Personal Foul: A Sports Office Standalone Romance

by Brooke O'Brien

  “Holy. Fucking. Shit. Right there.”

  My eyes dart over to where his hands fist my comforter, the muscles in his forearms bulging as he lets me continue to take control. His hips start to rock slightly, and I know he’s close.

  Tightening my lips around him, I suck him harder, swirling my tongue around his head, guiding my hand and my mouth in perfect unison. He gives in then, using his hands to grab my hair, holding me to him as he utters his pleas, urging me on by telling me he’s about to cum.

  With one more swipe of my tongue, he pulls me off him.

  “I want to feel you around me. I need to be inside you when I cum.”

  He helps me to stand, guiding me to lie on the edge of the bed and makes quick work of helping me out of my panties while he kicks off his pants. When I reach for the hem of his jersey, he stops me, shaking his head.

  “No,” he commands. “Keep it on.”

  With one hand gripping the back of my thighs, he folds my body until my knees press against my chest, then rubs the head of his cock over my clit.

  “Colson,” I moan. The moment he enters me, he tilts his head back and groans.

  “Nothing in my life has ever felt as good as being inside you.”

  Reaching for my hand, he laces our fingers together as he uses the other to brush over my clit, the move causing both of us to groan as I tighten around him.

  “Shit, baby, I’m about to cum already. I need you with me.”

  Reaching my hand down between us, I rub the pad of my finger over my clit. Fire blazes in his eyes, watching me touch myself as he struggles to hold himself on the edge until I’m with him.

  My legs tremble, shutting my eyes as we both chase our release.

  “Fuck, you’re getting tighter,” he moans. “I can’t…” He trails off, as he pumps once, twice before throwing his head back, falling over the edge. The sound of his voice mixed with the hard thrusts sends me crashing with him.

  He collapses on my chest, my legs and arms wrapping around him, holding him to me.

  “That was one hell of a greeting, babe.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Rush

  “Red’s a good color on you,” I whisper in her ear. “Although that dress looks way too good on you to be worn to dinner with your parents.”

  She chuckles, batting her eyelashes, staring up at me. The glimmer in her eye is one that’s testing me, but we just pulled up in front of Rosalina’s restaurant. While I’m not opposed to another car rendezvous, the last thing I want is to get caught by her parents this time around.

  “Let’s get inside before I decide it looks better on the floorboard of my car.”

  She grins, tucking a strand of her long auburn hair behind her ear and reaches for the door handle. Before she pulls the lever, she glances at me over her shoulder, her lips covered in glossy red lipstick as she whispers, “Yes sir,” earning her a low growl from me.

  Her laugh this time is harder, throatier. I reach my hand out to swat her ass, though she dodges my attempt.

  “You look really good yourself, all dressed up,” she compliments, her voice cracking at the end.

  “Behave,” I warn as we reach the front of the restaurant.

  It’s easy for us to spot her dad standing near the front by the doorway, choosing to wait for us rather than being seated.

  “Oh, honey,” her mom sings as soon as she spots Sydney. Coach smiles broadly when he sees her. Dropping my hand from her lower back, I walk beside her to the restaurant.

  Sydney has mentioned how close they are, and how with everything that’s happened since she moved back to Miami, she hasn’t had a chance to spend time with her mom. Seeing Mrs. Carr for the first time, I notice their striking difference as the petite woman hugs Sydney. Her arms wrap around her, holding her face as she tells her daughter how much she has missed her.

  “Colson, this is my mother, Susie. Mom, this is Colson.”

  “Colson, thank you,” she cries, holding her hands out to me. “I feel like I owe you my life for what you did for our Sydney. Thank you so much.”

  I nod, returning her hug as a way of greeting, before clapping my hand in Coach’s. The edge of his mouth curls, telling me it’s good to see me.

  “Happy Birthday, Mrs. Carr. I should be thanking you for inviting me to join you tonight.”

  “Nonsense, we thank you for what you did and are so grateful to have you joining us. Truly, we appreciate it. Please, call me Susie.”

  Pressing my hand against Sydney’s back, she leans into me, peering up at me with a soft smile. We hadn’t talked about how tonight would go, but I notice how Coach’s eyes bounce from me over to his daughter, examining the close proximity between us, before his eyes find mine again.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Carr, we have your table ready. Is your party on their way?”

  “No, they’ve just arrived,” he says, gesturing to where I’m standing.

  The host looks from me, over to Coach, then back to me. The second glance has his jaw unhinged, practically gaping.

  “Holy shit,” he whoops before he’s able to stop himself. “Colson Rush. I’m sorry, I can’t believe it. Wow, I can’t believe you’re here. I’m such a huge fan.”

  He holds his hand out to me, wide-eyed like he’s afraid I’d disappear if he were to blink.

  Chuckling, I say, “Hey, man. Good to meet you. Thank you, I appreciate it.”

  He grins, shaking my hand with enthusiasm.

  “I’m sorry, forgive me. Let me see you to your table.”

  He takes a step back, tripping over his own feet before bumping into the hostess stand.

  “Jesus, Kevin, what the heck?” another hostess, who looks like she can’t be more than eighteen years old, scolds him under her breath. He mutters my name to her, motioning with his head over to where I’m standing.

  Judging by the look on her face, she isn’t as impressed as he is.

  Sydney bumps her hip against me. “Look at you. It seems like everywhere you go, someone loves you.”

  “I’m still working on convincing you to do the same.” I wink.

  She opens her mouth to speak, but remembering where we are, she stops herself. Her eyes turn glossy, flashing me a small smile, then follows behind her parents to our table. He leads us past the bar, through the restaurant to a table seated in the back corner.

  “Your waiter will be right with you. Have a nice evening.”

  Pulling out the seat for Sydney, she subtly brushes her hand over the front of my pants as she takes a seat, whispering, “Thank you.” I bite down on my lip to avoid moaning right in front of her parents.

  Trying to distract myself from the temptress next to me, I look out the floor-to-ceiling windows, highlighting the distant setting sun, painting the sky with a mix of pink and orange hues. The view is stunning, and I briefly wish I could be alone with Sydney to enjoy it.

  I’ve gotten used to dressing up for events and fancy dinners in these upscale restaurants, but this isn’t at all what my life was like growing up. In fact, there were some nights we struggled to scrape by and put together a meal. My mom worked hard to provide for us, always feeding my brother and me first before she ever considered eating herself.

  “I haven’t been here since you were named Coach of the Year, Dad.” Sydney smiles, resting her elbows on the table, folding her hands together.

  The conversation shifts from when Coach started with the Blaze, later getting the head coach job, to Sydney’s life living in Miami. They gush over her high school years, reminisce about their trip to Hawaii when Sydney graduated with a four-point-zero, and when the Blaze made it to the playoffs.

  “Who would’ve thought we’d be here now, and with you working for the Blaze,” Susie boasts. “I still remember when we found out your dad got the head coach position. He was busy when he was an assistant, but boy did it get busy when he started traveling more. I needed to be home to help care for you and see after things.”

  It’s clear we’ve liv
ed vastly different lives up until now. Exotic trips, fancy restaurants, this wasn’t who I was at my core. My mom always had to hold a job, providing for our family. Yeah, it’s great to have money and be able to buy nice things, but it’s not what matters to me. It’s why I’ve always wanted to get involved in the community, find ways to give back.

  Coach pulls out a picture of Sydney with him at her first Miami Blaze game. Reaching over, I squeeze her thigh under the table when she covers her face over her embarrassment at her long red hair, freckled face, and braces. She was adorable, easy to see how she grew up to be such a beautiful woman.

  We top dinner off with pecan pie and singing “Happy Birthday” to Susie before we say our goodbyes. Once her parents are out of eyesight, I pull her into my arms, wrapping my arm around her waist. Burying my nose into the crux of her neck, I inhale her clean scent mixed with her floral perfume.

  “Want to take a walk down by the water?” I whisper close to her ear as we reach my car.

  She peers down at her heels, and for a second, I expect her to say no. It’s not a far walk, but I will understand if she decides against it in those shoes.

  “Yeah,” she says, catching me by surprise when she closes the distance, kissing me lightly on the lips. Our fingers mesh together as we follow the sidewalk around the restaurant down to the docks overlooking the water.

  Boats line the marina and seagulls coo overhead. We take a seat on a bench facing the water. Reaching over, I wrap my hand over Sydney’s thigh as she moves to drape her legs over mine.

  Turning to face her, I say, “I feel like tonight went well. Your mom is every bit of the woman I’d expect Coach to be with. You can see how much they love each other.”

  She smiles, running her fingers over the base of my neck, her nails dragging into my hair. The sensation causes tingles to spread through my body as I lazily glance over at her and smile back.

  “Yeah, they do.”

  “So, about last night…” I say, testing her reaction. We haven’t talked about what happened after I got home from the game. We’ve been riding this line between us. One second, she’s wanting to keep her distance and making it clear she only wants a friendship, then the next she’s waiting for me at her door wearing only my jersey.

  I don’t know what to make of it. We both have reasons to be hesitant or to worry over why this wouldn’t work, but it seems like, with every passing day, those reasons grow more and more faded as the lines between us blur.

  “What about it?” Her tone shifts. What was once quiet and relaxed is now guarded and defensive.

  “I guess I was wondering where you stood with everything, after what happened the other night, us going out to dinner with your parents tonight.”

  Her eyebrows furrow, pulling her hand back to massage her fingers over her temples. She seems frustrated or surprised. I’m not quite sure.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I mean, I guess we are still on the same page. I’m trying to focus on my job. You need to keep your head in the game. Not much has changed.”

  Immediately, my defenses are up, guiding her legs off my lap. On one hand, I expected this. I knew it was coming. On the other, I’m annoyed because why does it have to be one or the other?

  “We were on the same page, but I also think things have changed. We’re not doing anything wrong. We are adults, Sydney, and we are fully capable of doing whatever we damn well please. Do you actually think your dad doesn’t have an idea after seeing us together tonight?” I scoff, laughing.

  Her nostrils flare as she moves to stand. She narrows her eyes at me, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m ready to go home now.”

  “Why, because you know I’m right?”

  “No, because I don’t want to be around you right now.”

  She spins and marches up the dock. Her long legs power walking, eating up the distance. I don’t bother chasing after her. If she wants to be pissed, she can be. I’m not going to argue with her, but I sure am going to punch holes in every one of her bullshit excuses.

  I don’t think this has anything to do with her job. There’s more to this than she wants to admit, and the fact she’s running away from me right now, not wanting me to see it on her face, proves I’m right.

  By the time I make it up to the car, she’s leaning against the passenger side door, her arms crossed in front of her chest. I don’t bother saying anything to her this time, hitting the lock on the door as she reaches for the handle and climbs in.

  Why does she always insist on pushing every one of my buttons?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sydney

  We sit in silence for most of the drive. When we hit the highway, Colson reaches over and turns the radio on. When he settles back into his seat, I can’t ignore the ache I feel at the loss of his touch, not having his hand resting on my thigh like he had the entire drive there.

  The silence between us is deafening. I don’t know how to feel about this shift between us. Of course, I’m worried about how our jobs will change and how the people around us will feel when they find out we’ve been together.

  The part I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell him, but haven’t found the words for, is what happens when things go south, and this doesn’t work out? All I’m going to have left is my job. Sooner or later, the newness of us together will wear off, and he’ll find something new to catch his attention.

  It’s what has happened to me all my life. Bouncing around from foster home to foster home, always hoping it would be the last time. Praying each would be the family to welcome me into their family.

  I was fourteen years old when I met my mom and dad. By then, I’d been in countless foster homes. The shit I’ve seen is enough to build walls so high, nothing or no one could ever get through.

  Shivers rack through my body from the air conditioner blowing full blast against me. Colson is so lost in his own world, he doesn’t even pay attention or notice, but we’re only a few minutes away from our apartment building, so I’m not going to speak up now.

  I’m ready to get home, shed this dress, put on my oversized sweatpants, and binge eat ice cream while catching up on Grey’s Anatomy on Netflix.

  When the light turns green, Colson veers onto our street and pulls his car into the underground parking garage. Adjusting the strap of my purse, I don’t bother talking to him now. We’ve gone this entire drive without speaking to each other, and I’m not sure what more there is to say.

  “Do you mind if I grab the last of my things? I left my phone charger at your place and the clothes I wore home from the game.”

  My body flinches, feeling the whiplash and the stark contrast in the tone of his voice compared to the way the man I know has spoken to me all those times before. I wince as if I’m trying to adjust to make sure I’m seeing him right.

  Is this Colson? The same Colson I’ve gotten to know over the past few weeks?

  “Yeah, sure,” I respond in utter disbelief.

  Not bothering to sit and continue this conversation, I reach for the lever to open the door. The heavy exhale of his breath from behind hits me, and I grit my teeth.

  I understand he thinks I’m being unreasonable right now. I could put so much to rest by simply coming clean and telling him how I feel, but why? So, he can use it to make more assumptions on what I’m thinking and feeling since he claims he knows me so well?

  My heels click on the cement beneath my feet with every step, reaching the door leading us to the elevator. We ride the entire way in silence, but what was once attraction and desire hanging between us is now a cloud of frustration.

  We’re both waiting for the other to cut to the chase and say what’s on their mind, except where Colson always has an idea of what I’m thinking, I can’t even begin to decipher the change in his tone. He knew where I stood from the beginning. How could he be upset with me now?

  When we reach our floor, he doesn’t bother to move from where he’s leaning against the wall. Reaching into my
purse in search of my key, I unlock the door and push it open.

  He walks right past me, down the hallway to my room, leaving me to stare after him. His heavy footsteps as he collects his things sound like seconds ticking by on the clock, each one counting down until he finishes grabbing his belongings and walks right out the door.

  Once he’s gone, I’m not sure what would lead him to come back here or even want to talk to me. Everyone ends up leaving eventually, right?

  “Well, I guess this is it. Isn’t it?” he sighs, clenching his clothes in his arm with his charger in his hand.

  “I guess so.”

  “I don’t know what it is with you constantly wanting to push me away. Listen, I know you’re used to growing up living this extravagant life, getting everything you damn well please handed to you. Not all of us have been so lucky. If you want to keep pushing me away, eventually you’re going to push me so far I’m going to walk away.”

  “Extravagant life? Is that what you think it’s been like for me growing up?”

  My mind shuts down; every word he says after goes unheard, floating through one ear and out the other.

  He thinks I had everything handed to me? Nothing could be further from the truth. Growing up in foster homes, I wore the same clothes and shoes for three years straight. Kids teased and made fun of my “high waters.” My shoestrings were frayed and broken, so knotted from trying to keep them together. I learned quickly not to ask for anything; even something as small as an extra pair of laces was frowned upon. I was made to feel unworthy; you’d think I was asking for the sun and the moon to be served on a silver platter.

  “Listen, I think your parents are amazing people, and it’s clear they’ve given you a wonderful life. I don’t know what it is or why you constantly want to push me away, but someone can only take so much.”

  “A wonderful life,” I scoff, throwing my head back, laughing maniacally. Pressing my hand against my stomach, trying to ease the pain as the knot in my stomach twists further.

  “I don’t know where you get the idea I grew up living this life with everything I’ve ever wanted. I hate to break it to you, but you don’t know everything about me as you think, and you sure as hell don’t have my life all figured out.”