The Rookie (Calling the Signals Book 1)
Page 3
Bobby didn’t answer right away. When he did, his tone was sober. “Scared. The guy was my idol for a long time. I never expected the Gamblers to draft me, or that I’d be playing behind him. Keith is too young for the front office to think about him retiring, not to mention way too good. I guess the main thought running through my mind was whether or not I was about to go on the field and make a huge fool of myself. But I was hoping there wasn’t anything serious wrong with Keith.”
“Is there?” It wasn’t curiosity, or even wishful thinking. Marly didn’t wish Keith ill. Not at all. He’d brought a lot of good things to Memphis, besides keeping the Gamblers in contention almost every year since he’d arrived nine years ago. Too many bad things had happened to him lately.
“They took him to the hospital for an MRI on his throwing shoulder. Could be it’s nothing but a strained muscle and he’ll be back next week. I hope so.”
The way Bobby said it, Marly believed he wished the other quarterback well, even though the longer he was out, the longer Bobby would have to show his stuff. “I hope so, too.” She laid her hand on Bobby’s knee then continued. “Even though I love seeing you play.”
He grinned, guiding her hand up his thigh until it rested on his very impressive package, already hot and throbbing beneath the lightweight fabric of his pants. “You ain’t seen nothing yet. Not until you and I’ve done some playing on a different field. See how you’ve already got me paying attention?” he asked as he pulled in Fifth Quarter’s packed parking lot and skillfully squeezed his truck into a parking space that must have been meant for a compact car.
“Oh, yeah. I see.” There was nothing like a quarterback for cool self-confidence to match a healthy, well-fed ego. She loved it, and the more time she spent with him she was learning she liked Bobby beyond his obvious potential as a hot sex partner. Their phone conversations had let her guess, but seeing him in the flesh solidified her first impressions.
“I’m not exactly ready to go inside yet. How’d you get interested in cheerleading?” He turned off the truck and moved her hand from his now-throbbing erection, his grin a little one-sided as if he’d embarrassed himself but didn’t want to say so.
“I like dancing and gymnastics, and I love football. Being a cheerleader for the Gamblers lets me indulge all three loves. Besides, after I finished college I didn’t find any jobs here where I could use my education and make money. And I didn’t like the idea of leaving my family and going someplace where I didn’t know a soul.”
“That was hard for me, too, at first, leaving everything familiar for a new, uncertain job even though I’ve wanted to play pro football since high school. Guess I’ve been lucky, because the Gamblers front office people made sure I found a place to live and some new friends, so I’m okay now—especially now that I have a beautiful woman like you to show off to all my teammates.” Still a little red-faced, he shifted on the seat and readjusted his pants. “Sorry, Marly. I don’t like giving you the impression all I’m out for is a piece of ass. I’ll behave—at least for a little while.”
She hoped for more than that, of course, but she’d take all of Bobby that he was willing to give. “You didn’t make me think that. Ready to go inside?” If they didn’t, she didn’t know if she could keep her hands to herself—and for the first time in her adult life of fantasizing about hot young studs, she really didn’t want this very real one to think of her as just another football groupie lusting after the latest tasty acquisition by her hometown team. “I find myself wanting to dance with you. And getting to know a little bit more about you than I’ve read in the Commercial Appeal and at ESPN.com.”
“I think I’m okay for now. You probably don’t want to dance with me, though. I’m strictly a Texas two-step kind of guy.”
Oh, yeah, Marly wanted to dance with him. Vertically, horizontally and every way from Sunday. The more he talked, the more she thought this one might be a keeper, if only she could successfully fight off all the other groupies who’d kill for a night with the Gamblers’ second-string quarterback. She’d win because she’d be fighting for Bobby, not just his undeniable prowess on a football field—or, if her guess was on target, in bed.
Bobby tried to tell himself as he stretched one large draft beer to wash down barbecued ribs and potato skins that he’d better not get too attached to Marly. She liked him now, but he wasn’t too sure about how she’d feel if he bombed next week in his very first start. But she was making it damn difficult for him to keep his feelings in check. As if she was hot for him, not any Marlins player, she stuck at his side, ignoring the other guys who were making thinly veiled passes. He was finding it hard to keep from thinking about her as way more than a one-season distraction.
“Dance?” A slow country ballad had just started, one he thought he might be able to manage without stomping all over Marly’s feet. He hated dancing just like most unusually tall guys he knew, but he wanted to hold her, feel her heart beating against his. Dancing was the only socially acceptable way he could think of doing that in a public place with people all around. When she stood, he got up and led her out on the small dance floor. She stretched to put her arms around his neck, and her firm, ripe breasts rubbed hard against his chest. His pulse raced as he tried to keep his mind on the four-beat box step he thought he’d mastered back in middle school physical education classes.
No luck. What he wanted to do, he couldn’t, not now when half the team was looking on, most likely laughing their asses off at his feeble attempt to dance. He rested his chin on top of her head, inhaling the sweet smell of the wavy black strands that cascaded down her back, tickling the arms he was holding firmly around her waist. He managed to restrain himself from sliding those hands lower, cupping her rounded butt cheeks and pulling her tight against his raging hard-on.
After talking with her about the game while they were eating, Bobby realized that Marly was a football player’s dream. She obviously loved the sport and knew a good bit about it. Not too many women would have recognized his first professional play as a naked bootleg, but she’d mentioned the term first instead of picking up on it from someone else’s comments.
And she had a knack for making him feel powerful…in control. He’d never felt that way around a woman before. Not Tina and not any of the girls at Tulane who’d wanted to be seen on campus with a football star. Bobby held Marly closer, bent and brushed his lips against her earlobe.
“I should’ve worn high heels.” Marly stood on tiptoe, nuzzled at his throat.
And I should have kept my jockstrap on. Good thing he still had on his suit jacket, because she was getting him so hot that no one could possibly fail to notice the bulge in his crotch. “If you’ve had enough socializing, we can take a walk along the river, or go to my place. It’s not far.”
“I say there’s no place like home. Especially when the mosquitoes are still nibbling on people who’re brave enough to walk along the riverbank.”
Chapter 3
Be it ever so humble…” Bobby opened the door for her then followed Marly into the entry foyer of his sixteenth floor condo.
“Humble? This is gorgeous.” She made a beeline for the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the Mississippi River and sighed. “Hardly humble.” To her the soaring ceiling and opulent contemporary furnishings seemed incongruous with her impression of who Bobby was. “I was disappointed that you didn’t need me to help you hunt for apartments.”
“I was looking forward to that, too. But one of the front office people found this place for me. It came furnished, and comparatively cheap. I’m house-sitting for a former team scout and his wife. They didn’t want to try to sell now, with the housing market so depressed.” He came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her, blew lightly on her ear then drew her closer. “Sometimes I like to sit by that window and watch the boats go up and down the river. It’s different—a lot different—from Hemphill County, Texas. A lot more soothing to look at from a distance.”
“And how about up
close?” she asked, imagining the small-town boy might have been a little intimidated by big-city life.
“I like being up close to you.” His rigid sex probed against her ass cheeks, its message unmistakable.
He picked her up as though she weighed no more than the beer stein he’d nursed while they were at the bar, and carried her to a beige leather lounge chair where he sat and held her on his lap. Having him gather her in his arms and hold her as though she was precious to him made her heart beat double time. He aroused her, certainly, but she felt his affection, too. “I meant, how’ve you adjusted to the city, up close?”
“Fine. I went to college in New Orleans. Memphis isn’t that much different, just a little quieter and less rowdy. It’s even on the same river.”
“I bet you were a rowdy one.” Marly imagined him in the French Quarter, living it up with teammates and a devoted bunch of hot sorority girls.
He laughed. “Not really. I had to work pretty hard to stay in football shape year-round and handle a full load of academic courses.”
She’d heard he’d won a scholar-athlete award of some sort last year. “I find it hard to believe you never found time to play on Bourbon Street.”
Bending down, Bobby caught her hair and laid it over her shoulder then blew on her neck. The warm, damp burst of air sent shivers all the way to her toes. “I didn’t say I never got to play. I just didn’t do it very often. No time and not a lot of spending money.”
“So they didn’t find you a cushy job where you could study and make money? My college’s basketball team got suspended from postseason play for a long time because most of the starters had jobs working for companies a rabid team supporter owned. Only they didn’t actually work.”
“Nope. Tulane’s more academic than sports-orientated, although they have made some good runs at football championships over the years. I got what I wanted—a good education I can use once football runs its course, and a chance to start all four years and get drafted into the pros.” He traced the length of her arm, stopping to stroke the sensitive flesh in the crook of her elbow. “How about you?”
She snuggled against his muscular chest, enjoyed the heat and the slow, steady beat of his heart. “Daddy footed the bill for my higher education. I wasn’t the world’s best student, but I got a liberal arts degree a year ago and came back home. Someday I’d love to do work helping disabled people, but nothing has come up so far except for some volunteer fundraising work I do for Angels Unaware. I work part-time in the family restaurant, and pretty much full-time at being a Gamblers cheerleader, at least during the season.”
“Do you still live at home?”
She hoped he didn’t mind. “Yes. If you want to keep seeing me, you’ll have to meet the parents eventually. They’re great, but they have a tendency to push their kids at whoever they happen to be dating. Speaking of which, are we? Dating, that is.”
“Yeah. We’re dating. Have we been dating long enough for you to join me in my new king-size bed?” He nibbled on her earlobe, and that sent what felt like a lightning bolt coursing through her.
“If I were the nice girl my folks brought me up to be, I’d have to say no. But since I’m not, and since you turn me every way but loose--”
“We could wait, you know. It might kill me, but there’s something about you—about us—that’s about more than getting naked and fucking like minks.”
Marly could hardly believe her ears. Bobby’s words proved he was much more than a hot jock, hinted that he might be as emotionally invested as she was. “Really?”
“Yeah, there is.” Bobby reached around and laced his long fingers together over her belly, using his thumbs to massage the lower swell of her breasts. His hands stilled, and when he spoke it was little more than a husky, provocative whisper. “Or we could do what we both want and call it getting to know each other better.”
That sounded good. Instead of saying yes or no, Marly twisted around and began unbuttoning Bobby’s shirt. She couldn’t resist running her hand along the muscular expanse of his lightly furred chest. “Don’t you think we both have on too many clothes?”
“Yeah. You’re right. What say we check out the bedroom?” Not waiting for a reply, he stood and carried her where he wanted them to be. There was something thrilling about having a lover strong enough to carry her around like he might a small child, something exciting, a little intimidating about knowing he had the physical ability to command her to his will. He set her down on the floor of a large room dominated by a massive bed, and she immediately missed the close contact.
Unlike some guys she knew, including her brothers, Bobby kept a tidy bedroom. The bed was even made, its beige and red woven coverlet neatly pulled over what she imagined would be sheets that had a hint of the outdoorsy scent he was wearing. He probably had a housekeeper, but for some reason Marly got the idea he was just naturally neat. Before she had a chance to ask him, he set her down on the side of the bed and took a knee.
“What, are you proposing? Or do you have a foot fetish?” The careful way he untied and removed her cross-trainers, and his sensual touch as he rubbed her feet through the short socks before pulling them off, too, made her think he just might.
“No, I’m not proposing. And you’ve got a lot of body parts that turn me on more than your pretty feet.” He paused, massaging the balls of her feet with his strong fingers for a long, delicious minute before stopping and looking up at her. His expression was taut, his eyes almost black. “Stand up now and unfasten your shorts. I’ll take care of the rest.”
She had no doubt he would. In his own time. It was obvious he’d grabbed the reins, taken control. She loved it. At that moment she realized she could very easily love him. Right now this burning lust would have to do for both of them. Standing, she lowered the zipper on her shorts then unfastened the belt and snap. The sturdy denim slid down her legs, the abrasion slight but ever so arousing. Maybe that was because Bobby was watching every inch of their slow descent, his breathing ragged.
As if crawling in that bed and getting it on were the least of his concerns, he picked up her shorts, folded them and put them on a club chair that was within arm’s reach of where they stood. It was obvious that he was trying to go slow. Doing a damn good job of it, too. Instead of going for her thong panties, he lifted off her knit polo shirt and loosened her bra, all in a continuous, practiced motion. How many other women had he taken in this bed? In other beds in other places? Before she could clamp her mouth shut, she blurted out the question she had no right to ask. “I’m sorry. It’s not my business.”
He cupped her chin, tilted her head back until she could look him in the eye. “It’s okay, Marly. You’re the first woman I’ve brought here. The first I’ve been in a bedroom with since I’ve been in Memphis, actually. I played around some in college, and I had a girlfriend back home when I was in high school. She hinted a few times that she’d like for us to get married, but I was nowhere near ready. Anyhow, she took my breaking up with her pretty well and we’re good buddies now, so I may not be all that unforgettable in the sack. But baby, you’re inspiring me.”
Ever so gently he bent and stripped off her thong to find her bare except for a thin line of neatly trimmed black curls on her mound. “What?”
“It’s a Brazilian. Naked except for that little landing strip. I can’t stand black hairs creeping out of the legs of my bikini bottoms.” She sounded nervous, as though she thought he might object.
Object, hell. He loved the feel of baby soft female flesh, had regretted that the coed who’d introduced him to hers had had nothing on her mind—other than fucking him every chance she got—but showing him off to her sorority sisters the way he might show off a trophy. Only thing, his trophies were wood-and-metal, and most of them were topped with a generic passer set to throw, or a hollow bronze football. He liked thinking of himself as a human being. “I like it. A lot.” Then, before she could get too nervous, he blew on her belly button as he straightened up.
“Oh, yeah.” While he toed off his loafers, she pulled up his T-shirt then moved around him so she could pull it off. She looked for a stool or something to stand on, didn’t see one. “I can’t reach up high enough to get this shirt over your head, big guy. What are you, six five or six?” Whatever, he was close to a foot taller than she was.
“Six five and a half.” He bent over so she could pull the T-shirt off. “Two hundred forty pounds soaking wet, or at least I was before the game. I probably sweated off a couple of pounds.” He unfastened his pants and let them pool at his feet. “I’ll let you get the rest.”
She draped his pants over a chair then turned back to him. “Omigod, you’re even more gorgeous than I imagined. I can tell you spend a lot of time in the weight room.”
“Nowhere near as much time as linemen do. The last thing quarterbacks need is to be muscle-bound.” When she raked his body with a burning hot gaze, his cock rose to full attention. Her eyes widened when she noticed it tenting his underwear, before her gaze slid back up his chest.
“You’re hurt.” Her hand went out, and she very gently touched one of a colorful collection of bruises that dotted his left shoulder and ribcage, and the bandage that started just below his ribs and disappeared inside plain white boxer shorts.
The injuries weren’t serious, just the expected results of a hard-fought game. “I’m okay. The bumps and bruises are side effects of the job. I’m used to getting them. If you think I look bad, you should see some of the other guys. Don’t worry, I won’t break.”
She didn’t look all that reassured. In fact she looked downright disbelieving.
He grasped her chin, making her look him in the eye. “You haven’t messed around with a lot of football players, have you?” She couldn’t have, not and still be shocked over seeing a few dents and dings after games whether they were high school, college or pro.