by Lauren Rowe
I watch Henn walk away, sighing with my love for him, and when he turns the corner and disappears from sight, I open the locker room door and step inside, my skin buzzing with excitement. “Sports Reporter Bangs Super Bowl MVP in Locker Room After the Big Game” has been one of my top fantasies for a very long time—a go-to scenario I’ve thought about many, many times while pleasuring myself. I can’t believe Josh has gone to such lengths to deliver it to me.
I begin walking slowly into the spacious locker room, my stomach bursting with butterflies, my crotch swelling with each step I take. I turn a corner around a bank of lockers, and—boom—there he is: the Super Bowl MVP himself, bending down to put something into a locker, his back to me.
Holy Beefcake, Batman. Josh is dressed in nothing but shoulder pads and tight football pants. His skin is gleaming with grime and sweat. Good lord, he’s hot as hell—testosterone on a stick.
My phone buzzes in my pocket but I ignore it. Whoever it is can wait.
“Excuse me,” I say softly. “Josh?”
Josh turns around and my heart palpitates—he’s raw masculinity in its purest form.
“Yes?” Josh asks.
“Do you have time for an interview?” I hold up my badge to him. “Heidi Kumquat, ESPN.”
Josh smiles and runs his hand through his sweaty hair, flashing me his “THE GUN SHOW” underarm-tattoo as he does. “Sure thing, Heidi. It would be my pleasure.”
I motion behind me to my imaginary cameraman. “This is my cameraman, Brad.”
Josh’s eyes sparkle with obvious amusement. He looks over my shoulder to where I’ve indicated. “Hey, Brad,” he says. He runs his hands over his muscled chest like he’s lathering himself in the shower. “Ask me anything you want, Heidi—I’m all yours.”
Oh, man, my body’s having a physical, chemical reaction to this muscled, tattooed, sweaty man. My brain knows this is make-believe, of course, but my body apparently didn’t get the memo.
My phone buzzes with another text but I ignore it.
“All mine, huh?” I say. “I like the sound of that.”
“And I’ll do the interview for you, too,” Josh adds, his smile widening.
I return his smile. “Lemme just do my intro for the segment.”
I turn away from Josh and look into the imaginary camera behind me, holding a pretend-microphone up to my mouth. “Hey, everyone. Heidi Kumquat for ESPN. I’m in the locker room with Josh Faraday, the star wide receiver for the Seahawks and the MVP of this year’s Super Bowl. If you watched the game, then you know Josh well deserved his MVP honors—he was utterly brilliant out there today. Every man watching him wanted to be him, and every woman wanted to fuck the living hell out of him.” I turn around and face Josh. “Ready?”
Josh’s eyes are burning. “Why don’t you start by asking me why I missed that one easy pass in the end zone?”
“Why’d you miss that one easy pass in the end zone, Josh?”
“‘Cause I was looking at you. As it turns out, it’s awfully hard to concentrate on catching a ball when you’re thinking about fucking the smokin’ hot blonde standing on the sideline a few yards away.” He snaps the waistband of his tight football pants and my eyes are drawn to the hard bulge straining just below his hand.
I primly clear my throat. “Well, that’s sweet of you to say. But I’d really better get to my interview.”
“Of course. You’re a professional—I admire that. Ask me anything, Heidi. I’m all yours.”
My phone buzzes with another text. Hastily, I pull my phone out of my pocket, silence it, and shove it back into my pocket.
“Sorry about that,” I say. “Well, first off, let me say congratulations on being named MVP of the game.”
Josh flashes perfect, white teeth. “Thanks. But, you know, it was a total team effort.” He runs his palm across his chiseled abs. “Damn, girl, you’re something to look at, you know that? You’re the kind of woman makes an MVP wanna fuck.”
“Oh my goodness, thank you,” I say demurely. “I’m flattered, but I really can’t flirt with you, Josh. I’ve got a job to do.”
“Flirt with me?” He smiles lasciviously. “You think I’m hard like this because I wanna flirt with you?” He makes an extremely sexual noise. “‘Flirt’ isn’t the ‘f’ word I wanna do with you, Heidi.”
I take a shaky breath and hold my imaginary microphone to my mouth. “Um.” I swallow hard. “To what do you think you owe your success this season?”
Josh begins stroking the hard bulge straining behind his tight pants, his eyes smoldering. “I’d say the key to my success this season was just taking it one game at a time.” His voice suddenly drops to a husky growl. “Shit, baby, you’re making me hard as a rock. I can’t even think straight, looking at you.” He takes a step toward me and snakes his arm around my waist. “You’ve got beautiful eyes, you know that? I can’t wait to watch ’em roll back into your head when I’m fucking you to within an inch of your life.”
“Thank you. You have beautiful eyes, too.”
Josh presses his hard-on into me. “Ever fucked the MVP of the Super Bowl, Heidi?”
I pretend to put my microphone to my lips again. “The Patriots definitely fought hard—”
Josh abruptly grabs my imaginary microphone and throws it forcefully across the room, making me laugh. “Interview over, Heidi,” Josh says. “Time for the Super Bowl MVP to fuck you.”
There’s a beat.
I glance over my shoulder at my imaginary cameraman. “Beat it, Brad.” I wait a moment to allow my imaginary cameraman to exit the locker room and then turn back to Josh. “You were saying?” I whisper.
Josh skims his lips against mine slowly. “I was saying I’m the MVP of the fucking Super Bowl, which means I can fuck any woman I want in the entire fucking world—and, baby, I want you. Right fucking now.”
My heart is pounding like crazy. “Oh, you think I’m gonna spread my legs and fuck you for no other reason than you’re the Super Bowl MVP?” I whisper.
Josh presses his hard-on into me and levels me with blazing blue eyes. “No, baby, you’re gonna spread your legs and fuck me because you’re gonna enjoy sucking my dick so goddamned much.”
Oh, he’s good. He’s very, very good.
Without further ado, Josh grips my hair and forcefully pushes me down to my knees—damn, the Super Bowl MVP’s a bossy motherfucker—and a grand total of two seconds later, I’m on my knees, voraciously sucking the Super Bowl MVP’s dick, making myself come like a freight train. Shortly after that, I’m dangling from a pull-up bar, my thighs resting on the Super Bowl MVP’s shoulder pads, my pussy deep in his mouth, my flesh rippling against his lips and tongue. And after that, yep, the arrogant but sexy bastard called it—I’m spreading my legs for the Super Bowl MVP while getting fucked hard, until my eyes are rolling back into my head.
“Good times,” Josh says after we’re both done and completely spent. He spanks my ass playfully. “You wanna join me in the shower, Heidi?”
“I’ll be right there. I’m gonna check my phone real quick. I got a couple texts.”
“Okeedoke,” Josh says. He turns around, flashing me his YOLO’d ass, and practically skips toward the showers. “Hey, a bunch of guys went for burgers and beers nearby. You wanna meet up with them?”
“Sounds great,” I say. I bend down to grab my phone out of my jeans on the floor.
“All my friends thought you were awesome, by the way,” Josh calls over his shoulder. “A couple of them said before today they were already on the cusp of hating my guts, and now, after meeting you, they absolutely do.” He laughs heartily.
But I’m not listening to Josh any more. I’m looking at my phone, reeling, trying desperately not to freak out that every single member of my family except Colby has been furiously trying to reach me for the past thirty minutes. What on earth has happened? And why everyone except Colby?
“Oh my God! Josh!” I shriek, clutching my throat. “I think something’s
happened to Colby!”
Ninety
Josh
“I’m here to see my brother Colby Morgan,” Kat says to the woman sitting behind the desk in the hospital lobby.
Poor Kat. When she called her mom and found out what had happened to Colby, I had to physically hold her up so she wouldn’t crumple onto the cement floor of the locker room.
“Oh, the firefighter,” the woman at the desk says, clicking on her computer keyboard. She looks at Kat sympathetically. “I saw what your brother did on the news. He’s a real hero. We’re all praying for him and that little baby he saved.”
Kat lets out a little yelp.
“He’s in the burn unit, room 402. Do you know where that is?”
Kat shakes her head and a pained sound escapes her throat.
“Just go down this hall and take the elevators to the fourth floor,” the nurse continues. “When you get off the elevator, check in at the nurses’ station there and someone will show you to his room. It’s a restricted area.”
Kat nods, apparently unable to speak.
“Thank you,” I say, answering for Kat. I put my arm around her shoulders and usher her toward the elevators. “Come on, babe.”
Kat nuzzles her nose into my shoulder as I lead her limp body down the hallway—and by the time Kat and I reach the fourth floor, I’m just about carrying Kat’s full body weight in my arms.
“We’re here to see Colby Morgan,” I say to the nurse at the fourth-floor desk, my arm around Kat’s shoulders.
“Are you family?” the nurse asks.
“Yes, this is Colby’s sister,” I say.
“And you?” the nurse asks me. “Are you family, too—are you her husband?”
For some reason, I feel like this nurse just punched me in the balls. “No,” I say, my throat tight.
“He’s my boyfriend, ” Kat chokes out.
I nod and pull her closer to me. That was the first time Kat’s called me her boyfriend—but it’s hardly the time or place for me to feel excitement about that milestone.
“I’m sorry,” the nurse says. “Only immediate family is allowed in the room for now. There’ve been a lot of people wanting to see your brother—reporters, other firefighters, well wishers—even the Mayor came by. We’re gonna have to stick to the rules, at least until we get clearance from the doctor.”
Kat looks stricken. “But,” she begins, “Josh is my boyfriend.” She grips my arm.
The nurse shakes her head. “I’m sorry. Your boyfriend will have to wait out here until I get clearance for non-family members. There are a lot of people already in the room—you’ve got a big family.”
When the nurse uses the word “family,” Kat looks toward the hallway with undisguised longing.
“Go ahead,” I say, squeezing Kat’s shoulders. “Go be with your family, babe. I’ll wait out here.”
Kat looks like a deer in headlights.
“Go on,” I say, stroking Kat’s golden hair. “I’ll be right here.” The truth is I don’t want to leave Kat’s side—I want to go with her and hold her through whatever awaits her in that room. But, obviously, my only job in this horrible situation is to make this as easy on Kat as possible. “Go on,” I say softly.
Kat hugs me and I breathe her in for a moment.
“I’ll be right here if you need me,” I whisper.
Kat nods and the nurse wordlessly guides her down the hallway through swinging doors marked “Authorized Personnel Only.” I watch her through glass panes in the doors as long as possible, until, finally, she and the nurse turn a corner and disappear.
With a deep sigh, I wander down the hall and take a seat in the waiting room. Shit. I feel like I’ve let Kat down somehow. When the nurse asked if I was family—if I’m her husband—should I have lied and said yes? I really don’t think I was imagining the pained look in Kat’s eyes when I said no. Why the fuck do I feel like I’ve somehow fucked up?
An older gentleman with a young woman and toddler are seated across from me in the waiting room. The trio’s got the exact same features—same eyes, noses, dark hair. They’re like generational Russian nesting dolls—even a casual onlooker would know instantly the three of them are family.
Family.
The nurse asked me if I’m Kat’s family and I said no.
I put my head in my hands.
I’ve got the distinct feeling I’ve fucked up somehow, but I’m not sure how.
Are you her family? Are you her husband?
I really don’t think I was imagining the look of utter disappointment on Kat’s face at that moment.
A tidal wave of loneliness rises up inside me—an all-too familiar emotion for me. My eyes water but I swallow hard and stuff it down like I always do. Fuck. This isn’t about me. This is about Colby and Kat and her family.
What I need to do is make myself useful, however I can.
I bow my head, close my eyes, and clasp my hands.
Dear Heavenly Father...
I take a deep breath.
Dear Heavenly Father...
I lift my head and open my eyes.
Fuck me.
The only prayer that’s coming into my mind is so full of motherfucking expletives, I can’t imagine it would help Colby at all.
Ninety-One
Josh
For the past hour, Kat’s been in Colby’s hospital room with her family while I’ve been sitting out here in this waiting room, listening to “Hold Back the River” by James Bay on my phone, trying my damnedest not to cry or, worse, catch Spanish Influenza from the cocksucker who sat down two seats away from me in an almost-empty waiting room and proceeded to cough up his goddamned lung.
From what I’ve gathered, Typhoid Joe was deemed “too sick” to go into the room of whatever patient he came to visit in the hospital, but rather than go home and take some fucking Nyquil, he decided to sit two feet away from me and try to take me down with him. Motherfucker. Of course, I moved as far away from him as I could in the tiny room, but just the sound of his constant hacking is making me feel like I’m hurtling to my premature demise on a bullet train.
Or maybe I’m just losing my mind.
I pull my earphones out of my ears and, for the second time since sitting down in this waiting room, bow my head in prayer. Heavenly Father who art in heaven, please, I beg you, stop fucking with everyone I—
My phone buzzes with a text that makes me open my eyes.
It’s Jonas. “I CAN’T SLEEP!” he writes.
“Why, hello, Jonas,” I write, smiling at the screen. “Why can’t you sleep, bro? Could it be... SARAH?”
“YES!!!!! Today’s finally the day!!!!” he writes—and, of course, I know he’s referring to the fact that today he’s finally gonna take his “Magnificent Sarah” to the top of Mount Olympus, push the poor girl off the edge of it, and ask her to be his wife.
“What time is it over there?” I type.
“Almost 4:00 a.m.”
I look at my watch and do a quick calculation. They’re ten hours ahead.
“Are you just getting to bed or just waking up?” I write.
“Been lying here wide awake for hours while Sarah’s been sleeping next to me, blissfully unaware my every happiness hangs in the fucking balance today. FUCK ME! I can’t stop thinking about my big speech.”
“Your big speech?” I write, chuckling to myself. “WTF. No big speech required, bro. Just say, ‘Will you marry me, Sarah Cruz?’ Easy-peasy.”
“No, you DUMBSHIT. Any man who says ‘Will you marry me?’ and nothing more when asking the woman of his dreams to be his wife is a DUMBSHIT of epic proportions. Either that, or he fundamentally doesn’t understand what makes women tick.”
“Jonas,” I write, rolling my eyes. “Don’t make poor Sarah listen to a long, drawn-out speech or she’s gonna jump off the mountain before you push her off just to get the fuck away from you.” I laugh out loud as I press send.
“I don’t need your advice this time, Josh. I got th
is,” Jonas replies. “I can’t ask Sarah to marry me without telling her WHY I’m asking her to be my wife or I’d never be able to look myself in the fucking mirror ever again. She’s the goddess and the muse, Josh. She deserves to know that—and to understand WHY.”
“Dude. First off, the all-caps are totally unnecessary. You’re hurting my ears. Second off, you’re overthinking this. Make it memorable, sure. Sweep her off her feet, absolutely. But too much talking and poetry and babbling about ‘goddess and muse’ shit and she’s gonna think you’ve got a fucking vagina.”
“Josh, please trust me, just this once I know more about something than you do. SO FUCK OFF.”
“Testy, testy,” I write. “Okay, okay. I’m hereby officially fucking off. Hey, can you talk instead of texting? My fingers are getting tired.”
“No. Sarah’s lying on my chest, fast asleep. I don’t wanna wake her. So enough about me and my soon-to-be-fiancée (I HOPE AND PRAY).” He attaches a praying-hands emoji. “How’s everything with you?”
I sigh, considering my reply. On our flight to Seattle earlier, Kat and I agreed not to mention the Colby situation to Sarah (and therefore not to Jonas, either).
“Knowing Sarah, she’d drop everything and immediately fly back to Seattle to be with me,” Kat said during our conversation on the plane. “I’d never do that to her—or to poor Jonas. He’s been planning this proposal for weeks.”
“Agreed,” I replied to Kat. “We’ll tell them both what’s going on when they get home. Hopefully, by then, Colby will be up and around and feeling like himself again.”
Kat looked out the window of the airplane, her beautiful face etched with anxiety. “I pray that’s true, Josh.”
I quickly tap out my reply to Jonas’ question: “Everything’s good here.” I give him a quick update on the refurb-job I’m overseeing for our twenty gyms and also regarding the buy-out of our shares of Faraday & Sons. “Oh, and escrow closed on my Seattle house yesterday,” I type. “I’m officially your neighbor. I clocked it the other day and it takes exactly eleven minutes to drive from my house to yours.”
