by Amanda Cowen
I slide on my helmet before climbing onto the seat. “No, he’s an old friend from high school. I don’t see how it is any of your business anyway, Brooks.”
Cash looks back at me, “I’m just looking out for you, Mittens.”
I wasn’t sure whether to smile or roll my eyes.
“I can look out for myself.” I fumble with the straps of my helmet, unable to clip them together. I let out an exasperated sigh and pull off my helmet to assess the problem. What the hell is wrong with this damn helmet?
Cash chuckles and twists his body to face me. He grabs the helmet out of my hands and adjusts the straps. He slides it onto my head and clips it together with ease. “See, I’m not that big of jerk.”
I fix my expression into a cross of annoyed and amused. He reaches forward and tucks a stray ringlet behind my ear. His simple touch causes my stomach to jump. “Then don’t be a jerk to my friend next time,” I say, and pull away from his touch.
“So there’s going to be a next time?” he asks.
I blush, “It was a figure of speech.”
“Whatever you say Mittens,” he chuckles, and turns around.
With that, he revs up the engine and pulls onto the roadway.
Chapter 6
For the past month, it’s been so amazing working for the Bruisers. Everything about sports marketing is a novelty to me – from offering exclusive content to fans or being part of a round-the-clock press, which is exhausting but exhilarating because the fans never let up on non-game days.
I’ve been so busy trying to keep up with the team’s social media, that I’ve had minimal involvement actually dealing with the players. And fortunately because the team spent extensive time on the road over the past month, it has given me time to focus. I’ve done my best to push my needs and desires for Cash and his full, sculpted lips far into a dormant part of my brain.
The clicking of my high heels is the only other sound accompanying my scattered thoughts, as I pass the windows overlooking the arena, through the double doors, and into the reception area where the secretary sits. We say a quick hello before I head to the right and down the hallway leading to my office to start working on the preparations for the next big event for the Bruisers. I peek into Theo’s office and give him a wave to let him know I’ve arrived. His phone is glued to his ear and he is diligently taking notes while he talks.
“Okay. Someone will be there right away.” Theo seems to be wrapping up the conversation. “Yes, I recognize the value of this endorsement.” He pauses and clears his throat. “Yes, I’ll send her.”
While Theo says his goodbye to the person on the end of the line, I am distracted inhaling the scent of freshly brewed coffee. I walk into the communal kitchen and pour myself a cup, before heading into my office. My jacket isn’t even off my body when Theo pops his head through my door with a furrowed brow.
“Don’t even bother taking your jacket off.” Exasperated, he pulls his cell from his pocket. “Plans have changed for today. You’re picking up, Brooks and bringing him to the photo shoot.”
“What? Why?” I ask, taken aback. “I mean; why do I have to pick up Brooks? I thought there was a limo arranged to bring him downtown.”
Theo looks me up and down, frowning. “The limo driver’s transmission blew on the way to pick him up. Apparently Brooks’ Harley is in the shop and he needs a ride. I already told him you were on your way.”
I stare at him in astonishment. I can’t believe I have to pick up Cash. How am I supposed to watch him pose half-naked alongside some gorgeous model for his full page spread in Men’s Health without fainting? I wish there were a possible way to get out of this without quitting.
“Isn’t there someone else that could go?”
“Quinn, I’m not really giving you an option here. This is a huge endorsement for the Bruisers. And he’s the player they want on their cover. If he doesn’t get there in the next hour, it will fall through. I’m counting on you.”
“But—”
“Quinn, you’re going.”
A twenty-minute car ride later and I’ve got enough sweat under my armpits to fill a child’s size pool. When I pull up to the curb, I am expecting to be impressed by his building – but I’m more than impressed. I’m awestruck. His building is gorgeous, on a corner lot, with huge industrial sized windows overlooking Carrick Park, and black wrought iron railings leading up the concrete steps.
Cash swims into focus, walking down the front steps and onto the sidewalk. I swallow hard admiring his hard taut body in a tight pair of jeans stalking towards the passenger side door. It isn’t fair how good he looks this early in the morning or how his already dark skin appears even more sun-kissed against his white shirt.
“Good morning, Mittens.” He smiles, letting those infuriating dimples do their worst. “You know, it’s easier if you take a picture, it lasts longer.”
Returning a self-assured grin, I slide my sunglasses from my eyes to the top of my head and give him my steadiest eye contact. “Don’t flatter yourself. I wasn’t looking at you. I was admiring your building.” I jerk my gaze away from his wet lips, and he slides onto the seat, running his hand absentmindedly though his hair.
“Is that so?” he asks, his voice getting closer.
Clearing my throat, I put my car in drive and pull into the oncoming traffic. I try to keep my focus on the road but my gaze wanders feeling his body permeate several more inches in my direction. What is he doing?
“Brooks, I’m trying to drive here. Keep to you side.” I manage to choke out, feeling his hand brush a ringlet of hair over my shoulder.
“Did you miss me?” He smiles.
I roll my eyes and mumble, “You wish.”
“Wow. That is quite the skirt you’re wearing.” His gaze burns into me, and I inhale a sharp breath. His eyes are on my body. This is not good. This is really not good. “And that red blouse…Fuck, you need to put on a jacket before we get into that studio.”
I turn my attention to my body and make sure everything is intact. What is he even talking about? I look like any well-dressed young professional.
“This is how I always dress for work. Most call it business casual,” I reply.
Cash’s head lowers and his mouth is way too close to my ear. “That outfit is anything but casual.”
I glare at him, annoyed. “If you don’t like it, then don’t look.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it, Mittens. I love it. How the hell am I supposed to focus at the photo shoot with you in that?”
I grip the steering wheel. Does he not understand how inappropriate he is being? “Stop saying things like that to me. I’m a Bruisers’ employee, not your next fuck.”
“You’ve got to stop overthinking everything, Mittens. We’re going to happen.”
“So it’s all up to you? What about what I want?” I reply.
Cash smiles his patented sexy smirk. “And that is?”
“Get into Harvard. Find a stable career. And build a distinguished reputation as a professional.” I pause, letting out a trembling sigh. “Unlike every other girl in the state of California, I have zero interest in becoming Cash Brooks’ next conquest. I have bigger wants than banging the bad boy of the Bexley Bruisers. I’m a busy, vibrant, goal-oriented woman who would rather die than wait for a man to validate my existence.”
He throws his head back and laughs, enjoying my rejection. “Nothing like tooting your own horn.”
“I mean it,” I say, when his laughter stops and he is back to his dangerously charming grin. “I’m on to bigger and better things.”
“I can guarantee you won’t find bigger.” He smirks, enjoying my discomfort as my face heats. He shakes his head laughing. “Your face is bright red. I’ve never met a girl like you, Mittens.”
“Funny, because I’ve meet a million guys like you,” I reply as I press firmly on the breaks and stop at a red light.
“I highly doubt that.”
My response falters as hi
s hand cups the back of my neck, holding me still. His mouth presses against my ear, and my breath hitches, feeling his lips move against my skin. “The more you try to resist me, the harder it’s going to be to get rid of me.”
I manage to push him back a fraction. “I’m not resisting you. I’m just not stupid.”
His mouth breaks from my ear, and he sits back in his seat. His gaze, wild hot with lust, holds steady on mine. My heart is beating like crazy in my chest as the light turns to green.
“We’ll see about that,” he mutters.
I press on the gas, moving us forward. I have a sudden urge to drive with excessive speed and take shortcuts. I doubt the feeling is just about driving. It’s Cash I’m thinking about.
Getting him to the studio can’t come soon enough.
At the studio, I make a point of walking ahead of Cash and straight into the building. Once I push open the double doors, Marley, the creative director for the photo shoot greets us. Her curly blonde hair falls loosely around her heart-shaped face and her smile is warm and welcoming. She greets Cash with open arms and kisses him on both of his cheeks.
“Welcome, Mr. Brooks, we are so excited to have you.” She pulls away and looks over at me. “And who is this lovely lady?”
I shake her hand in a firm grip. “I’m Quinn, the marketing coordinator for the Bruisers.”
“It’s so nice to meet you.” She smiles, giving me a once over. “You’re stunning.”
“Thank you,” I reply, feeling my cheeks heat.
She pauses and then nervously chews her bottom lip. “Quinn, can I speak with you privately before we begin the shoot?”
“Sure—” I say.
Cash cuts me off. “Whatever you need to say to Mittens, you can say to me.”
“Mittens?” she asks, confused.
I wave him off. “Cash, give us a minute.”
“We’re already running late, Mr. Brooks. Nadia will bring you over to hair and makeup.” Marley points over to a busty brunette walking in our direction. “I can assure you that you’re in good hands.”
“Don’t go anywhere,” Cash warns me. “I want you here for the whole shoot.”
I give a reluctant nod. I have no choice but to wait idly in a knotted mess while he strips down and poses for the camera.
I hear footsteps behind us. “Oh. My. God! She’s perfect! How on earth did you secure another model at the last minute?”
Cash’s blue eyes are narrowed at whoever is approaching. I turn and see a skinny man with a shaved head advancing in our direction. His big brown eyes bulge out of their sockets as he eyes me up and down. He grabs onto my wrists and spins me under his arm, assessing my every curve.
“What agency sent you?” he asks.
“Francisco, this is Quinn,” Marley interrupts nervously.” She’s the marketing coordinator for the Bruisers, not our new model. Actually, I was just about to tell her I was currently in the process of securing another model for the shoot.”
Francisco gasps, throwing both his hands over his mouth. “But she’s perfect! So you’re telling me I still have no model?” He spins me under his arm, again eyeing me up and down. “Quinn, baby, have you ever modeled before?”
Me? Model? Sure, I’m over five feet tall and have high cheekbones, but I am far from model material. I stop moving and fear shoots through me as I struggle to find my voice. “I posed once for the Penn Alumni Magazine- “
“She’ll do it.” Cash’s low and commanding voice echoes from behind me.
“No, I won’t,” I say, annoyed. “I don’t understand. What happened to the model you hired for the shoot? Can’t you call the agency to send another?”
Francisco clasps his hand around my wrist, pulling me towards the double doors a few feet away. “The damn model we hired showed up this morning hung over and spent a solid hour throwing up in the bathroom. Now I can’t get ahold of the agency and we have five minutes before the shoot starts.” He shakes his head and curses. “We had to send her home because the damn skank couldn’t pull it together. She puked all over one of our makeup artists. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Let’s get you into hair and makeup, honey. Because you Quinn, are going to rock this shoot.”
Shifting my eyes between Marley and Cash, I am expecting them to stop this insanity, but neither of them says a word. Instead Marley chews nervously on her bottom lip and taps out a text message and Cash’s cocksure smile meets my frown.
“Come on, Mittens. You and I both know that this is a huge endorsement is for the Bruisers.” Cash smirks, letting his dimples do their worst. “Didn’t you just tell me how you want to build a distinguished reputation as a professional?”
I open my mouth to snap at Cash that this is anything but professional, but Marley cuts me off. “I just texted Theo about using Quinn as our model.” She taps open his message. “He replied that he trusts our judgment and supports whatever it takes to get the shot done for the spread in Men’s Health.”
Theo, that traitor!
“See, Quinn, look at it as part of your job spec.” Francisco smiles and shoves me up a step toward the skeptical makeup artists.
Holy shit. What is happening? I don’t even want to be here. I didn’t ask for this and I definitely can’t model, especially with Cash’s hands all over my body. The memory of the dimple on his chin pulling deep into his defined jaw, every time he grins my way sends a chill up my spine. I’ve never been attracted to someone I hate so much.
But if this is what it takes to prove to Theo that I can make things happen, then I will do it for my career to show him how versatile and committed I am as an employee.
Francisco pulls me further down the hallway and we walk pass Nadia and a few other girls in hair and makeup condescendingly eyeing me.
“Francisco, you can’t be serious,” a tall and lanky redhead says, her tone annoyed.
“Oh, I’m so serious,” He pushes me through the double doors. “Don’t let these girls get to you. Cause you, girl, are going to rock this shoot.”
I successfully survive hair and makeup and all the questions from the stylists about Cash, his lifestyle and his current relationship status. I am able to burn through most of the questions without becoming too annoyed, telling myself I will never become one of those women vying for his attention.
It isn’t until I glance over to the other side of the room and see the outfit I am about to put on for the shoot, that my stomach twists and balls in knots. I nearly choke at the sight of the short shimmering black number staring back at me. I am equally excited and terrified because I know that once I put that dress on, I will be out there, alone, vulnerable and on camera with Cash.
“Come on, honey. Let’s get you dressed. It’s show time.” Marley’s familiar voice interrupts my thoughts.
I gulp and follow her over to the skimpy outfit hanging on the rack, staring back at me.
Feeling naked, in more ways than one, Marley guides me into the studio and under the bright lights of the set. I look down at the short, sparkly, clingy, black dress I’m wearing. It dips low in the front hardly covering my breasts and wraps around my neck with an open back.
I inhale a sharp breath when Cash appears in the distance, leaning against the doorway. His casual attire is now replaced with nothing but a tight pair of black boxer briefs. My face flames with embarrassment. I quickly try to look away, but a stylist presses up behind me and guides me onto the platform, so I’m stuck, staring mutely up at Cash.
When he finally steps into the light, with those magnificently broad shoulders and that beautiful eight-pack my eyes travel downward to those narrow hips and full bulge. My breath goes and my knees weaken. His honey hair has been styled and is swept to the side, those blue eyes shining greedily as he moves closer wrapping his hands around my waist. Suddenly all the fear and insecurities I feel diminish and the excitement he causes between my thighs rushes through my bloodstream like lightning.
Without removing his gaze from mine, the stylis
t fixes his hair while Francisco circles the set and argues with the lighting director. With the steady movement and noise drowning out and blurring into the background, I watch Cash’s face harden and his eyes flash as he takes me in, practically naked and bound in his arms.
He reaches for the prop hockey stick on his right. My airway constricts as I watch his large bicep curl tightly as he pulls it against his chest and uses his other hand to run his fingers gently through my wavy hair.
“You smell good,” I shift my feet nervously. I hate that he makes me nervous.
Smiling devilishly, he turns to face me with his eyes weighted as he cups the back of my head, lowering his mouth so his lips rest against my ear. “So do you.” He hisses out a sharp breath, running his hand up my thigh. “You look amazing.”
“It’s show time!” Francisco shouts, wrapping his hand around my elbow and pulls us apart. “Quinn, you look fabulous. Cash, let’s get some more oil on your chest to show off those muscles before we get started.” He clears he throat and shouts out to no one in particular. “I need more oil. NOW!”
Francisco’s assistant passes him a camera as he walks over to the front of the set. He begins focusing and adjusting his lens, taking some test shots. Marley swoops in with an open bottle of oil and starts rubbing her hands down the front of Cash’s tattooed chest. My inside heats with a twinge of jealously watching her fingers dip and wander along his every ripple.
When she works her way up to his left shoulder, sliding her hands along the front of his chest I catch a glimpse of the tattoo etched across it; For You, A Thousand Times Over. I take a moment to look at the calligraphy running horizontally over his taut pecks, black and simple, but beautiful. I angle my head, trying to figure out what exactly who or what he could possibly be referring to when Cash looks up and sees my questioning look.
“What's with the tattoo?”
He turns his body and puffs out his chest looking down at the markings. “Nothing. It’s a tattoo.”
“Come on. It says ‘For You,’ so it must be for someone.”
