His Virgin Bride

by Kara Hart

  I have to literally shake myself out of it. After all, she was my high school fling and the only girl I ever thought I loved. As it turns out for some men, you end up falling in love with the game more.

  “Fuck this,” she mutters under her breath. She makes sure to cover the opening of her skirt as she picks herself up from the chair, walking modestly to the door. It’s clear she knows what I want, but she’s not going to give it up that easy, if at all.

  She turns around, before opening the door at the front of the house. “We’ve established an understanding,” she says. “You’re a douchebag.”

  “Great,” I laugh. “It hardly affects me.”

  She opens the door and walks out into my yard, leaving the door open. Fuck.

  “You know, it actually will affect you if you keep up this act. It’s worked out well enough for you up until now, but I’ve dealt with a lot of players in my lifetime. There’s one thing I’ve discovered. Winning power gets to a man. And if he’s not strong enough, it almost always breaks him. I’m looking forward to you winning these games for your team, but if you fail, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Wow,” I laugh. Fiona’s become one cold bitch. I smile and glance at Landon, who’s doing the same. “I think I like her,” I tell him.

  Fiona

  I’ve seen a lot in my time, working for the big leagues. It’s nothing new to see a stripper rub her ass on a player’s face. It’s a bit shocking when it’s your ex-boyfriend from back home, however. Still, I can manage to put business first and emotions second. That’s essentially the name of the game, right?

  Still, I can’t deal with this prick’s attitude. Of course, when I get back to my rental house, all I can think about is today’s interaction. How the hell was that the same guy I fell in love with? He was so sweet back in Arizona. Sure, he had big hopes and dreams. He wanted to be a great football player and I wanted the same for him. He never acted better than anyone else though. So what changed?

  We used to laugh, kiss, and tell each other sweet nothings while we laid in bed together, fairly innocently. I always remembered those times with an odd sort of fondness attached to them. There was even a sort of longing for them at times. I loved the way we used to watch old games and he would tell me his big plans. “Someday, Fiona, we’re going to take over the world. We’re going to go all the way to the pros. And once it’s all said and done, we’ll run away. They’ll look everywhere for us, but we’ll have vanished without a trace.”

  It was high school romanticism at its finest and I knew it probably wouldn’t ever happen. Back then, when I was so entranced with him and hoping for the best future outcome for both of us, I accepted it. I really thought we would be together forever.

  Now look at me. I’m 28 and living in a rental, somewhere deep in the Portland woods. I have to take orders from my ex, and to drive the nail even further, I have to make him look good. I suppose it could be worse. I suppose I could be homeless or something.

  My best friend from high school, Jennifer Hawks, seems to be on my side on this one. Thank God. We decide to catch up and take a walk to the nearest bar, some dive around the corner.

  Outside, the air outside is refreshing and beautiful. The sun is setting and the clouds are out, but it’s still so nice. I love the California breeze around this time normally, but Portland will be an easy adjustment. The whole city has transformed since the last time I was here. Now, there’s new shops on every corner, a dozen restaurants opening up every single day, and plenty of happy people. Fine, Joseph, I think to myself. You win.

  “I absolutely love living here,” Jennifer says to me. “Seriously, you’re going to end up wanting to stay.”

  “Fat chance,” I mutter. “I have to admit, however, I’m really liking the vibe of this place. LA is so… LA.” I laugh.

  “Ugh,” she says. “I hate that place. I mean, don’t get me wrong. It’s really fun to visit sometimes, but the whole industry just takes over your life. I swear, I was running from party to party, every single night, just to get one contact for the business. I don’t know why I was so invested in that lifestyle.”

  “I get it,” I laugh. “You’re describing me. Truth is, it’s going to take some getting used to not doing that every day. I lived for networking.”

  “You’re almost 30,” she looks at me like I’m crazy. “Settle down. Find a real man and just relax. You don’t have much time left.”

  Jesus. Is it really that bleak? “I’m not dying, Jen. Come on,” I laugh, shaking my head.

  “Just messing with you a bit,” she says as we walk up to the bar. She swings open the door and we both walk in. The delicious smells of hops, old wood, and greasy onion rings instantly sweep into my nostrils and I realize I probably need a drink or two. Or three. Shit, just give me the whole pitcher and a plate of wings and I’ll be fine.

  We sit down and order just that. “So, you’ll never guess who I’m assigned to,” I say to her once we’re situated.

  “Who? OJ Simpson?” she asks, looking at the TV above my head. There’s a football game on and I turn to glance at it. I can’t help but shake my head.

  “No,” I laugh. “It’s worse than that. Trust me.”

  On the television, I see him. Jackson Leeman in all his glory, shining on the LED screen, and guess what he’s doing? He’s spitting on a group of fans after a game and screaming at them to ‘fuck off.’ I bury my face in my hands and groan.

  “No,” Jen says. “Don’t tell me it’s Jackson.” But the look on my face says it all.

  “It’s awful, isn’t it?” I smile.

  “Oh God,” she says. “You’re going to have to work overtime on this guy. Fiona, you’re going to have to quit.”

  I laugh and our server comes with our pitchers. I eagerly pour myself a glass and take a big sip of orange lager. “I can’t quit,” I say. “Besides, it won’t be that hard, will it?” I’m hoping she can give me some hope because right now because I have very little.

  “I’m serious, girl. You need to find another agency who’s not going to fuck you over all of the sudden like this,” she says. “You’ve given how many years to them? A decade? That’s true loyalty, babe. They need to show you some respect. Don’t they know you two have history?”

  “Joseph knows everything. Are you kidding me? He does his research on everyone and everything,” I tell her. “But at the end of the day, he doesn’t really care about our feelings. This is a job and I have to do it well still.”

  “Oh, God,” she moans, taking a sip of her beer. I pick at a wing and roll my eyes. “Well, welcome to Portland. You’re officially screwed.”

  “Yup,” I laugh with my mouthful. “I’m hoping it won’t be that bad. Like, I won’t have to see him all that much. I’m pretty sure he just stays in his mansion all day with his teammates. It’s a bit far off from here.”

  I hear the door slam open and my heart races when I see who walks in. A barrage of loudmouthed, laughing football players come hollering through the bar. “Alright, guys. Get the pitchers. I’m fucking ready to destroy something!” It’s him. It’s Jackson and he’s ready to… um… destroy something. His words, not mine.

  I turn to Jennifer and widen my eyes. “Are you kidding me?” I mouth at her. Her mouth hangs wide open.

  I avoid eye contact as much as I can. There’s no way I want to deal with him right now. Yesterday was enough, dammit. I feel a warm, strong grip around my shoulders, and I know I’m fucked. His hands cup and his fingers press into the knots on my back and shoulders. Suddenly, I feel a wave of relief flow throughout my body.

  No. I am not going to enjoy a massage by Jackson Leeman right now. He’s honestly the most annoying man I’ve ever met. “Damn,” he finally says, “you’re tense, baby. What’s wrong?”

  “Please stop molesting my shoulders,” I say, closing my eyes and trying my hardest not to freak out on him. He lets go and backs off.

  “Come on, I’m not doing anything to hurt you,” he says.
“Look, we’re coworkers now, right? We have to do our best to get along. We might as well be friends.”

  A player by the name of Boris Holloway throws his arms around Jackson’s neck and screams. “Let’s get fucked up!”

  This is honestly what I was afraid of. He’s turning this team into a bunch of hooligans. He’s making it okay to be an idiot in football and sure enough, the team will suffer because of it. When I look into this sea of jock straps, all I see are a bunch of fools looking to impress Jackson. They know he’s the best. They’ve read the headlines. Now, all they want is a chance at the same type of spotlight, so they mimic his behavior.

  I grab Jackson and pull him aside. Landon, from across the bar, smiles at me. I purse my lips angrily and look at Jackson directly in the eyes. “Look, I don’t care what you do on your own time. I get your shtick. You’re the guy who doesn’t give two fucks about playing by the rules, yet you come onto the field and take the team to victory. Big deal.”

  “You don’t know me at all,” he laughs and takes a sip of my beer, right from my hand. I’m flabbergasted and heavily annoyed.

  “Fine, whatever,” I sigh. “But your teammates look up to you. Set a standard, dammit. Or else the whole thing will fall apart.”

  “Look, I’m going to be honest with you since you’re being so honest with me,” he says. “Plus, I’m already pretty drunk from pre-gaming.”

  “Great,” I mumble out loud.

  “You’re hotter than ever. Do you know that?” he says, hand on my shoulder. I back away from him and feel my face turn red. He’s wearing a type of cologne I’ve never smelled before. He smells like whisky too. I can’t help but notice his rumpled button-down shirt. It hangs wide open, exposing tattoos over his ripped abs. Look away, my mind tells me. I do, but it’s awkward and I can tell he saw me.

  “Thanks,” I say. “But this is business. We are business partners. That’s it.”

  He just continues on his rant, eying me up and down. He stops at my tits. Ugh. “I would love to—” He stops himself and thinks about what he’s about to say for a second. “You just look really fucking sexy in those little suits you always wear. But next time we see each other, I’d like you to wear something more comfortable.”

  His hand wraps around my waist and suddenly I feel something I shouldn’t be feeling. It’s the alcohol, I tell myself. And the fact that I haven’t been with a man in over six months. It’s kind of killing me. Still, I take another step back. Jackson is the worst person in the world and I’m stuck picking up the pieces for him. He just wants to use me for his own glory.

  “Please, let me get back to my friend,” I tell him. “I’m flattered you keep staring at my tits. Really. But you need to settle down. I’d recommend laying off the whisky for a while.”

  “Sure thing, baby.” He winks and kisses my cheek. Instantly, my face flushes with pinkish red and I scramble to regain my composure. He walks away and I can’t believe myself, but there are actually goosebumps creeping up the back of my neck.

  What the fuck. I slowly walk back over to Jennifer who has the biggest smile on her face. “Are. You. Kidding me?” she says, nearly falling out of her chair. “Oh my god, you’re definitely going to hook up, aren’t you?”

  “Don’t,” I tell her, blushing still. “Just don’t. He’s the most selfish man I’ve ever met. I really don’t like him.”

  “Selfish men are always fun to take for a ride,” she winks and makes a kissy face. I playfully slap her hand. She leans over and whispers. “Seriously though, I’d take him for a ride any day of the week. He’d rip my panties off with his big football player hands and grip my ass, and—”

  “Jennifer!” I exclaim. “Oh my God!”

  “What?” She laughs and shrugs her shoulders. “I’m just saying.”

  Yeah, it’s true. He’s a good looking guy. But so what? It’s not like that’s ever made a difference. I see good-looking guys every day. It doesn’t mean I have to fuck him or spend any real quality time with him.

  But he keeps glancing over at me and he’s making sure I see him doing it. He’s the kind of guy who has to win at everything. Well, shit. He’s not going to win with me.

  Jackson

  I can’t help myself. I just love the chase; you know?

  When I stare at her in the bar, I see the girl I fell in love with back in high school. Suddenly, something changes inside me. I don’t know what it is and I’m not saying I’m turning into a fucking sap, but something is there. Part of me wants to dive in. Another part of me just wants a taste of her.

  I stare at her all night, until I’m drunk enough to stumble into a cab. The whole way home I can’t stop laughing. I don’t know why.

  The cab driver looks in his window and narrows his eyes at me. “Hey, aren’t you that football player?”

  “So what if I am?” I ask him. This could go either of two ways.

  He slams on his breaks. Yep, we’re doing this. He gets out of the cab and opens my door. “Out!” he yells. “Out of my cab!”

  Not again. I sigh loudly. “Come on, man. Politics aside, I need to get home. I’ve had a long night.”

  “I said, get out!” he yells again, pointing at the empty street. I’m just a few blocks away, so I decide to just bite the bullet and walk home.

  “You know what?” I reach into my pocket and pull out a giant wad of cash. I really need to stop carrying my money around like this but I hate paying with cards. I count out two hundred dollars and climb out of the cab. I take the money and throw it at his face. “Keep the fucking change, asshole.”

  “You piece of shit!” he screams as I laugh like a jackal. I walk away into the night. “You’re a disgrace to the Black Wings! You’re a disgrace to football!”

  “Yeah.” I laugh. “And you’re a disgrace to all cabbies around the world, but at least I still paid your ass.”

  I stumble home. I’ve been doing this a lot lately. I stumble through the walkway in my perfect yard and manage to get inside. It’s weird living like this. I didn’t always. I used to live in cheap housing with my buddies back in college. And before that? Well, shit, my dad used to beat the ever living crap out of me when I asked if we had any milk to spare, so it’s a bit obvious why I opted in for the mansion and sports car.

  I don’t bear any ill feelings about my past. It’s just something that happened. I can’t change those things, but I can look forward to the future. It’s still weird to walk into a home like this, covered in porcelain, marble, and gold. It still doesn’t click to me. The fact that I’m alone here is also a bit unsettling. The house is just so damn big and empty. There’s even a fucking echo.

  I go into my giant bedroom and fall down onto the mattress that’s perfectly designed to contour around my body. I flip on some porno flick because I’m bored and horny, and I can’t stop thinking about women on a 24/7 basis. Or, lately, on particular woman.

  Yeah, I’m an asshole. I’ve been told that too many times to count. And now I’ve just adopted what people tell me. Now, I don’t give a fuck.

  There’s still that voice in my head, though. It tells me, don’t do it. Don’t end up like your father. It’s a bit of a cliché, I guess. But it’s truer than ever. I don’t want to end up like that bastard. I shrug it off and click through to a scene I want.

  It doesn’t satisfy me, so I turn the damn thing off. I don’t get it. I can’t stop thinking about those perfect thighs of Fiona’s. If only I could go back in time, just for one night. Shit, we never did actually fuck back then. It’s a shame.

  I close my eyes and think of her in that tight little skirt suit. I think of her going home from a rough day at work. She needs a massage, a bubble bath, because she’s so exhausted. I imagine her filling up that bathtub and bending over the porcelain. She slips out of that skirt of hers, revealing a black garter belt and stockings. She’s so fucking hot, so ready for someone to just come in and catch her at the right moment.

  I imagine myself walking in and I’m behind
her. She can sense it and for a second, she almost turns around. Something makes her stop, however, and I reach out and touch her round ass. She’s startled, but quickly realizes who it is. I reach underneath her and touch her warm, soaking lips. My cock is as hard as ever and I push it against her. Her lips part and she wraps around me perfectly, swallowing up my head and shaft.

  I rip her bra off and kiss her neck. “Fuck me, big boy,” she says, and I feel my blood start to pulse. I need her. I want her so fucking badly. “Cum inside me,” she says.

  I pump her full of my hard, rigid flesh. I make her mine. I pull her hair and fuck her in that warm bubble bath. I make sure she cums over and over again because I take pleasure in making her fall for me.

  I open my eyes again and I’m in my bedroom. I’m stroking my cock and I’m about to fucking cum. I explode everywhere. It’s a pupil-widening, toe curling, muscle twitching type of orgasm that leaves me flustered and totally satisfied. Except for the fact that I’m alone right now.

  I take a hot shower, sober up a little, and head to bed. I’m alone, but it doesn’t mean shit. I don’t need that woman. I don’t need anyone. A few days from now is more important. It’s the big game against Dallas and I have some new tricks I want to try out.

  On the field, it’s another day of learning. This is my trade and I take it seriously. That woman can say whatever she wants about the way I act. I know I’m arrogant. But it’s only because I play like a winner. If I didn’t carry around that attitude, I could lose it all. Okay, I’m a little superstitious, but if it helps me win, I’ll worship the damn stars if I have to.

  The QB hikes the ball and suddenly I barrel into the end zone. I turn back and cut, sliding away from a defensive tight end. He’s nothing to me and I can sense his fear. He wants to take me down. He wants to bask in the glory of beating me. Not on my watch. All it takes is one look from me for Loke, the quarterback, to know that it’s time to throw the ball.