Blur: A Sports Romance

by Piper Page

  What was I going to wear? I let my mind to sort through images of the sparse clothing in my closet. It was a futile effort. It wouldn’t really matter, because I had already screwed up. He thought I was a mute and socially inept. He’d probably look for Leslie to be with me, my human security blanket. Inevitably, he’d get over the initial crush, just like all the men I had dated did. It would be interesting to see how long he’d survive me—one week, maybe a month if I was lucky, but in the end, I would be left wallowing in my sorrow, and he’d be skipping away thanking his lucky stars he had gotten away from me.

  Chapter Four

  Adrian

  My biceps and pectoral muscles screamed as I pressed the weighted bar upward. My spotter, a man I’d met only an hour ago, hovered over me, ready to jump in a pull the bar off my chest if need be. He looked eager, almost willing the bar to slip back under the weight and pin me to the bench. I felt the overwhelming surge of testosterone and my urge to wipe the smug look off his weasely face. I gritted my teeth and let a primal growl escape my lips before I seated the bar in its iron hooks and swung myself up to a sitting position.

  “Thanks, man. I’m good. You need one now?”

  The man—I think his name was Rob or Bob or Bret, I hadn’t paid much attention—shook his head and stepped back, now looking more impressed yet fearful I would challenge him to beat my weight and reps. “I’m set, man, gotta go. Nice meeting you, and good luck this season. I’ll be sure to let Mike know you took him up on his offer.”

  I cringed. I wasn’t sure why I decided to indulge Mike Richardson today, other than I needed a good workout, and if he wanted to pay for this fancy gym, I was smart enough to use it. I watched Bob Rob Bret walk away and hook up with a much smaller guy who was struggling with the cable machine. I laughed out loud and moved to pick up the weighted bar on the floor and count off a set of squats. I was feeling the adrenaline pumping through my muscles, and my workout was flowing with perfection. I believed a lot of it was the fact that Mallory was going out with me tonight.

  I smiled to myself as I switched positions, feeling my calf and thigh muscles tense and define with each lunge forward. Mallory was innocent, and I found this fact beyond tantalizing. The thought of my muscles wrapped about her petite frame made my mouth water. I felt animalistic. I knew this was the endorphins, but I liked the way it made me feel. Tonight I would play it cool, take it slow, and let her get to know me in her own time and way. I, of course, would be taking it all in and savoring every morsel Mallory would serve to me before I showed her how much I wanted her in return.

  I jumped several times in place, shaking the electric energy out from my core muscles to the tips of my toes and fingers. These work outs served my physical form, but they also gave me a quiet headspace to sort out my thoughts and know what I really wanted to move towards in my life, too. It was my own personal drug, a safe drug, the only type of mind-altering activity I would ever do every day. I grabbed my shirt and my towel and headed back to the locker rooms to shower and get ready to pick up Mallory. I was looking forward to a hot shower where I could indulge my fantasy and maybe find a release for all this pent-up tension. I knew my routine with women—fast, hard, aggressive, sweeping them off their feet and right into my bed. But Mallory was going to be different, because if I played it right, she’d be in my bed for a long time.

  The soft soles of my sneakers whooshed over the decline ramp into the pit of the gym. A shower was going to feel good after this session. I could hear someone else enter the hallway and start in my general direction. I hoped they moved along on their own. There was nothing I found more annoying than being recognized when I wanted to get showered and get out and on my way. I wasn’t opposed to talking “shop” with fans, but I had a mission, and her name was Mallory.

  I sped up my stride, hoping to outpace whoever was behind me. I listened, and the invisible steps sped up too. It might have been my imagination, but I was starting to think I was being followed. Fans sometimes become stalkers, and this was a new place, so someone could have recognized me. Without my usual known staff around to deter, I was on my own. I ducked into the first shower room, it wasn’t where my bag was, but I needed to throw this fan for the sake of time and my mental mood. My heart was racing, and it wasn’t from my post-workout endorphins. I pressed myself flat up against the cement wall and waited, maybe he would pass by.

  The man entered the locker room and walked past me. He was dressed in street clothes, jeans, and a leather jacket. He stopped and turned. Our eyes locked. His blue eyes grew wide. It was obvious he hadn’t expected to see me standing there, waiting. My own eyes narrowed as I had a flash and fleeting image of recognition, but I couldn’t place it. He took a few steps toward me, closing the gap between us. I stood my full six foot five in height and held my chest out with my chin high, giving off the aura of self-assured, testosterone-filled masculinity.

  “Can I help you? You new here?” I asked, tilting my chin upward, which added an intimidating height advantage. I wanted him to think I was a regular to this gym.

  “Actually, you can. You’re Adrian Maxwell, right?” He offered me his hand.

  My nerves relaxed. He was probably an upcoming fan just wanting to meet me or get an autograph. I smiled and shook his hand. “Yes, I am. Are you a Mavericks fan?” I tried to be friendly.

  His fingers tensed around mine, tight and firm. I jerked my hand away with some effort. He had moved in closer so that his breath flowed warm over my throat. He still hadn’t offered his own name. “Nah, not really. I’m more of a Mets fan.”

  My friendly exterior dropped and was replaced by cautious suspicion. Who was this guy? He wasn’t here to discuss my talent or get an autograph. “That’s great, man. Baseball is a great sport. More of a Sox fan, personally. Need anything more, or are we done here?” My tone was laced with obvious indignation.

  I started to step away, and he placed his hand on the wall behind me, blocking my path. I could feel my fingers balling into fists. I glared at him and took note of the crooked shift of his nose. He must have broken it at sometime in his life, and if he didn’t step back soon, it was about to get broken again. “If we’re done here, I’ve got somewhere to be.”

  A smile played on his mouth, and the vague familiarity was like a flash of lightening in my brain, quick and unable to be grasped. “Relax, Adrian. I only want to have a chat with you, nothing more.

  “I’m not one for small talk, dude. Who the hell are you?”

  “Let’s just say I’m a facilitator of sorts. See, me and you, we have a mutual connection.” His hand pointed back and forth between our puffed out chests. “And I’m here to make sure these connections get the biggest bang for their buck. You see what I’m saying?”

  I shook my head. “Nope, not really.” My mind was circling around to figure out what was going on and maintain the position of my fists. I’d clock him if I had to, but I didn’t want to bring any bad media to the team.

  The man’s brows drew together, and the tight muscles in his jaw twitched. “You’re a smart man, not educated in the formal way, we know that, but a smart man nonetheless. Think hard.”

  I was nearing my end of tolerance. How did he know anything about me?

  “There are a lot of people, my people, your people, looking forward to your big season. You are gonna be a star,” he paused, “but before that happens—and it will, my friend, we’ll make sure of it—but before then, we need you to do something.”

  “What’s that?” By this time, I was sure this man and I had no mutual acquaintances.

  “This go around,” his finger drew a circle between us, “this next game, we need you to take the fall. Nothing major, just a few points on the losing side. Won’t harm your status at all. You see, winning brings big money, but this time, losing is key. You get me?”

  I scoffed out loud before I could stop myself. “Fucking, not gonna happen.”

  The man slapped his hand hard against the cement wall, and the so
und echoed in my ear. He dropped his head and shook it with disappointment. “Adrian, Adrian, Adrian, I need you to open those pretty-boy ears and hear what I’m saying here. Let me put it this way: you lose, you win, but if you win, then you lose. If you help us out, my investors are willing to make you very comfortable for your efforts. If you don’t play with us, then life is going to get hard—painfully hard.” I heard him emphasize the last word.

  That was enough. No jackass thug was going to threaten me. I had hit my limit. I shoved his hand away and walked past him. “I’m not throwing the game for you or anyone else, so go tell your higher-ups to get fucked.”

  The man started walking backward toward the door. “Adrian, give it some thought. A poor interception in the third quarter is all it takes, and you can be rolling in some nice beds of green. Think about it. Ever do your girl on a pile of hundreds? Gets them so hot.” He thrust his hips forward and groaned.

  I rushed him and grabbed him by his leather collar, my blood hot like lava, pinning him to the wall. “If you don’t want to be coming here for rehab for the rest of your fucking life, you better back the fuck off. I have no issues taking you down to the dirt level that you came out of, you piece of shit. I will not throw any game, and you can take your money and shove it up your boss’s ass on a fucking bed of roses or whatever else gets you off,.” I shoved him away, turned my back, and stalked off, fully prepared to turn and swing if he came up behind me. My body was a knotted, tense mess of muscle.

  “Maxwell, this isn’t over. We knew you’d need some time to think things over, so I’ll let you be for now. Shower up, think it over, we will be in touch.” The man’s footsteps faded away.

  When I was alone, I sat down on the bench, shaking with rage. Who the hell was he, and what mutual friends did we have? I ran through my mental files of who would pull something like this. I came up with no one until I thought of Mike Richardson. It made perfect sense. New owner, lots of play money, not too bright in my personal opinion, and he had purposely set me up here, at his gym.

  “Damn it.” I kicked the locker, leaving a huge dent in the painted metal. I should have never come here. It all fit together. Mike knew I’d be here. He probably had Rob Bob notify him when I got here, then called his nutjob goon squad to corner me and make the offer. I sighed and ran my hands through my hair. I wondered if Coach knew about the lowlife that had bought our team for a plaything he could manipulate for his own gain. I set it up in my head right there under the steaming water of the gym shower, that there was no way in hell I would ever jeopardize my career for the likes of Mike Richardson. I was determined now more than ever to win the season championship and get us to the Super Bowl, then win that coveted ring and flash it in the bastard’s face.

  Chapter Five

  Mallory

  I dabbed a bit of perfume on my wrists, then some behind my earlobes, staring at myself in the vanity mirror of my bedroom. With a second thought, I trailed my scented fingertip down the valley of my breasts, leaving a shimmer of perfumed oil. I gazed at the glistening streak and thought of Adrian’s lips nuzzled in the same place the perfume was, and then I blushed. Who was I kidding? There was no way someone like Adrian Maxwell was going to do anything more with me tonight than kiss my cheek, pat my head, and send me on my merry little way while he sped off as fast as his car would take him. It would be Darren Owen, prom failure extraordinaire, all over again. I remembered having the same thoughts with him.

  Darren was my high school crush: big, beautiful, and popular. He dated the prettiest cheerleaders and broke it off with his girlfriend of two months a week before prom. Unbeknownst to me at the time, I was his only option left to save face and not show up at the prom empty-handed. I primped and primed myself for what I thought was going to be the best night of my life. I actually thought I was going to give him my virginity, and I would have, if I hadn’t walked out of the school gym and into the lady’s restroom to find him deep into his ex-girlfriend against the bathroom stall door. My only happiness from that night was witnessing my brother and his friends beat the crap out of Darren in the parking lot while I sat with red swollen eyes, in the back seat of our family Lincoln, in a pile was wadded up snotty tissues.

  I slipped on a silk camisole and matching silk panties before pulling on the fifth dress I had tried on that evening. It hugged my breasts and flared out on the bottom, giving my waist a smaller appearance, which was what I was hoping for. One guy I dated, several months back, informed me that I should invest in a waist trainer. When I told him I couldn’t afford a personal gym, he informed me of what a waist trainer was, then never returned my calls again. Since that disaster, I always tried to suck in my stomach, stand up straight, and only wear clothing that pulled in my waist whenever I went out on dates.

  I looked into the mirror and twisted up my facial features, then stuck out my tongue. I wasn’t fooling myself here, how in the world did I expect to fool Adrian into thinking I was worth his time? Even my last date knew that—he’d only spend time with me if Leslie was along for the ride. I should have guessed he was using me like the one before him had. Fool Mallory once, fool Mallory every time, I thought, slumping down to the foot of my bed. I should have called Adrian right then and told him I changed my mind. He should be with his own kind, a gorgeous nine, not a virgin four.

  The scent of the lilies on my vanity mocked my senses and told me I was right. I wasn’t up to this man’s standards. I tapped on the screen of my phone to call Leslie to get his number off the order forms. A knock on my front door halted my fingers mid-dial.

  “Fuck.”

  Adrian was standing on my porch. Seven thirty on the dot. How did I lose track of time? I opened the door with a shaking hand, internally telling myself to talk.

  “Hi.”

  Adrian’s emerald eyes lit up and drank in my body while the tip of his tongue lapped at the corners of his mouth.

  I gave him a sideways glance. “Why do I suddenly feel like a surf and turf dinner?”

  His features relaxed, and he tilted his head back and laughed. “I’m sorry, you just look deliciously amazing, Mallory.”

  There it was, the sound of my name coming from his lips that made my insides melt like butter for him to dip into. “Thank you.”

  Adrian held out his arm for me to take.

  I hesitated. “One minute.” I held up a finger and stepped aside. “Wait here, I just need to grab my purse and shoes.”

  Adrian stepped inside the door and looked about the living room while I scurried off to my room, returning a second later, breathless and ready.

  He beamed, and his eyes flickered with the obvious amusement I was giving him. “Ready?”

  “Yeah, I think so.” Inside I was screaming no.

  He held his arm out to me again, and I threaded my hand through the crook of his elbow and out the other side, resting my arm on his. The taut, sinewy hardness of his muscles stole my breath away. I could imagine those arms scooping me up and rescuing me from a burning building with no effort at all. I bit down hard on the fullness of my bottom lip to contain the joy that threatened to make me smile like a star struck fool.

  Adrian opened the car door for me—he drove a silver Lexus. His hand slid down the length of my arm as he helped me into the seat, and the tingles went from my skin to my stomach like a storm of sexually frustrated butterflies. I suppose one date wasn’t going to hurt anyone. I thought he was going to close the door and walk to the driver’s side, instead he ducked his torso in above my frame and I froze, stiff in my seat. He reached beyond me, dragging the seatbelt across my body and snapping it into place. The scent of his skin filled my senses, and I almost stuck my nose closer for a better smell.

  “Is that okay?” His hand rested on my upper thigh as he spoke, which did not escape my attention.

  I’d lost my voice again and nodded repeatedly instead.

  “Good girl.” His fingers squeezed the flesh hidden beneath the fabric of my dress, and all those frantic butte
rflies burst into flames simultaneously, setting my inside on fire.

  I reminded myself to breathe while he closed the door and moved to the driver’s seat. This was going to be an excruciating night of agony, but somewhere inside me, I knew I no longer wanted to pass it up.

  We drove the short distance, listening to what I was certain was a preplanned playlist on Adrian’s iPod. I couldn’t resist and spoke up as he pulled into a parking space at Giorgio’s. “Let me guess, is that music from ‘How to get a girl into bed on date one?’”

  Adrian’s jaw dropped, and he clutched his chest pretending to have hurt feelings. “I am not that kind of man! Unless, of course, it’s working. Is it working?” The playful smile returned to his mouth and filled his eyes.

  I laughed. “Not in the slightest, Adrian Maxwell.” I’d been waiting to test out the feel of his full name in my mouth and it proved to be well worth the nerve it took for me to use it. Not only did he physically shiver when I said it, but his eyes went from looking at me in playful spirits to full-on lust. How was I ever going to make it through dinner?

  He unlatched my seatbelt and got out of the car. I watched him walk with confidence from his side to mine. The cool air that rushed in after him as he opened the door was a blessing to my heated skin. This time, I did not hesitate to take his offered hand, letting him lead me from the parking lot into the restaurant.

  Adrian pulled out my chair for me before he pushed it forward as I sat down. He took the time to manipulate the table setting so that he was not across it from me, but right up next to me. The host came and asked for our drink order.

  “I’ll have a soda water, and I think you may need to ID this one.” He blocked his mouth with his hand, but spoke teasingly loud enough for me to hear. “She looks amazing, but hardly legal.” He winked.

  I sat there with my jaw slack and my mouth agape. I needed a drink. I pulled out my license and handed it to the restaurant host. “White wine, please,” I said.