On my third count to twenty, my salad arrived with a slice of apple pie. “I’ll put it in a to-go box if you need me to. A little homemade apple pie never hurt anyone.” Estella gave me a wink and strolled away.
I moved my iPad aside and tentatively took a bite of salad, refusing to look at the pie. The vinegar and oil was pre-applied and a little more than I liked, but it was good. I ate the turkey and the boiled egg, pushing the other meat to the side, managing to eat half the large salad.
Without me asking, Estella brought a small Styrofoam box with a wrapped plastic fork for the pie. After I left, I thought about slipping the box into the Inn’s garbage dumpster, but the free pie was such a nice gesture. I’d save it in the small room fridge and maybe take a bite or two in the morning. I knew it would taste delicious because everything fattening always did.
I closed my hotel room door behind me with a sigh of relief. I’d faced my fears the entire day and survived. Now it was my time. I removed my clothes, taking off the tight bra and massaging my breasts. There was a full mirror on the small closet door. Indents lined my skin from the bra. I dropped my hands and stared at myself. My huge breasts made my waist appear smaller than it was. Though my nipples pointed straight out, my breasts sagged slightly. In a few years it would be much worse. I pulled a large nightshirt over my head. I slept with nothing beneath the cotton material. If my career took off after this, I would start saving more than a few coins here and there for the surgery that would make me normal. Exhaustion from no sleep the night before and a day of travel rolled over me. Once my head hit the pillow, I dreamed of apple pie.
Chapter Four
The stadium wasn’t hard to find. Its size surprised me. I expected a field, a few buildings, and some bleachers. What I got was a top-notch sports complex.
Home of The Slam in big bold letters rested above the front doors next to the box office. According to signs, if lines were too long, you could walk around and use side entrances if you pre-purchased tickets. A separate set of double doors immediately to the side of where I stood was marked for season ticket holders.
Rugby was a hotter commodity sport than I realized. I looked through the doors, but couldn’t see anyone. I took out my cell to message Van, but thought to try the door first. It opened.
The stadium lobby was huge and deathly quiet. I started searching for the locker rooms with the sound of my shoes echoing off the walls. A few minutes later, I found a hallway marked with arrows pointing to my destination. The long brick walkway took me to an open area complete with lockers. It didn’t smell like the sweaty locker rooms I remembered from my youth. No showers that I could see and I figured they were through one of two sets of doors on the side of the room. A low groan, coming through the closest door, had me walking in that direction. The door was propped open a few inches. With the next groan, I stopped without going inside. My stomach clenched. Who the heck was on the other side?
I was on time for my interview, but maybe I was interrupting an early morning quickie. Or God forbid he was in there by himself. I straightened my shoulders, nervously ran my hands down the sides of my unfitted navy jacket, and timidly approached the door. He was only a jock after all, and my expectations weren’t too high.
Eye contact, eye contact, I repeated to myself for the hundredth time since leaving my hotel room.
I peeked around the room until I saw two men—one lying face first on a table with nothing on but a small towel across his butt cheeks. The other man dug into the naked guy’s oiled muscles with his fingers and palms. Oh my. I couldn’t look away and practically drooled over the raw muscle lying on that table. Who was I kidding? All my lady parts came to instant attention at the display of pure dazzling brawn. Dammit, not again.
“I think your reporter’s arrived,” said the man giving the massage.
The naked man lifted his head. Our gazes locked. I’m sure my jaw fell to the floor, because no picture did those eyes justice. They were baby daddy gorgeous.
“I’m good, Curtis. Thanks.” He gave another low moan as Curtis dug one last time into his back.
Curtis added a small series of chops, picked up a towel to wipe his hands, and walked around me on his way to the door. He gave a small nod and then it was only me and a naked Van Stelson alone in the room. Van rolled to his side before dropping his feet over the table. Somehow the towel slid forward and pooled between his legs. I gulped.
He grinned, and his eyes took a quick scan of my body. “I’m walking to the shower and I’ll be out in two. Your choice if you wanna watch, but the towel isn’t going with me.”
His low voice sent a shiver across my skin. As his words sank in, heat raced to my cheeks. I spun so fast I lost my balance and had to use a side table to keep from falling on my ass. Van’s husky chuckle sent shivers clear to my toes. What was I supposed to do now? I answered my own question; stay upright and absolutely do not turn around. I heard the water turn on. Though I couldn’t peel my eyes from the naked man when I walked in, I had noticed the entire back of the room was tiled and had shower heads and nozzles interspersed. Nothing blocked the showers from view and now all I could think about was water sliding over oiled muscles. I fought a groan. If I was smart, I’d walk out of the room immediately. It was happening again, and something wild was taking over intelligent, practical Cami and turning her into a ball of hormonal lust.
The water shut off.
I stayed frozen until he spoke again. “I’m decent if that’s what you’re waiting for.”
I turned around and pushed up my glasses. No, the man was far from decent. A pair of dark shorts was all that covered him. Conner had been lean with teenage muscle, Maddux’s body a little more mature. The god standing before me was all hot, gorgeous, muscular, adult man.
“You’re not so bad yourself.” A fuck-me smile flashed. He was lying through his teeth, but made me feel far from the plain-Jane I tried to pull off.
Then it hit me: not so bad myself? Crap, I was staring like an idiot. My cheeks scalded. Taking several deep breaths, I knew I had to somehow gain my composure. I needed to be professional Cami. I released the table’s edge and walked forward on unsteady legs while extending my hand. “Mr. Stelson, I’m Cami Avesque with the Cleveland News and Journal. I have press credentials if you wish to see them.” I wrapped every bit of competence I could find into the words.
His hand closed around mine, bringing me a wobbly step closer. Close enough to smell the soap from his shower and see the small beads of water dripping from his hair and down his chest.
“No, I don’t need to examine your… credentials.”
I swear he could see through my clothes. He turned the words into a sexual innuendo. The heat in my cheeks matched the temperature of his hand that wasn’t releasing mine. I glanced down at his overly large fingers. His thumb smoothed over the top of my hand as my legs clenched together. My panties were damp and I had no idea when it happened.
“May I have my hand back, please?” Why did my voice sound so strange?
A small squeeze and he released me. His grin made it obvious he knew exactly what he was doing to me. I’m sure the man did it to every woman over the age of eighteen and under the age of eighty.
“Let’s go into my office so we can talk.” Now he held my forearm, guiding me to the main locker room through the other door I’d noticed earlier.
Breathe, I told myself. I had to gain control of my rapidly surging pulse. He’s a good-looking jock, nothing more.
Inside there were two large desks with equally large chairs behind them and two more chairs sitting in the corner. Van pulled out one of the corner chairs for me and took the other for himself. His six-pack plus rippled just a bit more in his sitting position, and I realized where my eyes were. My head snapped up and he chuckled. Why hadn’t he put on a shirt? I would never survive this.
Chapter Five
Without giving me a chance to gain my mental equilibrium, he spoke. “Are you single, Miss Avesque?”
&nb
sp; Van Stelson had women drooling over him all the time and here I was doing the same thing. I hadn’t given him a single reason to think I was the least bit professional. Failure clenched my gut. A pretty body and my brain cells turned to goo. I completely ignored his question. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stelson.” I rose from my chair fighting stupid tears. “I’ll call the newspaper and have another journalist take my place.” I would lose my job, but it’s what I deserved.
“Hey,” his large hand came down on my shoulder, stopping me. “Look, I’m the one who’s sorry.” I glanced at his hand and he released me immediately. “I think, Miss Avesque, that I owe you an interview. Could we please start over?”
He was no longer grinning. There was such intensity in his gaze. He reached up and nudged my glasses higher on my nose. “I’ll behave, I promise.” Just a smidgen of his previous grin returned. He put his hand out. “Please call me Van.”
My trembling hand somehow ended up in his again. He gave it a brief squeeze and let go.
“You need a shirt on,” I blurted out. Oh God, why did I say that? Dumb, dumb, dumb. His answering bad-boy grin almost killed me. He walked behind the desk closest to us, grabbed a t-shirt lying over the back of the desk chair, slipped it over his head, and turned around. The slogan on his chest had me giggling like an idiot, but I couldn’t help myself.
Ruck me.
Maul me.
Make me scrum.
“You asked,” he said when I shook my head. He waved to the chair I’d vacated. “Have a seat and I promise to answer all your questions and be on my best behavior, Miss Avesque.”
His muscles bulged beneath the tight shirt. The suggestive quote had added another gush of wet and sticky to my panties, along with taking twenty points off my IQ. “Umm, Cami. Call me Cami.” God, I sounded like an idiot. I walked back to the chair and sat down, needing to get off my feet. Professional. I had to act professional. “Do you mind if I record this, Mr., I mean, um, Van?”
“By all means, please record this, Cami.” His lips tipped up on one side, deepening just one dimple. It had to be a practiced move because it worked and my insides turned to mush. I needed Tyson here to throw ice-cold water over me. I reached into my bag with trembling fingers and pulled out one of my recorders. I turned it on and sat it on the arm of my chair. I pulled my notebook from my bag and flipped it open. All without looking at Van.
He waited patiently without saying a word. When I finally looked up, his bad-boy grin was still in place and he was studying my breasts. I know the bra flattened them, but again, I’d swear he could see through my clothes. I quickly turned my gaze down to the first question, thankful I had notes because my muddled brain forgot everything I recently learned about rugby.
“Why rugby?” I was proud I got it out without stuttering.
“Why breathe?” was his quick response in that sexy voice of his.
I wanted him to keep talking so I could sink farther into the rough waves of his voice. I gave him my best don’t mess with me look. Or was it my please shut up and fuck me look? I guess it was the former because he sighed loudly before answering my question with more than two words.
He leaned back a little in his chair, getting comfortable and making my heart miss a few more beats. “For me it’s more than a game. It’s not about money, not that you make much in the U.S. The game attracts local fans, but rugby fever isn’t a main topic of conversation outside the small population that supports it. Rugby is in the blood, like oxygen.” For the first time his eyes lit up with something besides sexual innuendo, which made him appear even more erotic. I could see and feel the passion of each word. The real Van Stelson was actually harder to resist.
I had to clear my throat to speak. “The Inn I’m staying at has walls paying homage to rugby. Why is that?”
He gave me his all-knowing sexy grin, damn him. “Colt is a rugby town—youth, college, and semi-pro. You’ll find others like it scattered across the U.S. Never large, but you know as soon as you walk in a shop, hotel, or bar that rugby fever hit.”
I immediately asked another question. “I’m trying to understand what you mean when you say ‘fever.’” Because I was burning up and it wasn’t because of a damn ball game.
Van slowly perused my body. He momentarily stopped at my breasts before continuing lower. He stared at my crotch even longer. I shifted uncomfortably, wondering if my wet panties seeped through my linen pants. This interview wasn’t working. As his gaze came back to my eyes his voice went huskier. “It’s that kind of fever.” He lifted his eyebrows letting me know he made his point. “No different. Once you catch it, nothing on earth will keep you from reaching your goal.”
He purposely shook me up and, shit, it worked. I couldn’t stop myself from crossing my legs. My panties just caught fire and I needed to smother it. I adjusted my glasses and focused on the next question. I didn’t even know how to flirt properly, and his sexual aggressiveness was more than I could handle. I silently prayed his team would lose Saturday so I could get the hell out of town.
A few questions later, Van looked at his watch. “Some of the team will be arriving soon. They work out in the mornings.”
I was more than ready to be out of there. I clicked off the recorder. Thank God I recorded everything because, as of this moment, I couldn’t remember most of the conversation. “Your practice is at two?” I asked nervously. My itinerary gave me the time. Chalk up one more check mark for idiocy.
“Yeah. I won’t have time for more questions then, but you can watch and I’ll explain what you don’t understand tonight at dinner.”
“Dinner?” I squeaked. Why would he want to go out with me?
His fuck me smile appeared again. “Yes, I’d like to take you out.”
“Van, I…”
He cut me off, lifting his hands in the air, palms facing me. “Best behavior. You’ll have lots of questions. Rugby is nothing like football. Scoring is different, terms are completely different, and you’ll need clarification.”
He’d correctly assumed I knew nothing about rugby, and I felt deflated. “Then I’ll buy you dinner,” I said so he knew this was business only. Not that I expected he wanted anything more than to embarrass me.
He only laughed. “I’ll arm wrestle you for it. Come on, I’ll walk you out so you’re not mauled by one of the players.”
Like that would ever happen. I don’t know where my snappy comeback came from; it just fell out of my lips. “I take it rugby players do a lot of mauling?” I saved myself by pointing to his t-shirt.
He laughed that low sexy chuckle of his and casually put his arm over my shoulder, steering me out of the locker room back to the front doors of the stadium. “You have no idea, baby.”
Van was so smooth, but, yuck, my father called me baby.
With his arm around me, I could smell him again and I didn’t want to like it. But I did—too much. Surely he had women at his feet daily. Walking next to me, I judged him at a little over six foot. His muscular arm was bigger than my thigh. And that made me think of other bigger things. God, I was hopeless. A week ago I’d have bet good money that my wild side was gone forever. Now, I couldn’t think straight with his scent and the warmth of his arm wrapped around me. I had no idea how to wiggle away gracefully as he walked me clear to my car.
For all my shyness and pride in appreciating a good mind, I was a sucker for the Van Stelsons of the world. Though really it wasn’t me, it was wild Cami and I needed to lock her away and throw out the key. I couldn’t handle another heartbreak at the hands of a jock.
When we got to my car, Van gave me a final squeeze, like he had the right to do it—releasing me with a, “See you at practice, baby.” He walked away.
Crap, crap, crap. I should know how to handle these situations. I jumped in the car and locked the door like he would turn around and attack me. I looked over my shoulder to check behind me before pulling out. A huge man leaned against the tailgate of a lifted smoke gray truck. Arms crossed, muscles bulgin
g beneath a plain white t-shirt, he stared at me with an unpleasant expression. It took a moment before I realized it was Joel Stelson. His head turned slightly as I backed up, and the scar on his face showed prominently. It was almost scary. A shiver of awareness ran across my skin. I turned the steering wheel to pull forward. Joel was now even with my window, his gaze still locked on me. I gave a tentative smile. His expression never changed, and the look in his eyes told me to get away as quickly as possible.
What the hell?
I drove through the parking area and pulled onto the main street before taking a slow, deep breath of relief. I’d noticed Joel’s large size in the picture when he stood beside his brother, but the real life version was bigger and scarier. Eventually I needed to interview him and the thought wasn’t pleasing. If this was a typical adventure in sports journalism, I needed to request a series of articles on knitting. Large pointy needles were much less terrifying.
Chapter Six
I had a half day to myself, though I needed to interview some rugby fans. I decided to eat lunch at The Slam Tavern and see if anyone would talk to me. Getting through the meeting with Van gave me added courage for some reason. I knew the more people I spoke with and the longer I didn’t let my shyness control me, the easier this would be. Estella greeted me as soon as I walked in, her genuine smile putting me at ease.
“You’re back for more. Please tell me we can set you up with something more substantial than a salad.”
“Sorry, salad only. I have a dinner meeting and promise to eat something with more consistency then. Actually, I’ll order half the salad I had last night if it’s possible.”
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