First and Tension

by Tara Sivec

  “You were right, and I was wrong. Are you happy now? She’s perfect,” Tyler says, stepping up next to me when Emily starts chatting with another player’s wife.

  “I know she is,” I reply, setting my empty beer bottle on a passing waiter’s tray and shoving my hands into the front pockets of my suit pants.

  She’s more than perfect. And her experience with the Vipers taught her exactly what to do and whose ass to kiss at charity events. She has dazzled everyone tonight with her charm and quick wit, fitting in effortlessly with the other players’ wives and girlfriends like she’s been hanging out with them for years. Her busting of my teammates’ balls has endeared her to them forever, and the way she easily steers the conversation away from her when the press start asking her personal questions, relaying my stats and talking about how hard I’ve been working to make this a great season, has completely endeared her to Tyler and every other member of my team with the Sharks organization.

  And the fact that she could so easily rattle my stats off the top of her head, when I sometimes still have to look them up, made me so goddamn hard I had to excuse myself to step outside and take a couple of deep breaths of fresh air.

  The Sharks GM even gave her his personal phone number and told her to call him if I messed things up, because he has a son who’s single. I tried not to be offended by that and just be happy that when I told Emily everyone would like her more than me, I was right. Just like I told her parents at dinner two weeks ago, she’s a rock star. She completely amazes me. And I can’t believe she lets me be in the same room with her.

  “She’s also too good for you,” Tyler adds, both of us glancing over at Emily when the sound of her laughter fills the air. My chest gets tight, and I have to take a couple of deep breaths to stop myself from shoving Patrick’s wife out of the way and yanking Emily’s body against mine, so I can taste her lips again. “You’re totally going to fuck this up.”

  Tyler’s loud, obnoxious laugh makes me pull my eyes away from Emily to glare at him.

  He just continues laughing as he pats me on the back, then walks away to talk to one of my teammates who just signed with him.

  The sad thing is, he’s right. She is too good for me. I think I knew it the night I met her, when she made me forget about all my responsibilities and the pressure I was under. She understands the world I live in and my hectic schedule better than anyone, and she fits into my life so seamlessly I almost forget she hasn’t been here by my side, supporting me all this time. I know she’s too good for me, but goddamn, she makes me want to be the best that I can be, just so she has another person in her corner, cheering her on for once. I want to be that person, and I refuse to fuck this up.

  “When you said band, I thought it would be something fun and upbeat we could dance to,” Emily says, stepping back up next to me, her arm brushing against mine when she takes a sip of her champagne, making me want to lean down and kiss every inch of her smooth, bare skin that’s on display.

  The “band” is actually a small orchestra of a few violinists, cello players, and bassists the Sharks hired to play once dinner started in the conference center. When all the interviews were out of the way, photos were taken, autographs were signed, and the cornhole tournament was completed out on the field, we moved inside to a huge room on the ground floor of the stadium, with one whole wall of windows that look out onto the field. The room has been dressed up with fancy linens on the tables and expensive flower arrangements everywhere, with the orchestra over in front of the windows, giving it the final, elegant touch worthy of a charity event, regardless of the music they’re playing.

  “I know it seems a little pretentious, but do you know of any other orchestra that can play such a beautiful rendition of ‘WAP’?” I ask, suddenly mesmerized by the smooth column of Emily’s throat, watching her swallow her sip of champagne and then laugh softly when she pulls the glass away from her lips.

  Jesus Christ, she’s becoming more of an obsession to me than football, after just one earth-shattering kiss. What the hell would she even do to my sanity if she trusted me enough for more?

  “I seriously cannot believe they’re playing this right now, along with all the other covers they’ve played tonight. Did you hear ‘Blank Space’ during dessert? What am I saying? Of course you heard them playing Taylor Swift.” Emily smiles, turning her face back to me and bringing her mouth only a few inches away from mine.

  I’ve kissed her on the cheek several times tonight, acting like I was playing it up in front of the cameras, when I really just needed to put my mouth on any part of her I could. The cheek seemed like the safest bet that wouldn’t make me crave more in front of all of these people. But the smell of her skin, and the way her body would melt into my side while she rested her palm territorially on my chest for every cheek-kiss photo, made me want to drag her into the closest empty room and lick every inch of her sexy body she’s been torturing me with all night.

  Standing here right now, with Emily’s lips a breath away from mine, in a room full of people, with an orchestra playing an enchanting song about wet pussies, I don’t know how much more I can take of this game we’ve been playing, without completely losing my mind.

  As if she senses I’m about two seconds away from saying, fuck it, and just devouring her in front of all these people, she pulls back from me a little, looking out at the crowd to take another sip of her champagne.

  “Thank you again for donating the money to Shepherd’s charity,” Emily says, pulling me out of my dirty thoughts as I stare at her profile, while she smiles and returns a wave to one of the many sports reporters she had eating out of her hand tonight before looking at me again. “Shepherd is seriously going to freak out, and now you’ll never be able to get rid of him.”

  I join in her laughter, taking her glass of champagne from her when she finishes it and handing it to another waiter who walks by with an empty tray.

  “Well, considering you made me look good in front of everyone, and all that heckling you did with Malcolm and Craig’s team didn’t come back to bite us in the ass, you deserved to have the money from the cornhole tournament go toward a charity that’s close to your heart.”

  And close to mine now. I heard about Shepherd Oliver’s foundation, Little Cleats, not too long ago, which donates over five thousand little league uniforms to teams that can’t afford them every year. Chatting with him the last few days, I found out they recently added football, softball, and soccer uniforms to their list. It was really a no-brainer who the $10,000 should go to.

  Fine, so maybe I also hoped it would give me a few brownie points where Emily is concerned. Whatever. I’m only human.

  “You’re a good man, QB.”

  “Wanna go make out?” I joke, wagging my eyebrows at her, even though I’m really not fucking joking. I would give my left nut to kiss her again right now.

  Emily just smiles and rolls her eyes at me, when a tap on my shoulder forces me to turn away from her.

  “Everything is all clear now, sir. Ready whenever you are.”

  With a nod at one of the security guards for the stadium, who I slipped a hundred dollars to earlier, I turn back to Emily and hold my hand out to her. My chest tightens again when she slides her hand right into mine without question or hesitation.

  “Come on.” I tug her closer and start walking us toward the door that will take us out of the conference center and into the tunnel of the stadium. “I felt bad you didn’t get to go on one of the tours earlier, since Craig’s girlfriend was talking your ear off. Everyone has finally trickled back in here, and we have the place all to ourselves now.”

  I tuck Emily’s hand into the crook of my elbow as we move to the outer edge of the room and away from the crowd, pausing and quickly glancing back over my shoulder when we make it to the door. I’m happy to see no one is even looking this way or noticing we’re slipping out, thanks to the crowd of partygoers now gathered around a man dancing like a complete idiot on the other side of the r
oom to the orchestra’s cover of “Welcome to the Jungle” by Guns N’ Roses.

  “How much did you have to pay Devin for that?” Emily muses as she looks back over her shoulder with me at one of our linebackers, who is currently spinning around on his back like a turtle who got stuck on his shell and can’t roll over, before we quickly exit the room and step out into the tunnel.

  “Absolutely no money exchanged hands,” I inform her, the sounds of her heels click-clacking against the cement echoing through the tunnel as I walk her to our first destination on the tour. “I may or may not have agreed to go to three of his daughter’s ballet recitals while his wife is out of town, but it was totally worth it.”

  The sound of Emily’s laughter echoing through the tunnel along with her heels solidifies just how much it was worth it. Even if it’s just a tour of the new stadium upgrades that will probably bore her to death, it’s still a little bit of quiet, uninterrupted time I get to have with her.

  That’s worth all the ballet recitals in the world.

  Let’s just hope I can behave like a proper gentleman during this quiet, uninterrupted time.

  CHAPTER 16

  Emily

  “Stop pretending.”

  “Wow! I didn’t expect it to be so huge.”

  “Impressive, isn’t it?”

  “Definitely the biggest one I’ve ever seen.”

  “I’ll let you stand there for a few minutes and take it all in.”

  “I think I just got pregnant.”

  “I don’t know whether to be proud or offended that you’re so impressed by our locker room.”

  Looking back over my shoulder with a cheeky smile at Quinn, I find him leaning against the wall of the archway that leads into the kitchen right off the locker room, with his hands shoved in the front pockets of his tailored black dress pants and his dimples popping. He lost the matching black jacket that accompanied his suit during dinner, draping it over the back of his chair and leaving it behind when we snuck out. Which leaves him in just his fitted white dress shirt neatly tucked into his pants, with a shiny black belt around his trim waist, and a thin black tie.

  He’s a devilishly handsome, mouth-watering package, leaning casually against the archway wall, making it harder and harder to keep my hands to myself. His short black hair is neatly styled with product, making the thick strands look even darker and his sexy eyes even bluer when they’ve tracked my every movement tonight, while the muscles in his biceps strain against the material of his dress shirt, caused by his bent arms. My heart skips a beat, just like it has every time he’s smiled at me tonight.

  Or laughed at something I said.

  Or nuzzled his nose against the side of my face before kissing my cheek.

  Or gripped my hip possessively whenever his arm was around me.

  Or found my eyes in the crowd, letting me know he was looking for me whenever we got separated.

  Or just freaking breathed in my general direction.

  All of this touching and playful banter back and forth between us has just been the most torturous form of foreplay I’ve ever known, starting with the night I met him. It’s been six long months of fantasizing about this man, and I don’t even have the strength to do the math on how long I fantasized about him before I ever spoke to him or got to know him. At this point, I’m about ready to come out of my skin if he touches me one more time or looks at me the way he did when he first saw me step off the ferry.

  Like he wanted to peel this dress off my body and kiss every inch of me, and I would gladly let him and return the favor, because God he smells so good, and I already know he tastes even better after having his tongue in my mouth.

  Stop thinking about his tongue in your mouth!

  “It is a very impressive locker room,” I tell Quinn, trying to remember I’m supposed to be paying attention to all the new improvements he’s been showing me, not imagining what his big, rough hands would feel like gripping my hips while I rode his cock. “That’s a good picture of you.”

  I nod to his new Sharks publicity photo and clear my throat, glad this man can’t read my thoughts. With Quinn in full uniform, staring seriously into the camera, with a football palmed in his hand down by his side, it really is one of the best ones he’s taken in his career.

  When you’ve seen one professional football locker room, you’ve seen them all. I had been on plenty of stadium tours during my years with the Vipers, to be jealous of the kind of facility they had available to them, when we were expected to get dressed in an employee bathroom right off the tunnel. Needless to say, a hot-as-hell glossy poster of Quinn hanging above his locker in the long row of matching, handcrafted, wooden lockers, along with a brand-new Sharks jersey with Bagley printed on the back on a hanger in front of his locker, fills me with enough pride that I forget all about my jealousy.

  “Thanks. I felt really bloated that day and had a zit on my chin.”

  I laugh at Quinn’s ridiculousness, pulling my eyes away from his stare to look around the room again, his penetrating gaze making me feel like I’m standing in front of him naked.

  I wonder what he would do if I told him Wren dared me to fuck him tonight? He’d probably laugh. Or he’d be insulted.

  Or, he’d happily help me complete this dare, rock my world, and then everyone wins. Yay! Go team!

  “You need to just take your own advice already, take your clothes off, and get laid.”

  Shaking Wren’s voice out of my head from our phone call while I was getting ready for tonight, I turn and walk back to the archway, leaning my back against the wall opposite Quinn with just a few feet separating us. Crossing one of my stiletto-covered feet over the other at the ankles and then crossing my arms, I mirror his casual pose, even though I’m feeling anything but casual right now. This is the first time we’ve been alone together tonight, and I don’t know how to act. When we’re out there with all those people watching our every move, it’s easy to forget, play pretend, and touch him as much as I want, making flirty comments, because that’s what I’m supposed to be doing. But in here, where it’s just the two of us, with no one watching to analyze our “fake relationship,” I’m second-guessing everything I say to him, and I suddenly feel like a virgin on prom night who doesn’t know what the hell to do with her hands. I’ve been working myself into a frenzy all night long, being able to be so free with him, that I’m starting to wish I would have packed a vibrator in my clutch. I’m horny, and it’s all his fault!

  Does he want me to touch him? Would he freak out if I just walked over there and kissed him right now with no one around to snap a photo? It’s not like anyone was watching when he stuck his tongue down my throat in my parents’ driveway.

  Since when am I so nervous around a guy? I’m the woman who gave my first kiss on a dare, gave my first blowjob on a dare, had my first—and only—one-night stand on a dare, and moved to fucking California on a dare. Why am I acting like I have no balls?

  No wonder Wren is so ashamed of me right now, feeling the need to throw it in my face that when she was sexually frustrated with Shepherd during their “What the hell are we doing with each other?” phase, I so helpfully told her to grow some balls, take her clothes off, and order him to screw her. These last few weeks with Quinn, hanging out around the island and him popping up wherever I am, has just completely confused my brain and my heart with this pretend relationship we’re supposed to be in.

  “The first time I walked into the Vipers’s locker room and saw my picture and jersey hanging on my locker, I cried like a fucking baby,” Quinn says softly, finally filling the quietness in the room my lust-filled freaking out caused.

  It’s almost creepy, being in here all alone, with all the lights turned off in the massive, carpeted room aside from the small recessed lights above each locker shining down on them and the handful of flat-screen televisions hanging on the walls, flipping through a slideshow of the current Sharks roster. The quiet stillness in the room makes you feel like you have to ta
lk softly or whisper.

  “I did the same thing the first time I put on my Vipers uniform,” I tell Quinn, my heart flip-flopping around in my chest, thinking about this man being emotional and shedding tears.

  “I still feel like a dick that I didn’t recognize you the night we met,” he admits after having told me during one of our runs that he never bought a calendar, giving me the explanation why, and apologizing to me so many times I had to jokingly threaten that I was going to pepper spray him again. “You’ll be happy to know I have since looked through all your calendar photos, and July from last year is definitely my favorite.”

  I swallow thickly when his eyes trail down my body, remembering that last year’s calendar was a special swimsuit edition. I was kneeling in the sand with my legs spread, one arm flung over my head, wearing a white bandeau bikini top, with the thumb of my other hand hooked into my tiny white bikini bottoms, starting to tug them down my hip. It was a pretty good photo, taken right at sunset, with my wet hair clinging to my face and down over my shoulders. The fact that Quinn has seen it and is remembering it right now makes my skin feel hot and itchy, like it did that day of the photoshoot, when I was covered in sand and sweat under the scorching, setting sun.