The Jock (6 page)

* * * * *

Sam
took in a series of deep, heaving breaths as he recovered from the best orgasm
he'd had in a long, long time. That he'd had it in the shower—alone—was beside
the point. He'd been left with no other viable option. Ahh well, at least
Junior was now squeaky clean.

Sam
wrapped a linen towel around his hips and padded his way from the bathroom over
toward the bed. He stretched out his heavily muscled shoulders and yawned
sleepily, realizing that he truly was tired now. After a quick glance at the
mounted wall clock to assure his self that his presence wouldn't be expected
downstairs until dinner time—which wouldn't be served for another few hours—he
drew in a deep breath, flung the towel into the nearest chair, and dropped onto
the guestroom bed with a thud.

Sam
reclined on his back and drew his hands behind his neck for support. Gazing up
at the ceiling, he smiled dreamily at the purdy picture Cupcake had turned
into. Lord have mercy, he couldn't believe how hard he'd got after just a
glimpse of her! It was all he could do to contain himself long enough to make
it into the shower with his trusty bar of soap in hand.

Gwen
had always been fine to his way of thinking, but he hadn't anticipated her
getting even finer. He'd expected to come down here and meet up with his purdy
little pudgy princess... not a twenty-pound trimmer but still ample and curvy
goddess.

And
those nipples. Mmm-mmm. Had they always stuck out, long and hard like that? Her
breasts had been big since fourteen, but he'd never noticed the nipples before.

Sam
smiled his cat-that-ate-a-particularly-tasty-canary smile when he recalled the
fact that Cupcake had been wearing his high school jersey. She'd kept it. After
all these years, Gwen had kept the battered thing.
Amazing
. No woman had
ever gone and done something sentimental over Sam Trevianni like that before.
Oh sure, they all wanted jerseys as sexual souvenirs from a night or a week in
his bed, but none had ever done something so sweet as to keep his jersey
"just because".

And
Sam was willing to bet that no one outside the Jones family even realized Gwen
owned a genuine Trevianni jersey. No sir. Tale tellin' wasn't Cupcake's style.
Never had been.

And
it wasn't like Gwen didn't have the dough to buy herself whatever kind of a
wardrobe she wanted. Harry had said she was doing real well with her picture
taking.

So
that could only mean that somewhere deep down, Gwen still cared about him
enough to have kept his shirt... if even as just a friend. The knowledge of it
was making him hard all over again.

Sam
sighed as he raked a punishing set of fingers through his short black hair. He
needed to get himself under control.
now.
Gwen had certainly given him
no sign that she still carried a torch for him and he didn't want to make her
uncomfortable by ogling her generously endowed body like a sex-starved boy of
fifteen when he made his way downstairs for dinner in a few short hours. He
could only hope Cupcake had donned a bra to cover up those jutting nipples by
the time he next saw her.

Hell,
he thought dejectedly, the nipples were only one of many erection-inducing
things about Gwen. Even if he was lucky enough to find her sporting a bra—and
not
sporting those Daisy Duke shorts—she'd still have a million curves, cuter than
all hell dimples, and strawberry scented hair. Sweet Jesus, even the woman's
dainty little ankles set his blood to racin'. And that tiny little dot of a
mole set right above her lip.

Sam
blew out a breath and flopped onto his belly to go to sleep. He couldn't let
himself start thinking about Gwen like this. It was too soon and he had no
intention of scaring her away from the game before he even made it to first
base. She was probably still mad at him over that scene with Stacy ten years
back. He'd definitely have to handle this situation with expert precision.

Sam
decided he'd treat this just as he did any competition he'd set his mind to
winning. He'd play hard and give it his all.
Strategy
. It always came
down to strategy. And with Cupcake the best strategy would be to reel her in
slowly, like a doe he was trying to lure closer to feed from his hand.

Sam
fell asleep with a grin on his lips. He'd waited over a decade to take his
not-so-pudgy princess to bed, and he'd be damned if he'd go home before it
finally happened. He wasn't certain if he was quite ready to settle down and
make a family just yet, but maybe he was. Hell—who could say what he was or
wasn't ready for 'til the time came.

But
there was something he was
definitely
ready for. One way or another, Sam
"The Slam" Trevianni wasn't leaving Tampa Florida 'til he gave
Gwenyth Marie Jones the fuckin' of a lifetime.

Poor
little girl. She'd never know what hit her.

"You're
lookin' good boy, lookin' real good." Granddad Willy nodded toward Sam as
his wife Verlene fussed over him, slathering Sam's baked potato up with a heavy
dollop of creamy butter and the smooth as sin sour cream Willy had made from
scratch.

Harry
slapped Sam on the back and grinned. "You don't look much different. A
little gray around the temples maybe, old man, but not much different."

Sam
grunted affectionately at his old pal. It was good to have someone to verbally
spar with again. Most people approached him with kid gloves, afraid to offend
him in any way. "You're one to talk, Jones. I see more than one laugh line
or two crinklin' at the corners of your eyes."

Harry
chuckled. "The ladies rather like my laugh lines. They say it gives me
character."

Willy
harrumphed, drawing Sam's attention toward him. He had to grin at the tee shirt
old Willy was wearing today:
It's
a Black Thang
. "You date
some strange women, son. Your Grandmama, on the other hand, was always partial
to my backside." He inclined his head in a gesture of pure male ego.
"She's a butt woman, my Verlene."

Said
butt-woman rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

Sam
laughed. God he'd missed this bunch.

Dinnertime
began with the same flair and panache as it always did at the Jones family
home. Sam closed his eyes briefly as he inhaled the aromas of the food rising
up around him. He could barely stand the wait. He was just dying to fork a bite
of the green beans that had been prepared in bacon fat into his mouth. This was
true southern cookin' at its finest here. Yet another thing he'd missed about
this place.

Verlene
and Willy had really outdone themselves tonight. Steak, baked potatoes, green
beans, freshly baked bread... ecstasy, pure and simple. Sam just wished Cupcake
would hurry up and get her cute little backside upstairs. He was itchin' to see
Gwen again in a way he'd never itched to see another woman. That, and the fact
that he was hungrier than he didn't know what and he knew they would never
start dinner without her.

Sam
took a sip from his bottle of imported beer as he surveyed the motley group
surrounding him. They were all so different, so unique from each other. Willy
was outrageous, in both attire and mannerisms. Verlene was his opposite, as
elegantly and gracefully feminine as her husband was brusquely masculine. Harry
was a bit on the prudish, shy side, but was as nonjudgmental of others as a
person could get. Gwen was... well...

Gwen
was just
Gwen
. She was the baby of the family and as such, she'd adopted
characteristics of all the Jones's. She was as elegant and graceful as Verlene,
as opinionated as Willy, and as tolerant of differences as Harry.

The
Jones' were one hell of a good people. They were all very much their own
person, yet they respected everyone's differences and loved each other deeply.
Perhaps that's why Sam had spent more time at the Jones house growing up than
he had at his own. Every kid wanted some place where they felt accepted.

Even
now, after ten years of absence, the elder Jones' were treating Sam like their
prodigal grandson come home. They offered him no recriminations on his past
behavior, they demanded no explanations. They simply accepted him, for whatever
it was worth. And Sam realized it was worth a hell of a lot. He'd never give
them up twice.

Harry
glanced at his watch and then at the pile of food spread out on the dining room
table. He frowned. "I'm giving Gwen another two minutes and then I'm going
downstairs to fetch her from the dark room."

Willy
harrumphed. "Best idea I've heard all day." He waggled his eyebrows
at his grandson. "You know how your sister is when she turns her mind to
her pictures. Just like Verlene, she is. Gwen will be down there all day and
night with the rest of them Vantry photos and won't see fit to resurface 'til
tomorrow."

Sam
raised a brow. "Vantry photos?"

Verlene
smiled warmly at Sam, then nodded. "Uh huh. Gwen just got back from
cataloguing their women's swimwear line in LA."

Harry
grinned affectionately at Sam. "We're very proud of her. The Vantrys were
so impressed with the photos she developed before leaving LA that they've asked
her back to catalogue the men's line in a few weeks."

Well
isn't that interesting.
"No kidding." Sam tipped back his beer
bottle and took a swig. He made a mental note to call Lee later and inform his
agent that he'd decided to take the modeling job after all. "I always knew
Gwen would make something important of herself."

Harry
nodded as if
that
was a given. "She's tenacious, my sister."

Sam
wondered if Cupcake would be just as tenacious in bed. Something told him she
would be. Sighing, he shook his head to clear it of his lusty thoughts, then
concentrated on downing the remainder of his beer.

"Two
minutes are up," Harry declared as he tossed his napkin on the table and
made to stand up. "I'm going to fetch Gwen."

Verlene
shook her head and chuckled. "Hungry, are you? Well sit back down, sugar.
I hear your sister coming up the back stairs now."

Sam's
heartbeat accelerated. His pulse raced in anticipation of seeing her again. He
sipped from what was left of his beer and frowned, highly annoyed by that fact.
He glanced toward the doorway he knew Gwen would soon materialize into, hoping
he looked more devil-may-care than he felt.

Lord
have mercy.

She
hadn't changed out of his jersey, or out of those Daisy Duke shorts. It was
enough to drive a sane man over the edge and back again. Swallowing roughly,
Sam polished off the remainder of his beer while he got his raging hormones
back under control. Strategy. It always came down to strategy.

Cupcake
looked him dead in the eye and grinned. "Hi there, Sam. Did you sleep
well?"

Sam
smiled faintly as he reached for another beer. Her dimples were popping back
out again, damn it anyway. "Yeah, Cupcake, I slept great." He took a
long, slow swig of the imported brew, carefully studying those bedeviling
dimples as he did so.

Sam
set the bottle down on the tabletop and sighed mentally. Lordy, lordy... this
was going to be one hell of a long dinner.

* * * * *

An
hour later, Sam stood up to help Gwen and Harry clear off the dinner table.
Sighing dejectedly, he picked up all the condiments that had been set out for
supper and strolled into the kitchen with them. As he walked into the room and
glanced around, the familiarity of it struck him deeply.

How
many times had he sat at that very kitchen table, eatin' one of Willy's
homemade chocolate chip cookies while Verlene bandaged up the latest scrape
he'd acquired on his knee? How many evenings had he spent at that same table
playing cards and drinking sodas with Harry while Gwen sprawled out on the
floor below them humming as she colored in her
Strawberry Shortcake
coloring
book?

Sam
sighed as he looked around and let the memories of his childhood pour over him.
Gwen. His thoughts always returned to Gwen. And then those thoughts only made
him realize how much time he'd wasted, how many years had truly gone by.

What
a fool he'd been to stay away so long. Gwen was obviously not enamored of him
anymore. Every year, every day he'd been away from the fray had apparently
helped her to forget him a little bit more and let go of the past they shared.
Only now here he was, wanting her to do anything except to forget about him.

It
wasn't that Gwen was treating Sam coldly or even being aloof. Not so. All
through supper she'd been her usual self, laughing freely, telling amusing
stories about her shoot at Vantry Sportswear, smiling at him from across the
dinner table, those adorable dimples popping out.

The
problem lay in what Cupcake
wasn't
doing. Namely, that she wasn't gazing
at him with stars in her eyes the way she used to. Of course, Gwen wasn't
sixteen anymore. She was now a full-grown, mature, sophisticated woman. This
business of strategy was damned depressing. Sam had no idea what his next move
should be.

Should
he lay his cards out on the table and tell Gwen straight up that he'd like to
take her out on a date? Or should he continue to play it cool and wait and see
if she came to him? Lord have mercy... strategies were a lot easier to
implement on the baseball field.