by Erin Leigh
“Never! Nat. Never!”
I lift a hand. “Go back to Manhattan, Sami. I don't even—I can’t even right now.” I turn into the park and stagger as the four drinks I’ve sucked back lightning fast hit me.
“Nat!” She tries to grab my arm.
“GO AWAY!” I shout and shove her off me, running into the park.
I think my heart has frozen over.
Chapter Fourteen
Mr. Coldwell will see you
Brady
The music is loud but the beers are cold and the girls are hot.
“Dude, you need to either move out or convince her to move out. She’s not a PF, Bro.” Mike gives me some solid advice as he leans in so the other guys at the table won’t hear.
“I know, and a part of me doesn't want to move out. It’s been like five days. This is just the first-week jitters. Like I need to just get past the cute girl bullshit.”
“You mean sexy, funny, easygoing, enjoyable, rocking, sarcastic, witty, and girlfriend material. Cute doesn't even describe a layer in her long silky hair. This is a thing.”
The fact, he’s noticed all that in one night makes me annoyed. “I know, all right? I know.”
“You can’t live with a girl like that. You’ll be married in a year. William Fairfield is an idiot for letting her live with you. If that were my girl, I’d never let her out of my sight. And I sure as fuck wouldn't let her live with you.”
My grip on the glass of ale tightens. Something about that William guy bugs me. He makes her unhappy. The way she looked when she got off the phone feels like it was his fault. And she never talks about him. He doesn't call or text when I’m there. If she was my girl I’d be calling or texting like a stalker, especially if she lived with someone like me.
“See, you have it bad. Five days and you’re in love, Bro. Hell, ten minutes and I was ready to ask her out myself. And I mean in the classy way. She’s wholesome and sweet.”
“Whoa.” I give him a look, sitting back and putting my player face on to hide what I’m really feeling. I don't like that he’s thinking about asking her out. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. She’s a pretty girl but I don't do love. I don't do sex in the same month with the same girl more than twice. In fact, it has to be two weeks before I’ll even consider screwing the same girl. I never sleep over. I always bootie call. I don't date. I do not eat a meal with the girls I screw. I don't shit where I eat, Bro. I absolutely never fuck a friend or a girl I’ve known for a while as a friend of a friend. I just need to get past the obvious connection. And she has a boyfriend. It’s not a big deal. I’m focused.”
“I know.” He leans in. “And that's what I’m trying to say. She’s a different breed of girl. That's not the kind of girl I’d date now while I’m trying to get into the NHL. That's a distraction. You can’t even fight it. She will consume you.”
“No way. You’re high. If she does get under my skin then I’ll move out.” I glance around the bar and look for a girl. “See that brunette over there.” I point right at her. “I’m gonna go Clinton that chick in the bathroom, right fucking now. Just to prove how wrong you are. I am still me and no cute girl is going to change that.” I stand, slam back my beer, and offer a wry grin to the boys. They lift their drinks to me.
Mike drinks from his beer and nods. “Okay.”
When I leave the table I feel the beers. Between the alcohol and the workouts and the hot tub, I’m a bit exhausted. Dinner was a feast but we’ve been drinking for a couple of hours.
I make my way through the crowd, shaking hands and nodding at people greeting me, stopping to take a photo with a guy and his girl.
The brunette gives me a sly grin. She’s been giving them to me for an hour straight. She’s got long straight hair, a thin body, fake boobs, and a big smile. I made her out as a PF the moment I walked in the door of Vaughan’s pub.
She sees me coming for her, turns, and walks to the back of the bar. She already knows the routine. I follow the perky ass and swaying hair to a door that says employees only. She lifts a long finger to her lips and winks as she ducks in the door, leaving it ajar for me.
It’s a small bathroom with a large sink and a mop and bucket. The moment I step inside she closes the door and locks it.
“Brady Coldwell, what a pleasant surprise.” She reaches up, running her soft fingers along my jaw. She’s tall and leggy so she doesn't have to pull my face down a foot to bring it to hers.
Her lips brush mine, tasting like mint gum to cover the cigarettes. My fingers trail along her arms and shoulders, pulling her tank dress down to her elbows to free those big round tits.
They’re nice, not too obvious, except for the fact she’s not wearing a bra. I squeeze them, getting a fake moan from her as I thumb both nipples at the same time. Her big brown nipples are on constant point.
Stepping in, I wrap my arms around her as her hands go for the zipper of my jeans, rubbing the front of my erection through the pants. She starts licking my neck and sucking my ear lobes as I drag her skirt up, smiling in the mirror at that round ass.
I squeeze both cheeks hard, enjoying their meatiness in my hands. She hauls my cock from my zipper.
“No underwear?” She giggles as she gets a firm grasp on the shaft.
“I forgot to put them in my bag for after practice.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Mr. Coldwell.”
That's a pleasant experience. A hot chick gripping your cock and calling you Mr. She drops to her knees, licking the head. I close my eyes for the moment she takes me in her mouth.
It’s hot and wet and her shiny head bobbing back and forth with my hands in her hair is exactly the end of the day I want. She strokes the base and fits a large portion of the head and shaft in her throat. It’s always amazing when girls can fit a good amount in, but she’s even more impressive with the way she massages with her tongue while doing it. That big mouth works for both of us.
I moan as she increases the firmness and speed.
She pulls out, pushing me back so she can stand and bend over. The reflection in the mirror of her gets me aggressively thrusting into her mouth as she sucks and strokes.
She reaches down between her own legs, swirling her fingers in the moisture building up there.
My breath hitches as she sinks one of those long fingers into herself, moaning into my cock like it's a mic.
She fingers herself in the mirror, sucking me off, putting on the most impressive show I’ve seen in a while. Her long tanned legs are lean and tight. Her pussy is glistening from the excitement. Her thick hair in my hands is intertwined in my fingers, giving me the chance to pull it a little.
She moans louder as her ass cheeks twitch and she comes all over her fingers, rubbing her clit and fingering herself.
I pull out, spin her around, just barely remembering to pull the condom from my pocket and slide it on. Her lips are plump, her cheeks are red, and her eyes are half shut with lust when I finally launch my cock into her wet lips.
Sinking into her still twitching pussy is intense. She grips to me from the start. But I don't play with her. I hammer, hard and fast, until the waves of heat and intensity have me in their grasp. I pull out, slip the condom off and jerk off all over her ass cheeks and back.
She bites her lip, staring at me in the mirror as I soak her ass in semen.
“The famous Clinton. I wondered if I would be so lucky.”
“The pleasure was all mine.” A satiated grin owns my face as I wash my hands and clean off, leaving her there to clean up.
When I get back to the table they cheer and buy me another drink.
Only Mike gives me a smug smirk. I think he can see right through me and all my bullshit.
When the night is over and I get back to the apartment it’s one and I’m drunk, but not too drunk. We have the day off tomorrow from workouts and training, thankfully.
Nat’s playing video games on the couch in a red dress and heels. It’s like porn really. Her long hair is aro
und her like a blonde silky cape. I want to go and sit next to her, watch her play and listen to her laugh. Maybe smell her a little bit.
Only I’ve just drained my balls on a stranger’s ass. Because that's the sort of pig I am. I’m not the guy for her. I would just dirty the air around her.
“Hey,” she offers quietly.
“Hey.” I lock the door and stagger in, grabbing a water. “How’s Sami?”
She pauses the game and gets up, staggering as much as I am, no more. She’s toasted. “I don't want to talk about that.” She stumbles into the kitchen. I thank God for the sex I’ve just had because she leans across the counter, pretty much giving me the whole show, and it’s good.
“Why, what happened?” I don't know how long I can play this game of not screwing her before we play just the tip.
“Don't worry about that.” She cocks an eyebrow and smiles, giggling a little bit. “You owe me, Brady. No, wait—BJ. I like BJ. I bet you like BJs.” She laughs harder. “I think I’m pretty good at them. Wanna see?”
“No. Uhm, no thanks.” YES! I wanna see, but my dick just did its thing and I need a shower. I wanna ask for a rain check.
“Yes, you do.” It’s the weirdest and most random moment. She starts tugging at her dress, trying to get out of it.
“What are you doing?” There’s definitely panic in my voice.
“You owe me some sex, Mr. BJ.” She stumbles a little as she tries to reach something in the back.
“I think you’ve had too much to drink.”
“I think so too,” she slurs and laughs harder, turning around, giving up on whatever is in the back. “Can you unzip me?”
“Sure.” Hesitating, I lift my hands and pull the zipper down a little bit, enough for her to get her clothes off. She pulls her arms out, letting the dress fall to the floor in a puddle. I force my eyes to stay there, but I can see ass in my peripheral.
My breath gets lodged in my throat as my cock tries to make a second appearance and my eyes trail up her legs to the greatest view on earth. She has on white ass-hugging, cheeky, lacey underwear and a little strapless bra that matches. She’s tanned, tight, curvy in the right places, and that underwear is begging for me to slip a finger under the lace to brush against her ass.
Fuck me!
She glances back, giving me a sexy and too drunk smile. “Okay, come and service me. That's what you were hired to do.” She steps out of the dress and walks across the room in her red heels and underwear.
I have no idea what she is rambling on about, but I think we’re playing a game, and I really want to play. She’s gorgeous, cool, funny, and she plays games. And she wears cheeky underwear. And she has the kind of ass I can sink my fingers into while I thrust into her.
I want to service her. I want to make her scream my goddamned name.
Oh God, why did I have to screw that PF?
No, it was a good decision.
Solid decision.
Mike’s right.
I force my feet to remain exactly where they are.
When she gets in her room she falls onto the bed face-first and mutters something else. I don't go anywhere.
I stay here, unsure of everything in this moment.
Chapter Fifteen
The hangover
Natalie
My head hurts in aggressive ways. The kind where you aren’t sure if you’re dead until the pain screams that no, you have survived something you shouldn't have.
The alarm is going off, making patterns in the air around me like a dance beat.
Gripping my pillow, I blink and force my eyes to open, swinging an arm and shutting off the alarm.
The room is dimly lit with the curtains closed, and I’m in bed in my bra and underwear. My dress is on the floor and my shoes are set at the end of the bed next to each other. I can tell by the way my lashes are sticking together and my eyes are burning, I fell asleep with makeup on.
I don't remember going to bed.
I remember the bad stuff like William and all my friends. I clearly recall the restaurant and vaguely recall telling Sami to leave me alone.
Not my finest hour, attacking the friend who was trying to ease me into the truth about my boyfriend.
I’m not even sure how to apologize. I don't know that I would have been able to tell her the same thing if the shoe were on the other foot.
There’s a dull pain in my chest where my heart should be. I might have lost it somewhere in the park on the way home. What did I do when I got home? I don't even remember coming in.
The door is closed and I’m in here tucked away neatly.
Slowly and steadily I climb from the bed and slip on my robe. My muscles ache. Do I work today?
The clock says I’ve got an hour to be at work.
There’s no way.
Oh God.
Making my way to the door, I reach with a shaking hand, turning so slowly and cracking it a bit. My only hope is that Brady is still sleeping and doesn't see me like this.
Fortunately, he isn’t in the kitchen or living room. I shuffle across the apartment to the bathroom, ignoring the mirror and stripping slowly and then starting the shower.
The path to regaining my humanity begins there in the steam with the soap and the shampoo.
I want to rush but I can’t.
My boyfriend made me think I’d done things to ruin our relationship so he could break up with me for the weekend. He did this often. We’d broken things off about seven times in three years, taking gaps where I thought he was missing me the way I was missing him. But no. He was using that time to bang as many chicks as he could before randomly being at the same place as me so he could win me back.
Humiliation is a terrible pill to choke down. Adding a hangover and the fact I am as gullible as a child bride makes it such a dirtier pill.
I believed him when he said we were too young to feel this way about each other. That the intensity wasn't good for us and we needed other experiences in life. I believed him when he said he wished we’d met later on in life because falling for your soul mate at twenty-two and nineteen was just too young. I foolishly bought the line that he used all the time when we got back together about how he’d felt like a piece of him was missing while we were apart.
Having my mother drone on in my ear about how young men needed time to realize they were in love and that if I hung in there I would fulfill all our dreams. I would be with William and he was worth the wait. He just needed to sew his oats and see I was best.
Anger and bitterness threaten to own me, making the feeling sorry for myself so much easier. The hangover has me in its clutches—why not William and my mother too?
But I refuse.
I have a job and a life and I don't need any of them.
The stubborn girl in me mixes with the taste of freedom I was enjoying until last night and overrules on the next steps taken.
I don't need anyone.
I have me.
I can be strong.
Shuddering from the hangover I realize I can be strong tomorrow—today I just need to survive.
Getting out, dried off, and dressed are all very bad experiences.
“Hair of the dog,” Brady says as I cross the kitchen for a cup of coffee.
“What?” I wince at the level he’s speaking. It’s similar to shouting and yet not.
He offers me two pills as he stirs a mimosa for me. “Trust me.”
“My liver—”
“Oh, that bitch is shot for the day. Take the two painkillers to work, take them in an hour but drink the mimosa now. It’ll perk you just enough.” He stands, hovering over me. Something about him being so close and so warm is nice. I almost want to curl up in his arms and ask him to just hug me, but I don't. I take the drink and sip it, grateful I don't want to puke at the taste of the orange juice.
“Thank you.” I give him a look.
He cringes. “You don't do hungover often, do you?”
“No.” My whole body is st
ill shaking a bit.
“What did you do last night?” He looks worried.
“I don't know. I just met Sami—” I can’t tell him that part, “—and then I came home and drank more.” I know I did that. I vaguely recall coming home straight afterward.
“You don't remember?”
“No.”
“Okay, you need some greasy food. It’s the first week at work. You can’t be late. Get your makeup on, finish the drink. I’ll drop you off and get you some food to eat at your desk and drop it after.”
I want so badly to say no. I want to tell him I’m fine or just admit my defeat and climb back into bed. But the horrible feeling of failing my first week and the pain coursing through me forces me to nod.
It takes me twice as long to do everything, but we leave the apartment with enough time for him to drop me off.
He stands close in the elevator, very close. I close my eyes as we go down, hating the feeling of the movement.
He wraps an arm around my shoulders. “You got this. You’re a champ.”
“I don't feel like one,” I grumble and let him lead me to the truck. The fresh air should be soothing but it’s not. It’s cold and horrid, like everything else.
“Are you compensating for something?” I cock an eyebrow when I see his massive truck.
“Nope.” He chuckles and helps me to the door. He lifts me, both of us pausing at the touch of his arms around me. I inhale him, the way my dad does me. I don't mean to but the smell and the feel of him is calming. He laughs again but this time it’s throaty and gruff. “You okay?”
“No.” I shake my head and sigh, getting into the truck and letting him close the door, which he does gently.
He’s clearly the master of hangovers.
Getting in his side is the same, quiet and gentle. He puts the pills in my hand again. “You left these on the counter. Don't forget, take them in an hour.”
“Thanks.”
The motion of driving is hardly bearable but when he stops he gives me a smile. “See you in ten minutes, okay?”
