by Jesse Jordan
Judy smiles, reversing the recorder to her. “Tonight Lincoln Watson was a one man wrecking crew until that last minute injury. I noticed you were talking with him on the trainer's table, how's he doing?”
“Lincoln Watson is tough, strong, and a real man's man,” I reply, not quite catching myself in time. I scramble to cover up my mistake. “You saw him try to get back in the game. I'm sure it'll take a lot for Lincoln to stay down.”
“I do too. What about the talk about him being the League MVP this year?”
I chuckle, smiling genuinely. “If it happens, it happens. The great thing about Lincoln is that he doesn't play for the accolades, he plays because he loves it. If you asked him, he'll tell you the same thing I am right now... Lincoln Watson's number one concern is playing as well as he can to help the Knights win.”
“Okay, changing subjects... in the ten days since you slapped Richard Qualls, he's faced a lot of fallout from the situation. Anything else you'd like to add?”
I shake my head, giving Judy another politic smile. “Tonight's just about football, Judy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get going.”
Judy nods and I head towards the locker rooms, stopping in the trainer's room. Lincoln's out of his shoulder pads, laying back as the team doctor runs him through the same evaluation the trainers did. “Okay Lincoln, we should still schedule you for an MRI tomorrow,” the doctor says, “but I don't think you've torn anything. I'd say you've got a pretty wicked sprain, and you'll be on limited practice for at least this upcoming week, but I can't tell you any more than that.”
“I understand,” Lincoln says. “So what now?”
“I'll get you a hydrocortisone injection, but you really should have that strapped up before you go home,” the doctor replies. “Listen, I need to check on a few of the other guys, but I'll be back to get you that injection, then into the whirlpool for you. Contrast treatments for at least an hour, then a brace if you still insist on walking out of here.”
Lincoln sighs, but nods. The doctor turns and gives me a nod. “Miss Porter... I think he'll be fine in a week or two.”
“That's good to hear,” I reply, not willing to say more. The doctor leaves and I walk over to check on Lincoln. “That was stupid, by the way.”
“What?” he asks, laying back. “Trying to block?”
“No... hopping off the table to try and go back in to play,” I respond. “There was nothing you could have done.”
“If and butts... I still feel like hell,” Lincoln says. “Don't worry, I'll be back on the field in no time. Gotta make sure the team gets to the playoffs for your dad.”
“I don't care about the playoffs... I care about you,” I reply, whispering the last bit. Lincoln's eyes gleam as my words sink in. “So... what's this contrast training? They never let me in the training room most of the time, too many penises flapping around.”
Lincoln chuckles, then shivers. “Ten minutes in the whirlpool, ten minutes in an ice and water bath. I'm lucky, it's just my knee. Last time I had to do this I'd banged up my shoulder... you have to immerse yourself to the neck then. Imagine every ten minutes a million needles being stuck into your skin, alternating icy cold and fiery hot. Just when you get used to one, you're switching to the other one.”
I groan, wincing at the thought. “And you'll... you can survive this?”
“Three whole iterations of it, an hour total,” Lincoln says with a chuckle. “Don't worry, I'll be fine. I've actually heard it's good for the testosterone production, maybe that's why it helps with recovery.”
“Like you need any help with your testosterone,” I murmur, just loud enough Lincoln can hear me. Suddenly I lean over and give him a kiss on the cheek. To hell with the risk, my boyfriend was just hurt and it scared the shit out of me. “To keep you warm in the ice bath.”
Lincoln nods, and reaches over, giving my hand a squeeze. “Samantha... I care about you too.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I'll get going... call me when you get home.”
I leave the training room, heading for my office, but before I can reach the elevator I hear a voice pierce my thoughts. “So that's what you've been up to... fucking around with the rest of the team.”
I turn to see Joe, changed for his press conference, his eyes blazing with jealousy and a sneer on his lips. “What do you mean, Joe?”
“I mean I saw what you just did,” Joe rumbles, stepping closer. “You ditch me for... for that scrub? I'm making ten million a year, and he's on league minimum wage!”
“And if the team had spent ten million in players like him, we'd be undefeated for the past two years,” I shoot back. “He's on pace to break the single season sack record, has kept this defense in the top ten throughout the season, and does it all without causing drama or picking up lawsuits. I can't say the same for you, Mr. Ranked Sixteenth In The League In QB Rating.”
Joe glowers, crossing his arms over his chest. “You'll pay for that, Sam.”
“It's Samantha,” I growl. “Everyone but Lincoln calls me Sam, no wonder I don't feel like a woman. You want to know the truth, Joe?”
“What truth?” Joe asks, stopping as I step closer, giving him my sweetest smile.
“The simple truth is, Lincoln Watson's more man than you ever have been... and ever will be. Ten million a year contract or not. So while you count your big paycheck, just remember that the best girl to ever give you the time of day is screaming out Lincoln's name and clawing his back at his minimum contract house, sweat soaking into his minimum contract bedsheets, while being filled with his huge MVP level cock. So before you call anyone a scrub... check your stats downstairs.”
I turn and leave, ignoring Joe as he calls my name once. Sure, the cat's out of the bag, but it couldn't stay hidden forever. And besides, I told the total truth.
Joe's just going to have to live with that.
Chapter 16
Lincoln
“How're you doing, Lincoln?”
I look away from the TV, where a local cable channel is showing Night Of The Living Dead as part of a Halloween Scare-A-Thon, seeing the head trainer. “I'm okay, Doc. The cortisone seems to be working, and I'm on the last round of the whirlpool. Mind if I soak in it for a bit longer?”
“Nah, I'll be here until at least eight o'clock,” the trainer says. “Just holler when you want to get out, Dr. McMahon said you do need to be strapped into a Type 3 neoprene brace before you go. Think you'll need crutches?”
“No, but I'll give you a heads up after we get that damn brace on,” I laugh good naturedly in reply. “Thanks... they're just getting to the good parts, figure I can watch the zombies get barbecued before I'm done.”
“Just don't get yourself boiled while you're at it. This team needs their Monster, not their Lobster,” the trainer says, giving me a laugh as he leaves. I sink into the hot water, sighing at the rest of my body is immersed in the whirlpool. It's not quite a Jacuzzi, the water's too warm and there's no bubbles, but after pounding on people for three hours, it feels good.
What makes me feel better is the memory of Samantha's kiss right before she left. It was a big risk, and I know I scared the hell out of her tonight. But that kiss helped more than any injection. With the first brush of her lips on my skin, all my pain, all of the disappointment I felt from losing the game didn't quite evaporate, but changed into something I can more easily deal with, and I'm still riding that wave.
“All persons who die during this crisis for whatever cause will come back to seek human victims...” the TV says, making me shake my head. Sometimes, I think the world could use a good zombie apocalypse. It would at least reduce the asshole population... although knowing my luck the assholes would be the ones surviving since they'd just toss everyone else to the zombies.
I let myself relax more as I watch the black and white classic, so absorbed that I don't hear someone enter until they're nearly across the room. “Watson!”
I turn my head, ignoring Ben, Barbara, and the rest of the
zombie survivors to see Joe Crenshaw standing in the middle of the room, anger in his eyes. “What can I do for you, Joe?”
“Explain to me why you were a total pussy out there at the end of the game,” Joe growls, crossing his arms over his chest. “I just got done with the press conference, and all I fucking heard the whole goddamn time was Lincoln Watson this, Lincoln Watson that. Too bad I can see your act for what it is... gloryhog.”
“Gloryhog?” I ask, shaking my head. “Joe, if I didn't feel so damn sore I'd get out of this tub and show you just how much glory I'm interested in. Get the fuck out of here before you piss me off.”
“Sure, talk tough, bitch,” Joe says. “You're the one who finished on the sidelines holding your knee when the game was on the line, while I still got my ass out there.”
I shake my head again, pushing myself up to sit on the edge of the whirlpool. “Joe, I don't know if you've started drinking early or something, but I fought my heart out tonight. The losses suck, and it pisses me off, but I'll be back out there.”
“Sure... I've heard that before,” Joe says. “I know how you were in Chicago, Watson. One of my old teammates played with you, said you were always soft. When you have to pull yourself up by your balls, you always come up short.”
I swing my leg out of the whirlpool, and stand up, not caring if my knee hurts right now or not. “Joe, if you want to see whose balls are able to measure up... I guaran-damn-tee you I'm going to make you look like a fucking eunuch.”
Joe sneers, but takes a step back as I step forward, my knee aching but I don't let a single tremor of pain touch me. “Fine... bitch boy. Keep thinking you're going to be lucky like you've been. Next week we've got New England again, they know your shit and I guaran-damn-tee you that you're going to have your shit pushed in by the end of next Sunday.”
“Keep talking, Joe,” I growl, taking another step forward. “One more word, and the team's going to be looking for a free agent quarterback to fill in for you being on the disabled list... permanently.”
Joe grins, but takes a step back. “We'll find out, won't we? You think you're bulletproof, you keep talking shit, punk bitch. See who the team keeps around, and who's going to be asking if I want fries with that for minimum wage. See you around.”
Joe leaves, and I glare at his disappearing back. I want to go after him, but right now my knee is telling me I couldn't chase down Joe even if I didn't have only some compression shorts on. Instead, I back up, sitting down on the edge of the whirlpool and swinging my legs back into the water before sitting down. I look up at the television, but all the fun of watching the corny movie's gone.
“Zombie apocalypse comes... I know who I'm feeding to the horde,” I mutter. “Your adoring fans would love to get a piece of you, Crenshaw.”
Chapter 17
Samantha
“You sure about this?” I ask as we pull up to the valet in Lincoln's Navigator. “I mean, your knee...”
“Will be fine for Sunday,” Lincoln says, giving me a smile. “Samantha, I've spent the past five days doing nothing but stretching, icing, mobility work, some lifting for the rest of my body, and sitting on my ass studying tape. I damn near feel like a nerd at this point, I know New England's offense so well I could probably call their plays for them in the huddle. So yeah... I'm sure.”
I nod, taking his hand. “Thanks. By the way, nice place. Where'd you get the reservations?”
“Apparently, I can now drop my name around this town and swing some weight,” Lincoln says with a laugh. “And since I asked for an early reservation, they didn't have to bump Ivanka out of the spotlight.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “That's a name I've never liked hearing. I get too many damn comparisons.”
“Differences between you and her,” Lincoln reassures me, “and every other daughter of money that's around. One, you're smarter. Two, you work a hell of a lot harder. Finally... you're far more beautiful.”
“Keep it up, Mr. Watson,” I joke as I take his arm. He's wearing one of his custom tailored suits again, looking like someone crossed James Bond with The Terminator and added a twist of Khal Drogo just for fun. “Flattery gets you lots of places.”
Lincoln chuckles, and lowers his head to whisper in my ear. “The only place I want to be tonight is in bed with you, your thighs wrapped around my ears.”
My pussy clenches as I imagine where Lincoln's suggestion could lead us, and I know I'm blushing slightly as I give his bicep a squeeze. “I'm sure something could be arranged.”
“Hey Lincoln! Lincoln Watson!” someone yells, and I turn with Lincoln to see a photographer lift their camera to snap a few pictures. Lincoln's face goes from seductive to angry in a millisecond, but before he can say anything the photog's run away, probably to sell his photo.
“Great... just great,” Lincoln mutters. “When you told me about Joe saying something to you at the stadium, I knew the secret was crumbling... but now everyone and their fucking brother's going to know.”
I nod, and squeeze his arm again. “Let them. I already told my father, and so far you've still got a job.”
Lincoln blinks, taking my hand. “You told your father?”
“Figured I had to,” I tell him as we enter the restaurant and are led to our table. “I walked right into his office and told him even before I called you.”
Lincoln nods his head thoughtfully. “And what did he say?”
“He wasn't too happy, but when I told him that we've been seeing each other since the preseason, he said I was a grown woman able to make my own decisions. His main concern is how it'll effect the Knights.”
Lincoln shrugs, picking up a wine menu. “From what I can tell, if Joe's talking to anyone else, he's not making a big deal about it. A few guys have noticed he and I don't get along, but we never have. Nobody really cares, we're on different sides of the ball. Red seems to be worrying about me, so I guess he's not in the know about it. Or... did you tell him?”
“Red's job has no overlap with my dating life,” I reply primly before smirking. “Besides, if my own father says he can't control me, there's no way Red Hallifax can tell me what to do with my life.”
“I don't think anyone can,” Lincoln replies. “Not even me.”
Dinner is delicious, and for the first time in a while I get to see Lincoln really tuck into a meal as he orders a 'seafood special' that includes over a pound of grilled salmon. “So what's got the appetite going?”
Lincoln chuckles and sips his wine. “Doc says that fish oil helps with joint injuries. Kinda like all natural glucosamine pills. So, I figured I might as well get a little bit extra... and the salmon here is rated in the top five in the state. How could I pass it up?”
“It does have good seafood. This crab is delicious,” I counter, enjoying a succulent mouthful. “Say, have any plans for dessert?”
“Well, we've got a few options,” Lincoln says after a moment. “We could enjoy whatever the chef happens to prepare for us here... or we could go back to your place which is a lot closer than my place and enjoy something we pick up along the way.”
“Hmmm... I think I'd prefer a good cheesecake, and I know an all-night supermarket close to my house that makes some kick ass ones,” I decide. “Think your diet can handle that?”
“I'm sure it won't be too bad,” Lincoln says, taking another bite of salmon. “You know Samantha... I'm sorry about the picture, and about what happened with Joe.”
“Don't be... I'm the one who should apologize,” I reply. “Lincoln, we've been seeing each other for a while now, and the whole time you've been fine with keeping things quiet simply to make my life easier. That was my mistake, because here's the truth. The past three months and some change have been some of the best in my life. From our first encounter, you've always treated me in a way that makes me feel better than I ever have before. You treat me with respect, you treat me with tenderness, you thrill my body... and the whole time I feel like I've been taking advantage of you.”
“I wouldn't say that,” Lincoln replies. “Samantha, I understood why you wanted to do things the way we have. I'm not saying I'm upset that our picture might end up on the web somewhere pretty soon either, I've always been a little proud that you're my girl and I'm your guy.”
“You're more than just my guy... Lincoln, remember when I told you I talked with my friend Angie about you?”
Lincoln nods, and I take a deep breath. What the hell, in for a penny, in for a pound. “Lincoln... I told her I was falling for you. And I was right... because I've totally fallen for you, all the way. I'm in love with you, Lincoln.”
I'm nervous for a moment, but before even three heartbeats can thud through my chest Lincoln takes my hand, lowering his voice to that sexy water over gravel sound that I wake up every morning hoping to hear more of. “Guess what? I love you too. I have for at least a month now.”
We lean close to each other, and for the first time I don't care that we're in public. Let everyone see as we kiss, there's no reason to hide now.
“Come on,” I purr as our kiss ends. “Get the check, and then take me home. The only thing on my mind is making love with you.”
Lincoln and I have been 'fucking' or 'having sex' for months now, and we've done a lot of things that have opened me up to levels of exploration and pleasure that I never even knew existed. Still, this feels different as I unzip my dress and slide it off, letting Lincoln watch. He's already taken off everything but his underwear, and for the first time I'm not staring at his bulging cock like a starving woman.
“I can't believe I feel nervous,” I chuckle, letting my dress fall to the floor. “You've seen me naked plenty of times.”
“I know... if it helps I'm nervous too,” Lincoln replies, standing up from the end of the bed to reach out, taking my hands and pulling me closer. “Are you sure?”
