Offensive Rebound

by Mj Fields

She shrugs, lifting her eyebrows. “No big deal.”

  “Right, no big deal,” I sneer.

  She shrugs again. “Nope. None.”

  “How’s your pussy feeling? Is it feeling like it was no big thing?”

  She gasps and looks down the hall and then back the other way. “Jesus, Trae.”

  “Who you looking for?”

  “I don’t know. Have you looked at social media? Last night’s happenings are all over the place. Clearly, people are watching. This thing”—she motions again—“is viral, and you being out the night after our ‘nuptials’ ”—she does that air quote thing again—“in Vegas with your boy will be, too. I’ll look like even more of a freaking joke.”

  “So, what you’re really saying is my dick’s on lockdown so you don’t look like a normal twenty-three-year-old spoiled, little socialite who’s playing with the big dogs and has no business doing so.”

  “Fuck you, Trae,” she hisses, sounding just like her mom.

  I grab her chin and lift her face. “Yeah, fuck you and only you until we get this shit sorted.”

  She doesn’t reply.

  “Do you see Brock in front of you?”

  She pulls her chin away. “No!”

  “That’s fucking right.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means, I’m a player on the court. It means, I’m a man of my word. It means, that if I’m fucking you, I’m not looking for something else. It means, right now, I’m the only one fucking you.”

  She narrows her eyes.

  “You’re just pissed I’m not gonna be kissing you goodnight.” I look down below her waist so she knows exactly where I know she wants my lips.

  “If this is gonna work, you need to make it at least appear like we’re a team.”

  I nod. “I’m a Stallion, not a show pony.”

  She rolls her eyes.

  Sighing, I tell her, “I came back here tonight. I didn’t go anywhere else.”

  She looks down.

  “You have my word, I’m gonna play the part as long as you know, no matter what happens, I leave at the end of the season...even if you don’t want me to.”

  “Pft. I know that.”

  “Good. You’ll look to the outside world like the woman you are inside.”

  She smiles sadly. “And what do you get out of it?”

  “I get to fuck you whenever and however I want.”

  She gasps. “So, I’m a whore?”

  I shrug. “Isn’t that what you expect of me?”

  “Trae, this is a bad—”

  “Now kiss me, wife, before you go in and snuggle up with Christa.”

  “We don’t have to—”

  I grab the back of her neck, pull her close, and kiss her. When I kiss her harder, she whimpers. Then, when I kiss her softer, she moans.

  I step back, watching her touch her lips.

  “Tomorrow, I get to eat that pussy again,” I tell her, walking toward the elevator and not looking back because, right now, I want to fuck my wife.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Preparing

  COURTNEY

  WHEN I WALK BACK INTO the room, Christa says, “I should have gone.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have.” Christa is my friend, and not just for a season.

  “You really like him,” she states.

  I nod then shrug. “But I love you, and you clearly need to chat.”

  She shakes her head. “I just need some Court time.”

  “You’ve got it.” I sit next to her on the bed and pull the blankets up high as I lean against her. “Spill it.”

  “Nothing to spill.”

  “Was he mean to you?”

  She scoffs. “Of course not.”

  “Did he pound out your—”

  “Shut up. You sound like me.” She elbows me.

  “Well, it’s not like you to be so quiet. I’m half-tempted to call your mother.”

  “I’d kill you.”

  “Then talk to me,” I say, looking at my fun wanna-be party girlfriend who lost that somewhere in Vegas.

  Fucking Elvis.

  “I want to bask in this for a while.”

  “You sure?” I ask.

  “I’m sure I’m exhausted, and it’s...” She looks at the clock. “Oh, God, what time is our flight?”

  “Nine in the morning,” I answer through a yawn.

  “I’m not leaving my room tomorrow, and I’m never coming to Vegas again. This place is exhausting.”

  “You’ll feel better when you catch up on your sleep.” I turn off the TV. “Goodnight.”

  ***

  CHRISTA AND I ARE CHECKING out in the lobby when I look up to see Trae and Parker walking toward us.

  Trae has on black slacks, a grey button-up with the first three buttons undone, his duffle slung over one shoulder, suit jacket over the other, and aviator sunglasses on.

  That fucking face, though...God. Dark, nicely trimmed scruff, and his hair is still damp from a shower that I wish I had been in.

  “Miss Cohen?” He pulls his sunglasses off, shoving them into his pocket and meeting my eyes.

  “Miss Cohen?” Ouch.

  He squints slightly, and I bite the inside of my lip, trying not to smile because he seems...off, as my mouth salivates.

  “Courtney,” Christa tries to get my attention, but I’m still looking at him.

  He’s steps closer, shrugging his shoulder to let his bag fall to the ground. Then another step closer, and one arm wraps around me while he pulls my head back with the other. We are as close as two people can be while clothed when he kisses me softly and long, taking me in with a deep breath then releasing a groan that vibrates from his chest.

  He tastes like bottled water, smells like soap and man, and feels like home.

  I am so fucked.

  He pulls back and kisses me once more on the cheek then whispers, “Good morning, Mrs. Rhodes.”

  “Morning,” I return.

  “Did you miss me?” he asks before kissing the top of my head.

  I nod.

  “Good. I didn’t realize I missed you until I saw you looking at me.”

  “You don’t have to say—”

  “What? How I feel? Fine, I’ll show you.” He drops his coat on his bag, cups my face in both hands, and kisses me again.

  This kiss is open-mouthed and much more intense. I don’t want it to stop. But when I hear people whispering, I pull back. He keeps my lips, though, sucking it until we finally disconnect. Then he presses his forehead against mine.

  “You feel that?”

  I nod and swallow.

  His eyes search mine for something I wish I could give.

  “We’re so fucked, Court.”

  I nod, feeling tears start to well up in my eyes.

  “When I’m near her, I am aware of every breath she takes—that’s what I told your mom. What I learned last night is that, when I’m not near you, it’s harder to breathe, knowing you are steps away. You have my season, I have your time, and we do this one hundred and ten percent.”

  I nod again, not knowing what to say, because I want it. I want it so badly, too.

  “Then I’m gonna leave, because my little girl needs me, and I have to be there.”

  I cover one of his hands with mine and push against it as a tear falls. He wipes it away with his thumb.

  “I’m scared worse now than I was before. But fuck if I want this to end.”

  “Not yet,” I remind him.

  “I’m a selfish fucker, Courtney.”

  “I’m a selfish, spoiled rich bitch.”

  He smiles then sets his lips against my forehead and sighs. “Don’t talk about my wife like that.”

  I hug him.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  ***

  WE ALL SHARE A CAB from the airport. Trae and I don’t sit next to each other since Christa is being extra clingy, which never happens. Therefore, I stick by her side, thou
gh I want to be closer to Trae. But whenever I look at him, and he’s looking at me, it feels like he’s inside me.

  We drop Parker off at the hotel, and he gets out before it even comes to a full stop.

  I look at Christa, who looks like she is about to cry.

  “Did he hurt you?” Trae asks, noticing the look on her face, too.

  She looks at me like she’s hurt, like I hurt her.

  “Courtney didn’t say anything, Christa. It’s obvious,” he tells her.

  “Of course not,” she says indignantly.

  “Is there anything I can do?” he asks.

  “Stop asking questions,” she barks at him.

  His eyebrows shoot up, but he nods. “All right, then.”

  She looks out the window. “Sorry. It’s not him; it’s me.”

  I reach over and grab her hand, giving it a squeeze. “We’ll be home soon.”

  “Good. I wanna sleep.”

  When we get back to the house, Christa is out of the car just as fast as Parker was.

  I try to pay the driver, but Trae insists on doing it.

  When the car pulls away, I point at him. “Don’t be stupid.”

  He grabs my wrist and nips at my finger.

  “Hey!” I laugh.

  “I can pay a seventy-five-dollar bill, Courtney.”

  “Well, it’s a tax write-off,” I inform him, pulling my hand back.

  He nods. “Right.”

  I throw my thumb over my shoulder. “I should go check on her.”

  “Right,” he repeats, nodding again. Then he rubs his hands over his head. “I’m thinking, since we’re married and all, she should get the apartment.”

  To say I’m shocked is an understatement. He wants to live with me, and not just...live with me? And Christa...

  I can’t. I just can’t.

  He notices my internal battle.

  “You want this to work, right?”

  I nod. “Yeah, but she’s kind of going through something.” I nod toward the house.

  “When she’s rested, then.”

  “Can we talk about it—I don’t know—another time?”

  “Yeah.” He nods. “So, we do dinner at five in this house?”

  “Do we need a schedule?” I smile widely, thinking he’s joking.

  He’s not.

  He says absolutely nothing.

  “Do you expect me to cook?” I chuckle. “If you do, understand you’ll be eating bagged salads and take-out every night.”

  “We’ll cook on weekends. Meal prep. Works best for my training regime, anyway.”

  “Great,” I say with sarcasm.

  He laughs. “I’ll teach you how to cook. We’ll do that on Sundays when we’re in town. It will be our day to cook, eat, and fuck.”

  “Wow, okay then,” I say, once again thinking he’s joking.

  “Saturdays, we just eat and fuck. Nothing else.”

  “Mondays, what do we do? Fuck, and then eat to spice things up?”

  He looks at me expressionlessly. “I’m best with a schedule.”

  He is being serious. He is really being serious right now.

  It feels like he’s hot when I’m cold and vice versa. God, I feel like I am losing my mind. This isn’t me.

  Get it together.

  “You didn’t last week,” I point out.

  “Yes, I did, and so did you. We just need to synch them up and add in the fucking.”

  I can’t help laughing now as I turn to walk into the house, leaving him standing there.

  Inside, I head downstairs, where I tap on Christa’s door.

  “It’s open.”

  I walk in and see she’s been crying. She’s not a crier. An over-expressive, borderline exaggerating drama queen, yes. But not this.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, climbing into bed with her.

  “I think I’m homesick,” she says, hugging me.

  “Oh. Oh, Christa.” I hug her back. “I should say go home, but you seriously just got here, and I don’t want you to leave.”

  “I cried in front of Parker. He probably thinks I’m nuts. Hell, I think I’m nuts.”

  “Christa, you were drunk.” I laugh. “It’s an excuse, for God’s sake. Use it.”

  ***

  SHE FALLS ASLEEP SOON AFTER we get home, and I decide to do some work, like looking over our schedule, trying to figure out why I let Christa talk me into hiring James to be The Stable’s in-house announcer, looking over Coach D’s contract to figure out how to get him out of here without causing an issue, and seeing if I can get rid of Brock, too.

  I change into shorts and an old Knicks jersey, make a note on a pink Post-it for Christa to come upstairs when she wakes up, and then grab my box of pastel Sharpies, a pile of multicolored legal pads, my laptop, and head upstairs.

  I spread everything out on the upstairs living room floor and turn on the television to ESPN. I’d love to catch some highlights of the game. I know I can google them, but seeing it unexpectedly would be amazing.

  I should head into the arena today, but I need a down day. A day at home, where I don’t have to tiptoe around...or storm through—whichever the situation calls for. A day to be me.

  I start with the schedule, grabbing the printouts and spacing them evenly out in front of me in piles by months. On each pile, I place a fine-tip Sharpie pen, and then I grab my Erin Condren Life Planner and the sheets of basketball stickers, before starting to write in October and November’s games.

  October 28th is our first game. It’s at home against the Pistons.

  We made some contacts with the local businesses, offering them all a free spot on the court to do an interactive game with the crowd, offering a prize. It’s a great way to draw a local crowd, and hopefully get them to love the atmosphere and the game.

  Friday, October 30th @ Suns

  Sunday, November 1st vs. Nuggets

  Monday, November 2nd @ Warriors

  Wednesday, November 4th vs. Clippers

  Thursday, November 5th @ 76ers

  Sunday, November 8th vs. Timberwolves

  Tuesday, November 10th @ Pacers

  Friday, November 13th vs. Jazz

  Sunday, November 15th vs. Thunder

  Monday, November 16th @ Pelicans

  Wednesday, November 18th vs. Knicks

  I stop and smile. The Knicks are going to be here at The Stable! I can’t help doing a little fist pump and clapping my hands at that.

  “What are you doing?”

  I jump when I hear Trae’s voice and turn to look toward the door, where he’s carrying in two arms full of reusable grocery bags. He’s in warm-up pants and a V-neck that spreads across his chest snuggly, showing off his pecks.

  I smile when I look at him. “I could ask the same.”

  I get up and walk over to grab the two easiest bags from his hands in hopes I don’t make the rest crash to the ground.

  “What are you smiling at?” he asks as he starts taking fresh produce out of one of the bags.

  “You look domestic.”

  “Have no fear,” he says as he rounds the island and grabs me up. “Your mighty steed is still under here.”

  I can’t help laughing at him.

  He smiles, looking me up and down. “Ouch, Mrs. Rhodes. The fucking Knicks?”

  “Not just the Knicks.” I smile. “Carmelo Anthony.”

  He doesn’t say anything.

  “Jealous?”

  “No, ma’am. We’re married.” He starts to move his hands from my hips, up my sides, and under my shirt.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I ask teasingly.

  He smirks as he unclasps my bra. “It’s Sunday. No bras.”

  “Fine. Then no shirt.” I try to pull his shirt up over his head, but he holds his arms straight up, and I can’t reach. “That’s so not fair.”

  “You gotta think outside the box, Court. Think offensively. What are you gonna do to get this shirt off me?”

  “I’ve got move
s you haven’t even seen.” I scoot back on the island and stand up as quickly as I can, yanking his shirt off just as quickly and holding it above my head. “I win.”

  In the blink of an eye, he has my shirt and bra hoisted up and his mouth on my breast. He sucks and tugs on my nipple, pulling it with his teeth.

  “I rule the court,” he mumbles, my nipple still between his teeth.

  “No fair,” I whimper as my legs begin to shake.

  He grabs each of my ass cheeks and drags me toward him, mouth still sucking my tit.

  I hold on to his shoulders, steadying myself as he steps back, still holding me. He then kicks a stool out with his foot and sits, bringing me down onto his lap.

  Moving his hands up my back, he grabs my hair in its ponytail and pulls my head back. My breast drops from his mouth as he slowly kisses up my neck until his lips are behind my ear.

  “All’s fair in love and basketball,” he whispers.

  Not only is my body on fire for him, but I feel it in my heart, too, and I don’t want that.

  “Sex and basketball,” I correct him, reaching between us and pulling his cock out of his pants.

  He groans and kisses me as I stroke him.

  “Fuck yes,” he hisses slowly.

  I rub him against where I need him most, and his hands come into play.

  “Offense,” he groans as he pushes my shorts to the side, his finger slipping under my thong.

  “Yes,” I whimper as he rubs his long, thick finger up and down my saturated seam.

  “You ready for the D?” he asks.

  I grip him harder and guide him to my entrance. “I’ll beat you to it.”

  “I still win.” He thrusts into me and groans.

  I am full. Completely and totally full of Trae Rhodes, and again, I can’t breathe.

  He looks down and bares his teeth, letting out a slow hiss as I start rocking my hips back and forth. “Fuck. Yes.”

  I am burning. “So good.”

  I cling to his shoulders, and him to my ass, as I rock against him, his hands guiding me, his mouth on mine, his tongue caressing and moving in perfect rhythm with our bodies.

  When I dig my fingers deeper into his flesh, he pulls back, watching me. His jaw is tight, muscles popping, his eyes engaged completely.

  I open my mouth and cry out softly, and he opens his, allowing a hot breath to escape against my neck.

  I am riding him, and he is guiding me. I am in heaven, and he is right there with me.