by Alexis Anne
“At work.”
“Jeffry . . . ”
“Not like that,” he sighed. “We work in the same building. I see her in the cafeteria or at the food truck. Sometimes on the lawn where most of us eat.”
Ah . . . Admiration from afar. Now that was much more like the man I knew. “The next time you’re in line at the food truck make a comment about the weather. If she engages you in the slightest, ask her what her favorite dish is.”
Honestly, it wasn’t that hard.
“And then?”
I rolled my eyes. “Ask if she’d like to sit with you. Smile. Be friendly but not creepy. Pretend she’s me.”
He grimaced. “Speaking of you. How long is this dry spell going to last? It’s like you’ve been replaced by a pod person.”
Luckily football was on. Otherwise I’d be forced to actually have this conversation instead of brushing it off. “I’m just taking a break. It takes a lot to be as talented and giving as I am. Occasionally I need some time off to focus on myself.”
And spend a lot of hours in the shower reliving my one and only night with Esme Brown.
I occasionally met up with my dates more than once. It really just depended on their personality and what they were looking for. Who was I to turn down a few weeks of sex with a willing partner?
But Esme was clear. She needed me for one night. I was not to call, email, or text. As far as she was concerned I didn’t exist.
If only it worked both ways.
A night with Esme was like spending a night in paradise, only to be kicked out at dawn. I’d tasted the fruit, sampled the drugs. I wanted more but couldn’t have it.
And that, I was quite sure, only made me want her more.
Fucking psychology.
“I have no memory of you ever needing six months to sort yourself out, Leo. Seriously. What the fuck is going on? Did you meet someone?”
“No,” I said flatly but fuck. If Jeffry, human robot, could tell, then everyone else probably could too.
“Who is she? Was she one of your dates or someone who has no idea what kind of friendly services you offer?”
I shot him a look I hoped would shut him the hell up.
No such luck, unfortunately.
“I’m betting she has no idea, which is why you’ve gone dry. You’re trying to be a normal guy.”
“Weren’t we discussing your ineptitude with women?”
“But you having a weakness with women is the biggest news of the century. It’s like your kryptonite.” He slammed the pizza box closed. “Whoever she is, she must be something else.”
I’d agree but I was starting believe I made her up. No one could be that incredible. She had to be a figment of my overactive imagination.
Dante Emerson slid a folded piece of paper across the conference table like we were in some sort of movie-style negotiation. I wanted to roll my eyes. I wanted to smack the twenty-year-old basketball phenom upside the head.
But instead I kept on my poker face and took up the piece of paper.
“What’s this?”
He shrugged, looking smug. He had a certain right to his smugness, unfortunately. “What I want.”
I knew before I glanced at the chicken scratch it was ridiculous. “No one is giving you a yacht, Dante.”
“Never know until you ask.”
“Yes I do. I’ve been doing this for a long time. No one is going to seriously consider this.”
There were some days being an agent was the most thrilling career I could imagine. The million-dollar negotiations hanging by a thread, the tempers, the dreams. But there were other days I spent doing nothing but managing drama and personalities.
Those days I’d like to ignore entirely. Ferraris and mistresses sound exciting when you’re floating on an attention high. They are less exciting when I have to spend my afternoon rearranging seating so wives and mistresses don’t accidentally wind up in the same room.
Being a glorified babysitter was not included in the brochure and yet it was a significant part of my job.
“I’ll sign with whichever team gets me a yacht,” Dante said with a grin.
“No, you’ll sign with whoever gives you the best deal. You can buy a yacht with your own money.”
“That’s not exciting, Leo. That doesn’t make headlines. It doesn’t make viral social media.”
Dante may be twenty but he was also very smart. “I understand your desire to make this deal as headline-worthy as possible. Please let me do my job. I’m very good at it.”
And Bancroft Sports benefited from it year-in and year-out which was why I now had a corner office with a view, free reign to do what I needed to do, and our president’s ear.
That same president who was standing outside the conference room with a scowl.
Perhaps I needed to check my own ego.
“We’ll meet Monday, Dante. By then we’ll know everything.”
“All right, Mr. Hancock.” He stood and shook my hand. “But think about the yacht. It would be great. I promise.”
I would not be getting him a yacht. “Have a good afternoon.” I showed him out.
Marie waited.
Marie Bancroft Hamilton was not only the president of the company but also one of our best agents. Her father founded the company, grooming her to take his place, which she did five years ago. And while her client list was now reserved for only a few special athletes, she was still damn good at her job.
“What have I done to earn that scowl?”
“Office. Now.” She turned and stormed back to her corner office. The one opposite mine. Hers was bigger and had a slightly better view of Tampa Bay.
I followed her inside, closed the door, sat in the fine leather chair opposite hers, and waited.
She didn’t say anything. Oh no, she simply twitched and scowled. Whatever this was about, it was bad.
Finally, “The Renegades have been sold.”
My jaw hit the floor. “I didn’t know they were for sale.”
By the look in her eyes, Marie knew it was possible. “There were rumors the Butlers were considering leaving the entire industry behind after Sam died. His wife always hated football and his sons are in completely different industries. Apparently a quiet deal was struck and the commission approved it last night.”
It was quick, unusual, potentially shady, but not necessarily wrong. “Who is the new owner?” Our clients were all over the country but a large percentage were based here in Florida, the sunshine state where sports could be played year round. Our local professional football team was a significant presence in our lives since there were in our backyard.
“Edmund Brown,” she gritted out.
“I have no idea who Edmund Brown is.” Which made this deal even weirder.
The twitching was back. “Edmund was a silent partner in the old Nashville franchise. The one that never should have existed.”
Thirteen years ago Nashville was awarded an expansion team under strange circumstances. The team disbanded three years later under equally strange rumors of corruption, collusion, and doping. It was an ugly time in professional sports that was swept under the rug as a bad mistake. No one ever brought up Nashville.
“Really? How is this even possible?” I’d thought the owners were banned from future ownership. Perhaps my recounting of the Nashville experiment was wrong.
“It was ten year ban, not a lifetime ban.”
And their ten years was up. “Son of a bitch.”
“Son of a bitch. And now that bastard is in our town.”
She was terribly angry about this. “Do you happen to know Edmund Brown?”
She twitched again. “Yes. He and my father knew each other. I went to school with his son, knew his daughter loosely. She’s younger than me.”
Ah, so there was a personal reason for this anger. “How does this affect our clients?” We had several on the team.
“I haven’t heard anything yet but I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to pull s
ome bullshit. The salary cap was killing them last year. I don’t trust him and I wanted to catch you up as soon as possible. We need to keep a hard line.”
“Done.”
For the first time she relaxed a little. “Good. How’s Dante?”
I smiled. “He wants a yacht. Says it will be good for viral content.”
Marie chuckled. “I like that kid. He’s a handful but he’s fun.”
Only because she wasn’t the one negotiating on his behalf.
“Will there be anything else?”
Her grin became downright playful. “I hear you’ve been off the market recently. Who’s the lady?”
Yep, as I feared, everyone knew. “Somebody’s been working me too hard to have a social life.”
“Bullshit. You managed to keep up with your dates no matter what until now. I know when a guy’s had his world turned upside down and you, Mr. Hancock, have had yours upended by a Mack truck.”
I made for the door before I got sucked into another delightful conversation about my life. “How would you know?”
A cackle filled the air. “Because I’ve been the woman, Leo.”
Chapter 3
“Deeper, Leo. Deeper.” Esme’s cries filled my dreams. Woke me hard, alone, and with no choice but to relive the memories with my hand.
I sank into her from behind, my hands on her hips, pulling her against me until there was no more.
“Yes. Again. Yes.”
I slammed into her. Hard. Unforgiving. Still it wasn’t enough. No matter how fast and hard I took her it wasn’t enough.
I held her hands at her sides, refused to let her move. That did it. She came like a river around my dick, her arousal so potent it made me dizzy. That was the key to satisfying her hunger.
While she was loose from pleasure I flipped her over, pulled the straps from my drawer and quickly bound her. Her pants grew quicker and holy mother of all did my dick throb to be inside her again.
“Do not move, Esme.”
“Yes, oh God, yes.”
My room was cold and dark. No lingering perfumes clung to any sheets. No woman had been in my bed since Esme.
My fist flew over the steel between my legs.
In my memories I remembered the way she heated for me all over again. The soft supple peaks she begged me to suck. The many different ways my fingers filled her. Spread her.
I drew it out until she was high on pleasure. There was no possible way there was anything in her mind but me. No memories. No thoughts.
I’d done just as she asked.
I made her forget.
And then when I knew she couldn’t take another moment, I sank slowly back inside her, stretching her inch by inch until she was completely filled with me.
Nothing but me.
“Her favorite is the pork tacos. We ate on the lawn. I don’t know what to do next.”
Jeffry was back in my living room the next Sunday, head in his hands, completely ignoring the blowout on the television.
“Um, you do it all over again.”
“You don’t,” Jeffry protested. “You smile and they spread their legs like you’re their favorite toy on Christmas morning.”
I had to laugh at that. “They come to me knowing that’s what we’re going to do. Your lady is under the delusion you might want to get to know her. Spend time with her. Be her friend.”
“Yeah that’s true.”
Actually, that was a very important question I hadn’t asked before. “Do you want to be her friend? Or are you simply looking to fuck her?”
Jeffry shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s gorgeous. Like, holy shit I’ve never seen a woman in real life this beautiful. My dick is doing all the thinking.”
That was a problem I couldn’t fix with any amount of advice. “You should sort that out before you ask her to lunch again.”
“She’s smart. She works at the research park, too. I have a feeling if I could get my hormones in check that yeah, I’d totally want all that ‘more’ stuff. But really? She had to have had lunch with me because she thinks I’m friend material. Women like her don’t fuck guys like me.”
I had a feeling he’d be surprised what women in general want.
“Figure yourself out. If all you want is to fuck her brains out we’ll need a different strategy. If you want something more long term, I suggest doing lunch on the lawn again.”
“Okay fine. Oh hey,” he said between mouthfuls of chicken wings. “Drinks Thursday. Everyone’s going to Rusty’s.”
“The baseball bar? No.” For Jeffry and his colleagues that would be fun. For me . . . it would be work. No matter what anyone said about it being a no-fly zone for work talk, it simply wasn’t true.
“Oh come on. You always know someone cool.”
Exactly. “I am not a trick pony you get to turn out for fun.”
He pouted a little and then a devious grin took over. “She’ll be there. You’ll get to see me crash and burn, up close and personal.”
Now that was worth the price of admission. What was a couple of off-the-clock conversations over drinks when it came with a show? Priceless that’s what it was. But then another fun idea occurred to me. “Or, instead of spending my whole night laughing at you, I could help. On the fly. In real time.”
Jeffry’s nerdy little face lit up. He may have even become teary. I’m not sure since I turned off the part of me that noticed such things.
“Really? You’d do that for me?”
I glared at him because I was fairly certain I was two seconds away from getting a completely unnecessary hug. “If you say you love me I’ll quit.”
“Aw, come on, Leo.” He grinned and gave me that aw shucks good guy routine he did so well. He should really be exploiting that ability with the ladies, not me.
“I mean it. One word and this friendship is over.”
He chuckled, finally turning his attention back to the football game. “You’re so good with women. It still surprises me how out of touch you are with your feelings. It’s okay to have emotions, Leo. It’s the twenty-first century in case you haven’t heard.”
For the occasion of having front row seats to Jeffry’s ineptitude I wore my favorite Italian loafers, bright blue suit, and white linen shirt—no tie. Clothes were my favorite personal indulgence and my profession allowed for it both in income and circumstance. I’m sure I would look out of place as, say, an engineer, but as an agent it was expected.
Some men invested in cars. I invested in watches, cuff links, and leather.
“Good evening, Rusty.”
The restaurant owner loved greeting his flashy clientele. It also served as a constant and personalized warning to every athlete, agent, and reporter that walked through his door: what happened at Rusty’s stayed at Rusty’s.
“Mr. Hancock.” He took my hand. “How are you?”
“Excellent. I’m headed to the bar.” Rusty liked to know why everyone was there. It helped him keep tabs.
“Are you with that group?”
“They’re academics. You have nothing to worry about. Most of them have no idea who’s who in here.”
Rusty grinned. “I got that impression.”
“I’ll make sure they behave.”
He walked with me through the restaurant, noting who smiled at us and who I waved to. “Thank you. I appreciate it. You know I get nervous when randoms walk in.”
“Trust me. These randoms are harmless.”
Oh how wrong I was. I just didn’t know it yet. I found Jeffry and he quickly reintroduced me to his fellow geneticists. I remembered them but our paths rarely crossed so it was always good to get a reminder. There was Mary, a delightful woman with a love of anime that came through in her fashion choices, Grant, the kind of man who didn’t know what fashion was but had a wicked sense of humor, and John, the man I referred to as “the trouble maker” because he was quiet but always had a trick up his sleeve.
“What are we drinking?”
Mary tapped the pi
tcher. “The Old Tampa Seasonal.”
Sounded disgusting. “Next round is on me.” I found that offering to buy a round as soon as I got to any group not only earned me instant goodwill but it also provided an icebreaker. We could talk about the drink selections, the crowd around us, the day they just had, or nothing at all. The act of arriving, leaving, and returning with alcohol gave the illusion I’d spoken about something.
“Pitcher of Old Tampa Seasonal and a Blanton’s, please.” I turned to survey the bar. My two Mantas players were in the corner with their significant others, along with three other men I didn’t recognize. Well, one tickled a memory but I couldn’t place him. My Bolts hockey player sat near the patio windows with his girlfriend, and one of my Renegades clients was here with a very large party of what appeared to be family.
Not too shabby.
Then I caught sight of raven hair and had one of those instant flashbacks to running my hand through a different head of dark, shiny hair. It sent the blood raging into my cock in a rather unfortunate way for the middle of a public space, so the moment the bartender placed my drink on the counter I knocked it back and asked for another.
It wasn’t the first time this happened. Esme had that way about her. She left this indelible sexual imprint on me that made anyone with the same features stand out in a crowd. Even something as simple as wavy raven hair forced her right back into my thoughts. I’d had the same reaction to a pair of pumps, a skirt, and perfume over the last few months.
When I returned to the table the group was in the middle of reenacting—in great detail—some unfortunate procedure the staff was now required to go through each day. Apparently it was unnecessary, awful, and hilarious to the group of geniuses.
“Then, and this is very important,” Jeffry said solemnly, “you must place the yellow paper in the folder marked ‘Yellow’. It’s right beside the folder that says ‘Blue’ where the blue forms go.” Then he rolled his eyes heavenward. “Sweet Jesus it’s like they think we’re stupid.”
“That’s exactly what they think,” Mary muttered. “All they care about are those damn forms and following the procedure for filling them out. What we’re actually doing is lost on them.”
