Busted Play: The Series (Players, Books 1-6)

by Stella Marie Alden

  Oh man, he doesn’t need to ask twice. I’ve missed him so damn much and his dirty talk has my pussy slick. Without another thought, I kick off my shoes, drag off my slacks and already damp undies. Then I lock my ankles behind his back, one of my pants legs stuck around a foot.

  Impatient, he lifts me up and sets me down on the sink’s countertop, his mouth on mine the whole time. His tongue demands entrance even as his hands spread my knees wide open.

  No place else to go, the arches of my feet grab onto the edge of the granite top as he steps in close, sucking in his breath. The centers of his eyes blacken, his brows crease, then he slides an index finger along my clit from front to back.

  I’m so wet, that calloused finger sends juices flowing. When he puts it into me, and then adds another, I moan, my ass coming up off the counter.

  Suddenly he drops onto his knees, his tongue all over me. Then his hands tear open my shirt, buttons flying. So as not to have to buy another bra, I unsnap the front closure giving him immediate access.

  Then as he continues his assault on my sex, his hands slide up my body and caress my breasts. Holy friggin’ lord have mercy. Pulling, sucking, nipping, playing. My whole body is on fire. I’ve never felt so high and so damn sexy.

  When he stops, I moan.

  “Just a second.” Standing, he releases his cock and rubs the tip around over my swollen clit.

  “Oh.” I open wider and brace my palms against the wall mirror.

  “Baby…” He slides in all the way, his hands on my knees, stretching me more than ever before.

  My eyes roll, and my nub gets so hard he must know I’m on the brink of the greatest orgasm of my life.

  “Mmmm… so damn good.” He rocks in little circles, so deep his balls caress me.

  Then, his pace gets faster and one hand slides up to clamp onto my breasts. His other thumb presses hard on my clit. Oh fuck. This is incredible.

  I try to push back hard, but all I can do is brace my feet as he pounds, faster and harder.

  He closes his eyes as he swells and I clench my inner muscles, my orgasm so close I just need one more…

  Then he pushes on my nub in just the right place, I shout and buck, swept high into oblivion.

  “Fuck. Mel. Fuck.” He groans and pumps into me.

  I don’t know where I go, but it takes a while to get back. It must be true for him, too, because he doesn’t move.

  Then, after a few minutes, he zips up his fly, kisses me on the nose, and ducks into his shirt with muscles bulging. “No more kissing clients, okay?”

  “Or ex-fiancés.” I find my spare shirt in my locker. The other I’ll toss in the ever-growing pile of mending.

  “I love you, babe.” He has this intense gaze that sends me over the moon

  My smile’s so wide, my cheeks hurt. “Love you, too.”

  When I hear the voices of the regular day shift, I figure it must be about nine. Then the phone at the front desk rings and Rita answers.

  “Just a sec, I’ll see if she’s here.” A few seconds later, she tries the locked handle and knocks. “Mel, you in there?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be right out.”

  “Some woman’s on the phone. Says she needs to talk to you.”

  I pray it’s not my cousin with some new drama from home as I check myself in the mirror. Shit. Despite renewal of makeup, my lips are swollen and my cheeks are flushed, looking totally fucked. No one but Rita will notice but she has a big mouth and sure enough, she winks at me as I exit with a very contented-looking boyfriend.

  Then I cross the floor to the front desk, and pick up the phone. “Hello? This is Melanie Sanders.”

  “Ms. Sanders? Is my fiancé there with you?”

  My first thought is how the hell did she know CJ was here with me? Maybe she’s got an app that’s somehow tracking his phone. Either way it’s creepy.

  I hiss into the phone, not wanting CJ to overhear and ruin our moment. “It’s none of your business. You need to fuck off and stop stalking him.”

  Later that night, I’m in my PJ’s when my cell phone rings with a number I don’t recognize and I don’t pick up. I figure from the area code, it’s got to be Mary Jane. That bitch just doesn’t give up. She tries to friend me on Facebook, so I click ignore. And then Skype.

  Are you serious?

  Then suddenly, she’s pinging me on Instant Message. Enough already. I text her to leave me the hell alone but that was bad. I should never have responded because now she knows she’s got my attention and dumps this whole list of names into my phone.

  I get that I should’ve just deleted everything but curiosity got the better of me. Then, as I start to research each one, I go a bit nuts. According to what I read, he’s dated all of them and said to have married one in Vegas. My God, there’s got to be at least a hundred names. Did he tell them all that he loved them?

  My chest gets tight, and my eyes sting but I’m sure as hell not going to cry.

  Chapter 5

  At the start of my next game, I look into the stands and cannot believe my eyes. Despite everything I’ve said and done, Mary Jane is sitting with the WAGS. I swear, if it weren’t for the fact I’d make headlines, I’d climb up there and have her escorted out of the stadium.

  Instead, I do my job and focus on one thing and one thing only, winning. When it’s the last quarter, we’re down by five and there’s only seconds left on the clock I shoot the sweetest sixty-yard pass to Hacksaw, who’s fucking amazed as he catches it in the end zone. For a moment, he cradles the pigskin like a baby, then he whoops, shooting a fist into the air.

  The final horn sounds, we run off the field, and the crowd goes berserk. This is the first time since my surgery I’ve performed one hundred percent. Coach gives me a thumbs-up, and my mates alternate between high fives and pounding my shoulder pads.

  After the game, I’m still riding high, which is probably why I let a few reporters follow me into the locker room.

  One takes a few shots with an expensive camera, and then this writer for a popular blog site starts to dig. “Hey Chance, I saw Mary Jane McAllister in the stands. Are you two back together?”

  “No.”

  My coach, my girlfriend, and my mother, have all recently asked me not to be an asshole so I try my best to answer politely.

  Hoping to avoid confrontation, I rush to hit the showers but for shit’s sake, as I take a piss. the guy continues his interrogation. “But she was waving a large diamond, wearing your number.”

  “Women. You know how they can be.” I push his phone out of my face, make the shape of a smile with my mouth, and flash my naked butt at him.

  The guy is relentless. He doesn’t even bother to duck as I turn on the shower full blast, soaking his t-shirt and jeans. “So, that’s not the ring you gave her?”

  “What of it?” I don’t owe this guy a thing. It’s none of his business that MJ may be a card or two shy of a full deck.

  He hands me my shampoo, grating on my nerves. “So, are you considering getting back together or are you going to tell her to get lost?”

  Damn it. What the hell is wrong with people? “Interview over. Fuck off.”

  I point out of the area and glare at the intern that’s supposed to keep jerks like this out of the locker room.

  “Sorry, Mr. Quinn.” The college kid escorts the blogger out of my face and I breathe easier.

  I’m not an idiot. I know that MJ can’t go around pretending we’re a thing.

  All of a sudden, I have this brilliant plan. Maybe if I call my mom, she’ll come up north and let MJ down gently. Personally, I don’t have a chance in hell of getting rid of her, other than filing charges which I won’t do. My new nice-guy image will slide right back down the shitter. I might as well say good-bye now to my advertising deals.

  After getting dressed, I do an interview with Fox. Then I call Mel. When she doesn’t pick up, I assume she’s with a client. I text her that I miss her and that I’ll be home late tonight. Chuckling
, I add a sexy emoji that will make her blush.

  When I don’t get a text back by dinner, I can’t help but picture how Kit kissed her. Shit. She’s not the cheating kind, but I know my friend. He’s got this chick-magnet way about him. His first trick is what I saw him do in the center.

  His second, is to ask the woman to join him for a cup of coffee. He’ll pour it on thick with his Canadian accent.

  Cherie, my ass.

  Then, he meets her for a drink with a few of her friends. Before you know it, the woman is a bit tipsy and he steals another kiss at her front door. Damn, though. I give him credit. He gives his marks plenty of chances to say no. He just knows how to fire them up and make them lose their inhibitions.

  Mel would not dare do that to me.

  Hell no. Erasing Kit from my mind, I text her again with no answer. She’s always forgetting to plug in her phone. I gave her a backup charger, but she forgets that, as well.

  Before bed, I call Jaz and demand that he makes sure Mary Jane is not allowed in with wives and girlfriends again. It’s too late to call my mom, so that will need to wait. I need MJ back in North Carolina and out of my life for good without making a big scene.

  When I wake, the first thing I do is check my phone. What the fuck? Now I know something is off. Mel has not responded.

  WWGBD? What would a good boyfriend do? He’d probably send roses or some such shit so I gift her a dozen with a card that tells her I miss her.

  Pleased at my creativity, I eat my breakfast and check out the sports section of USA Today. On page one, there’s an awesome picture of Hacksaw catching my pass.

  I laugh at him across the table, looking at the same shot. “Next time don’t look so surprised, dude.”

  He smiles, a gold tooth showing, and rubs his bald black head. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  A couple other guys are still kidding around as we pile into the bus. Then, on the way to the airport, Mel’s cell phone still goes to voicemail. That’s the final straw. I call my brother to ask him to check up on her.

  When he finally rings back, I’m in a cab, stuck in traffic, heading toward her apartment in Bushwick. “So? Did you reach her?”

  “Did you know MJ had a key made to Mel’s apartment?” What is it with everyone being pissed at me because Mary Jane is a nut case.

  I went over this with Mel and I thought we were good. “Yeah… I told her to change the locks.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you press charges?”

  I snort out a laugh. “C’mon now Andy. We both grew up next door to her. She’s harmless enough. Just not too bright and with too much disposable income. Besides, if I make a big deal, Jaz says I could lose my advert deals. Bad PR and all that.”

  “Whatever. You got problems. Mary Jane sent Mel a complete list of every woman you’ve gone out with since grade school.”

  As the cab stops at a light, the sun grows low in the sky casting long shadows. I can’t help but think it’s rather disturbing that MJ has a full list of all the women I’ve ever dated.

  “Jeesh, I didn’t fuck them all.”

  Andy exhales his frustration into the phone. “Mel doesn’t know that.”

  “I never said I was a saint but there’s been no one since I met her. Isn’t that what counts?”

  “You’re asking me? What do I know?” Andy seldom refers to his rotten streak with women so I don’t respond, knowing it’s a sore spot.

  “What else did she say?” The traffic starts to move, we pass a fender bender, and exit off the Conduit highway.

  “I didn’t even know she knew some of the words that came out of her mouth.”

  “That bad, huh?” My cabbie honks, then pulls off the highway into Queens and we get stuck at a long light.

  My normally calm brother’s pretty riled up. “Yeah, it’s bad. One more thing, did you send her roses?”

  Finally, I did something right. “Did she like them?”

  “Bro! Is it her birthday? An anniversary? Have you ever sent her flowers before?” I can just see him shouting and pacing in his office in upper Manhattan and I just don’t get why he’s so pissed off.

  “Uh, no. I don’t think so… why?”

  “She thinks it’s an apology for bad behavior.”

  “Why the fuck would she think that?”

  Where’s the play book for all this shit? Why don’t I have a copy?”

  “Women have a stack of rules. Google it.”

  “Mel’s not like that.”

  “Maybe not, but she told me to tell you to find someplace else to stay tonight.”

  “Shit.” I consider banging on her apartment door until she lets me in, but I didn’t do anything to be ashamed of.

  Man, this is our first real fight and it really sucks. My gut tightens at the thought of losing her. What the hell do I need to do to make it right between us?

  Chapter 6

  After talking with CJ’s brother, Andy, I know I should call and apologize to my man who is clueless when it comes to women.

  It’s just when the roses came to the center, all the women, including Mrs. Rosenstein with her arthritic elbow, tell me that roses mean that a man is admitting to screwing up big-time.

  I know in my heart CJ wouldn’t cheat on me. But still, a girl can’t help but wonder, especially when she finds out she’s about number one-hundred-and-five in his hit parade of female companions.

  When he rings, it’s about midnight, and I pick up. “Hey hotshot.”

  “Mel, baby, I’m so damn sorry about Mary Jane.” His low, warm voice makes me wish he was here.

  Closing my eyes, I picture him in his bed in Manhattan, knowing he sleeps in just his boxers.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t take your calls. It’s just that she sent me this long list of women.” I take a long, deep breath. “MJ said I was just like them. You know? That she puts up with all your shit and that you always return to her. I’m just temporary.”

  “She said that?” His bed groans in the background as he sits.

  “Yeah, she did but it’s not important.” He must be exhausted and I don’t want to keep him awake, not during game season.

  “Did you get my roses?”

  “Uh huh. They came to the center, today.”

  “So?”

  I pause, thinking about all the rotten things the women told me about him and hit my brain’s erase button. “They’re beautiful, hotshot, but you didn’t have to do that.”

  “They weren’t an apology, okay? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  All of a sudden, the flowers rule and the list of women seems so petty. No guy, no matter how virile, could fuck that many women and still have a professional career. I can’t help but start to chuckle.

  “Are you laughing at me, woman?”

  “I was trying to picture you screwing all those models. Then, keeping them from killing each other in a huge cat fight.”

  He snorts air into the phone, making it crackle. “I assume you’ve figured out they were promo shots, right? Jaz had them all lined up for me. Everyone gets good press, we hit a few parties, and then go home. Let me tell you, most of the time it was damned hard work. They either wanted my cock, my money, or nothing to do with me.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better.” Suddenly I’m sorry I ruined a night we could have spent together.

  Then his home phone rings. “Hold on, I got to take this, it’s probably my brother.”

  I guess he missed the part about putting me on hold because I clearly hear what comes out of his mouth and it’s definitely not Andy on the other side of the line.

  First off, my hotshot’s voice is soft as silk, something that’s supposed to be reserved for me, “Mary Jane. Shit. Don’t cry, baby… I know, but… no… No. You have to go home.”

  I guess I shouldn’t be surprised he calls her baby, too, but I thought that was his special name for me, not every God damned woman under the sun.

  “Listen, this is no good. You got no busines
s being here. I called your Mom, she’s flying in tomorrow to take you home.”

  I make a mental note to make sure he never calls me baby again.

  Then, after some other placating noises, he hangs up on her and gets back on the phone with me. “Sorry, Andy had some issues.”

  “Now you’re fucking lying to me?” I’m surprised the f-bomb comes out of my mouth again.

  Here I was, thinking Mary Jane was a psycho-stalker and he the victim but it doesn’t sound that way to me. He’s being friggin’ nice and calling her baby. That does not sound like someone trying to get rid of an ex.

  Seeing red, I consider hanging up but not until I give him a piece of my mind. “You were not on mute, hotshot.”

  There’s a long silence then he says, “Sorry you had to hear that. She was crying. I’m getting her mother to come up here and send her home. She’s not right in the head.”

  Like sorry is going to make things right? What the hell is wrong with him?

  I try to sound like a rational human being after swallowing back my rage. “You two sounded pretty chummy.”

  “I need to keep her calm so she doesn’t make a scene in social media.”

  I want to scream out, but what about me? Dammit, I can make a scene, too. But obviously, she counts for more than me. Not knowing what else to say, I hang up.

  Chapter 7

  I’m no good with words, never have been and by now, Mel should know that. She didn’t even give me a chance to explain. Yeah, MJ’s a pain in the ass, but she’s got a mean streak that could make it real hard for me to get good PR. That could mean the loss of millions in income. I’m sure, once she heads on home, that will be the end it.

  Then, the only thing to do is take Mel to bed and make love to her every fucking waking moment. I’ll have her so worked up, she won’t be able to walk, let alone worry about an ex-girlfriend that doesn’t matter.

  Those are my thoughts as I text Mel on the way to Chicago but she doesn’t answer. Instead my phone is full of emojis of cupcakes and hearts from Mary Jane.

  How fucked up is that?