to the sandwich stall. “Surely the sandwiches are okay.”

“There’s a rule here at Carver: Add meat, you’re off your feet. Add chicken, you’ll be sickin’.”

I crack up. “It can’t be that bad. Have you seen the fees for this place?”

He waves his hands around. “And yet you’d find better food on an airplane.”

“So why bring me here at all?”

He nods in the direction of the burger stand. “I know. The grill looks like it hasn’t seen a cleaning cloth since Reagan, but that’s all part of the magic. Best burger you’ll ever have.”

Judging by the line, maybe he’s right. “I’m surprised they let you guys eat that kind of stuff. I thought athletes only ate twice-toasted muesli and goji berries, superfoods, body is a temple and all that?”

He shrugs, giant shoulders hulking. “I don’t know if you’ve seen the wrestling team yet, but those guys know how to put away meat. Besides, you know they have McDonalds in the Athlete’s Village at the Games, right?”

I lick my lips. “I could
murder
a Big Mac right now.”

Blake sniggers. “My kind of girl, but try the burgers here first. Trust me.”

So I do. True to his word, the burgers are amazeballs—smoky, soft buns, hint of spice, a little like Blake, come to think of it.

He’s wearing the same smug look I gave him the night we finished watching Star Wars. “So?”

I give him the thumbs up.

He wipes away a spot of sauce on my lip with the pad of this thumb. “Sorry.”

His thumb sits there a little longer than it should. I never want it to leave.

On the way back to the apartment, I notice a flyer on a noticeboard. I tug his arm to a stop, almost reaching out to grab his hand as if we were an actual, ‘I love you too, snookums’ couple.

If only.

“Look,” I point.

He reads through the flyer. “A Star Wars-themed party. What are the odds?”

“It’s a sign,” I beam.

He doesn’t look so sure. He prods the flyer. “See here? It’s run by film school next door. Those guys are geek to the core.”

“So?”

“So, my reputation would be shot.”

I read through the flyer, tugging his arm. “Come on. We
have
to go.”

He scrunches his face up. “We? You’re the geek.”

“J-Law is a geek. You’re saying you wouldn’t like a piece of that?”

His lips pout. “J-Law hardly sits up at night trying to become a level-ninety warlock.”

I stand away, raise an eyebrow. “You’ve been researching World of Warcraft, haven’t you?”

He looks away. “Have not.”

I punch him in the arm. It feels like pounding marble. “Have too.”

He rips the flyer off the wall, shaking his head. “You really want to go to this?”

“As Princess Leia, of course.”

“And, god forbid,
if
I was to consider it, who would I go as? I’m not going to be seen at a giant nerd orgy like this.”

I roll my lips, thinking, eyes narrowing as I look him up and down. “I think I have an idea.”

Blake pulls out his phone, placing it to his ear, a finger to his lips in a ‘shh’ motion.

I tilt my head. “What the hell are you doing?”

He smiles that same cocky smile I’m coming to know all too well. “Calling
Time
Magazine. The great Tia Reed has had an idea. The world needs to know.”

I can’t stop the smile that bounces back. I punch him a little harder this time.

“You’re an asshole. Shut up and give me your measurements.”

He reaches down and grabs his dick. “Hope you’ve got a
long
tape measure.”

Yep, you walked right into that one, Tia.