“I know you just flew in, and it’s been a crazy day, but I was hoping I could thank you with dinner. Chinese. Wine. You in?”
“Did you say Chinese?” His mouth falls open. For a second, I worry he might have a history with Chinese food, swearing off it for the rest of his life, concern etched on my face watching him press his hand against his stomach.
“Yeah, sesame chicken and egg rolls. China House is one of the best restaurants in Miami. You said you were new to the area. You have to try it.”
“Well, I’m not about to say no to a beautiful woman feeding me the best Chinese in Miami.”
He takes a step back, holding the door open for me to pass through. He wasn’t lying when he said he just moved here.
“You’ll have to forgive me for how my place looks right now. It’s a little messy.”
He gives a self-deprecating laugh, reaching his hand up and motioning to the boxes stacked against the wall of the living room. He runs his hand over the back of his neck, causing the muscles in his arm to flex.
“You’re good. I moved in last week, finally got all my stuff unpacked over the weekend. I’m starting a new job on Monday, so I knew I wouldn’t have the time. Not to mention, I didn’t want to be left without anything to wear.”
Colson’s eyes flash to me, down to my denim shorts and white, cotton T-shirt tied at my waist. Something tells me he was picturing what I might look like when I show up to work, or with nothing on at all. His eyes connect with mine, desire flashing over his face. We can both feel the heat simmering under the surface.
He clears his throat, changing the subject. “Well, let’s see what we can find to dish up our food.”
It seems the realization hits both of us as he chuckles, turning his head toward the kitchen.
“Yeah…let’s.”
My feet pad across the hardwood floors, through the entryway to the bar lining the kitchen.
He comes around the bar, standing next to me with two plates, silverware, and two wine glasses. Immediately, I reach for my wine glass and waste no time to pop the cork, pouring a heavy glass.
“Sorry, I still feel like my nerves are fried from earlier.”
Never mind the fact being around him erupts butterflies in my stomach and the warm zap through my body when his arm brushes mine is unlike anything I’ve felt in a long time.
For the last four years, I’ve been laser-focused on my schooling. Growing up, I had a hard childhood. After I was adopted, I spent most of my teenage years living in a sports family. Basketball had become one of my passions the first time my dad brought me with him to practice.
I’ve kept most of my relationships strictly in the friend zone, not wanting to lose focus on the end goal. I guess I’ve chosen to keep things surface level, not willing to open up at the risk of getting hurt as I have in the past.
We both take a seat at the bar, dishing out our plates of food. The conversation flows easily. I take in the relaxed smile on Colson’s face while his dark eyelashes and warm caramel eyes flash over at me. At the same time, he talks about his recent trip back to Colorado to see his family, and we bond over our decision to move to Miami for our careers.
He makes a comment about how it’s been a while since he’s seen the ocean, and I make a mental note to drag him with me down to the beach when things settle down over the next couple weeks.
Colson pours himself a glass of wine, but it isn’t until I reach for the bottle to pour myself a second glass, I notice he still hasn’t touched his. Swirling the wine in my glass, I take a drink, feeling the effects hit me.
“I want to say thank you again for today.” I pause, reaching my hand out to grab onto his forearm. He turns slightly in his seat, enough to face me. “The officer called earlier to follow up and let me know they arrested him. I guess they found a gun on him. Just hearing that, I know things could’ve gone much worse.”
“Whoa, hey.”
Colson must sense the darkness of my thoughts. He reaches for my hand, tightening around his forearm. He gently slips his hand in mine, stepping down from the barstool, pulling me out of my seat with him. Without hesitation or questioning, he wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his warm body.
“Don’t think like that, okay? You can’t let yourself think about the shoulda, coulda, woulda. All right? What matters is you’re here and you’re okay. We both are.”
The warmth of his body mixed with his clean scent washes over me, helping ease the tension eating away at my nerves.
Who is this man? There’s something so mysterious about him yet calming at the same time. The way he appeared out of thin air, helping protect me from what happened today. How I feel when I’m near him is both intoxicating yet terrifying at the same time. Now, here I am, in his arms, and there’s not a rational thought in my mind that’s able to convince me this isn’t exactly where I’m supposed to be.
He leans back, gripping my face in both of his hands, turning me toward him.
“I was never going to let anything happen to you.”
My eyes meet his, and we stand in place for God only knows how long. I reach my hand up, grabbing onto his wrist, holding on for dear life.
When his eyes flash to where my hand is now covering his, before looking back to me, I wonder for a second if he feels the pull between us, too. My tongue slips out of my mouth, wetting my lips, capturing his attention.
I keep waiting for the moment when he’ll put us both out of our misery, but as the seconds tick by and the sound of my beating heart vibrates through my ears, I start to question if it’s going to happen at all.
“I have enough wine in me right now, I could make the first move without thinking twice, but this would be the second time tonight I was the one to act first,” I breathe harshly. “Are you going to kiss me or what?”
His smirk is back, nearly taking my breath right out of me before his lips crash into mine. I know this is what I want, I thought I was ready, but heaven help me. Nothing could’ve prepared me for what it’s like to be kissed by Colson.
He tangles his fingers in my hair, tilting my head back as his tongue traces the edge of my mouth, seeking entry. This is more than just a kiss. He has consumed me.
When our tongues connected, a heavy moan, which escaped his mouth, spurred me on. Gripping the front of his shirt, I run my palms down his chest, taking in the feel of his washboard abs. As much as I never want to stop kissing him, I know I can’t wait for the chance to feel his skin on mine.
Clenching the material in my hands, I pull back, taking in the desire glossing over his eyes. My fingers skate over the hem of his shirt, helping to shed the offensive material covering his body.
His jaw flexes, whipping his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere near the door.
“Praise Mary, Joseph, and Baby Jesus,” I whisper to myself, earning me a chuckle.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Now seemed like a good time to say grace,” I clarify, my eyes dropping to his gym shorts and the not-so-subtle bulge forming before looking back up at him.
He smirks, pulling me back in and kissing me. This time he lets his hands rake down the edge of my hips, grabbing the back of my thighs, lifting me to wrap my legs around his waist.
Circling my arms around his neck, he carries me into the living room.
“Is your knee feeling better?”
“I forgot all about it.” I smile, holding the side of his face, kissing him as he guides us to his couch.
He holds my foot, careful as he takes a seat with me still in his arms. His attentiveness makes my heart swoon.
While I adjust my position to straddle him, his fingers glide up my thighs, clutching my hips in his hands.
Reaching for his battered hand, my fingers caress his swollen skin before pressing a soft kiss against his injury. He hisses, his face wincing as his hand clenches mine.
“Are you okay?”
He releases his hold before a smile spreads across his face. “I’m fine, I
promise.”
My eyes narrow, smacking him on the shoulder. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m sorry.” He chuckles. “I swear, I’m fine. I couldn’t help myself.”
This time when I kiss his hand, he skims his finger along the curve of my lip before grabbing my head, kissing my mouth. His lips trace a path from my mouth to my neck, brushing over my collarbone.
“So soft,” he murmurs against me, and for a second, I wonder if he meant to speak those words out loud.
With my body flush against his and my arms wrapped around his neck, he moves me to lie on the couch. He leans over me, resuming the path his lips had made down the front of my chest.
His large hand splays over the front of my chest; his fingers brush over my nipple through my shirt. Even wearing a bra, each flick of his finger causes my nipple to bead through the material.
Tightening my legs around his waist, I grind into him, silently begging for him to quit teasing me. My body starts to quiver when his hands touch my bare skin.
He pulls back, watching my reaction as he reaches his hand out, slipping his fingers underneath my bra to rub over my nipple.
“Oh, God,” I moan, lifting my hips toward him. Desire burns low in my belly, aching to be touched where I desperately need him most.
His breath grows heavy, each thrust of my hips rocking perfectly against where his dick strains against the front of his shorts.
He moves his hand down to the waist of my denim shorts, his fingers brushing along my stomach, as he glances up at me. When our eyes meet, I give him a look I hope begs for him to touch me as he says, “I’m going to give you what you want. Don’t worry.”
Biting his lower lip, he unbuttons my shorts and guides them over my hips, down my legs. I want to ask him about his, but when his fingers are back on me, I’m unable to think straight, squeezing my eyes shut.
“Oh my God, Colson,” I exhale harshly.
He pulls my panties to the side, brushing his finger over my swollen bud before using his other finger to enter me. My legs fall open, giving him better access. I reach my hand out toward him, needing to feel him, too. Slipping my hand beneath the waistband of his shorts, he lets out a deep hiss when my fingers brush over the head of his dick before wrapping around him.
He thrusts toward me, rolling his eyes closed as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of me, lightly teasing my clit. Each move causes my chest to heave, every breath struggling in and out of my body.
It dawns on me how easy it is to get lost in him, forgetting how we only met a few hours ago, and now here I am hooking up with him on his couch.
“Hey,” he moans, leaning forward to kiss me. “Stay with me.”
He must’ve noticed my mind had drifted away from him. He pulls back long enough to lock eyes with me before kissing me again with more passion and fire than I’ve ever felt in all my life.
All thoughts and fears are pushed out of my mind because, in that moment, there’s nowhere else I’d want to be.
Chapter Three
Rush
Stepping off the elevator the next morning, I adjust my gym bag on my shoulder as I stroll through the lobby of the apartment building.
“Good morning, Mr. Rush,” Antonio greets me from behind the desk. His accent is thick, rolling off his tongue.
“Morning, Antonio.”
“Uh, sir, I just want to prepare you. The men have cameras; they are outside the door waiting for you to come out.”
Even through his broken English, I can make out the panic in his words. I pause in the middle of the lobby, noticing the crowd forming outside the revolving doors.
“I tell them they can’t come inside and to leave.” His eyes flash from mine out the windows spanning from the floor to the ceiling.
Slipping my phone out of my pocket, I’m about to pull up Jairo’s contact information when a call comes through from him. I swipe the screen to answer, adjusting my bag on my shoulder.
“Boss, it looks like your little Rocky moment yesterday has garnered some attention.”
Grunting, I wave to Antonio and mouth “thank you” to him as I approach the front of the lobby.
“I wasn’t expecting this shit.”
“Did you think Colson Rush getting in a fight with a thief in the middle of broad daylight wouldn’t spread? People are all up in arms, fearing the best three-point shooter messed up his shooting hand.”
“Well, I kind of hoped it wouldn’t. Luckily, I’m fine.”
“Tell me about your hopes and dreams later. I’m parked in front of the building right now. I’ll meet you at the door. Keep your head down and do me a favor, will ya?”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t get into a fight with any of these paps. They are pushy fuckers, and I know they’ll test you.”
“If they get in my space, don’t count on it.”
Rolling my eyes, I disconnect the call and pocket my phone. Keeping my head down, I avoid the flashing lights and the shouts of my name, making a beeline to the SUV as Jairo insists they keep their distance.
I don’t bother checking the news on my phone the entire way to practice. It’s clear word got out about what happened, and it’s best if I meet with Coach Carr having a clear head.
This is my first time practicing with the team since moving to Miami. The last thing I want, or need, is to be starting the season off on a bad foot. Last night with Sydney was great. Fuck, even the thought of her has images from last night filtering through my mind. I need to stay focused though. I’m here to win games and take my team to the championship, that’s it.
A few minutes later, Jairo pulls up to the back of the arena near the staff entrance. Thankfully, I’m not met with the same crowd I had outside my apartment, finding only a few players and staff coming and going from the practice gym.
“Well, if it isn’t Mayweather himself.” The words come from behind me as I turn to see Jaxsen Wild walking toward me. He’s dressed in a pair of black joggers and a T-shirt, a black Miami Blaze cap covering his head.
Jaxsen Wild was the leading scorer last season and a force to be reckoned with in the league. He’s made a name for himself for having both a hot hand and a hot temper, so to hear him making jokes about what happened, the irony isn’t lost on me.
He reaches his hand out, clapping me on the shoulder. “Good to see ya, bro.”
“Thanks, man. Good to see you. Glad to be here! I take it you heard about what happened?”
“Yeah, TMZ broke the story. I’m sure Coach will be looking out, wanting to talk to you.” He glances down at my hand. It’s still a little banged up and sore, but I’m not about to let it hold me back.
“Yeah…shit happened so quick, man. I walked up on this woman getting assaulted; the guy was trying to steal her purse. I wasn’t going to let anything happen to her, ya know? Just wish it hadn’t gone down like it did, especially with so many people around.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it. Something tells me Coach will be cool with it.”
“I hope so,” I say, as I hear my name being shouted from down the hall behind me.
Turning, I see Coach Carr standing outside the doorway leading into the gym. Although I haven’t worked with him outside of the All-Star game, his no-nonsense attitude and reputation for focusing on the game is well known around the league.
He nods his head back, signaling for me to come down and talk to him.
“All right, I’ll see ya in the gym in a few.”
“You bet, man. Good luck.”
Stalking down the hall, I adjust my gym bag on my shoulder, anticipating how this conversation is going to go. I haven’t bothered to search to see what is out there, however, judging by the brief text this morning from Kristen, my assistant, I know it can’t be good.
“Hey, Coach.”
“Rush, good to see you. Come on in here and have a seat.”
He’s sitting behind a large desk, papers strewn all over, and three different to-go cups of
coffee placed in the midst of it all as if he were so busy he couldn’t even be bothered to toss them out.
Setting my bag on the floor next to the chair, I take a seat, and fold my hands in my lap, waiting to see how this conversation is going to go.
Wild seemed confident it wasn’t going to be a problem and considering how often I’ve heard about him testing the limits, I imagine he’d be the one to properly warn me.
“I’m sure you know why I’ve called you in here, so I will cut to the chase.”
I let out a slow but heavy breath.
“Now, I need you to know the Miami Blaze organization, we don’t condone violence of any kind.”
“I understand.” I nod, ready to justify my actions when he interjects.
“But this is also personal to me. Before I get into everything, I want to personally thank you for what you did yesterday.”
Thank me?
“I’m sorry?” I say, tilting my head in confusion.
“Thank you, son. When Sydney told me what happened, my heart damn near dropped to my ass.”
I can’t help but laugh at his analogy, letting him continue.
“She’s strong and can hold her own with the best of ‘em, but when I heard about what happened and how you stepped in to help her, to save her from what could’ve been much worse. I don’t . . . I can’t imagine what I’d do if anything serious happened to my daughter. Thank you, Colson. I mean it, seriously, thank you.”
What?
Sydney is who? Did he say Sydney was his daughter?
Holy. Shit.
How could I not have realized this sooner? What the hell did I go and get myself into?
“She’s not here today, she had some things to tend to, but I’m sure you’ll be seeing her around. She took over as Executive Assistant of Operations.”
As if I could not have dug myself into a deeper hole by messing around with my coach's daughter, come to find out she’s also working for the Miami Blaze.
I told myself I needed to focus on playing and winning basketball games, but somehow, I went and made this even more complicated.
“Is that right? I didn’t know Sydney was working here.” I catch myself from using her nickname, not wanting to give off any clue we’re on more than friendly terms.
Personal Foul: A Sports Office Standalone Romance Page 2
