by Hart, Lane
I'd still been seething in anger when I walked into that conference room. But then the sexy, blonde pixie tore into me, ripping me a new one for being late. I've never had a woman speak to me like that, treating me like I'm the biggest asshole in the world. I am, of course. She's just the first woman to actually call me out for it. The fact that she didn't hold back because I happen to be a famous football player was pretty damn amusing. It was a nice change of pace from all the flocks of gold-diggers worshiping me on their knees, and for whatever reason, maybe because I'm a glutton for more punishment, I have to see that ballbusting woman again.
Which is why I need her phone number.
Back to my phone call, I quickly come up with a lie and reply to the woman still waiting for my response. "Oh, well I'm calling from the Wildcats' stadium and I think she forgot her…paperwork. She just left, so if you could you give me her cell number, I'll try and reach her before she gets back to the office."
"Well sure, hang on," she replies and I hear paper rustling. "Okay, here we go. It's 614-1311."
"Great, thanks," I say, then hang up to text her before I forget it. Damn concussions.
I plug the numbers into a new message, and send, Here's my number in case you change your mind about dinner - Zack (#14 NOT #16).
Next I dial up the player relations' office to try and do some damage control.
"This is Diane, how can I help you?" one of the assistants answers.
"Diane, hey this is Zack. Can you do me a favor?"
"Sure, Zack, anything."
"Could you put together a gift basket with one of my signed women's jersey, stuffed wildcat, and whatever else you can round up then have someone run it over to the breast cancer foundation on Trade Street for Natalie Adair ASAP?"
"Well, sure. I can have it out in about fifteen minutes."
"Thanks, and will you put a card in it that says, 'Sorry I was late. Please have dinner with me, so I can make it up to you?'"
"Seriously?" She asks.
"Yes. Why? Too cheesy?" I cringe in concern. I've never done this sort of shit before.
"No, it's really sweet! It's just, I never thought Zack Bradford would have to go to all that trouble for a date." She giggles again.
"Yeah, me, either. Thanks, Diane," I tell her, and then end the call.
Natalie is definitely unlike any woman I've ever met. Although, for some reason she looks so damn familiar. I know the paparazzi will love her, especially where she works and her looks. She's classically beautiful and flawless, like a less innocent looking, travel-size Barbie. I know her sexy, petite body is so light I can probably pick her up with one hand and carry her off to do all sorts of naughty things with her. But best of all is her perfect heart shaped ass swaying underneath her tight black skirt, the image of which was instantly branded into my brain. Just the thought of her amazing ass has my cock growing heavy.
Unfortunately, her big and beautiful jade eyes pull me in and see right through me at the same time. When she called me out for being late, and for basically being a self-important arrogant prick, it actually bothered me. Maybe because her unimpressed attitude reminds me of Lacy, the only other woman I've ever known, other than my own mother, that's worth a damn. I don't want to be an asshole anymore, and not just because my career is on the line. If I'm going to be a father, then I'm really going to have to get my shit together. I want to be a decent role model for my son or daughter, otherwise Lacy will never let me see him or her.
I keep telling myself that Lacy's baby isn't mine. I mean, we only had sex maybe five or six times around the time she got pregnant. I'm sure her and her new man were together a hell of a lot more times, making the baby likely his, or one of the other two guys she's fucked. I still can't believe the straight-laced, conservative woman had a freaking foursome. Goes to show that I guess you don't know people as well as you think you do.
Even after a year I really didn't know Lacy that well. We'd had a long distance relationship while I was traveling with the team and she was still in college. I'd cheated on her because it just didn't feel like we were really together, even though I'd wanted to just be with her.
Now I've been put on a short leash. And if this is what it takes for me to finally change my man-whoring ways then so be it. I'll just have to figure out a way to convince Natalie to date me.
I'm actually looking forward to the challenge. It feels like a new game, bringing out my competitive nature that's gotten me to where I am in the league today. It's…exciting, to have to pursue a woman just to get her to have dinner with me. The first time in, God, maybe ever. And there's a lot at stake to get her to agree. Not just for one date but for the long term. I'm certain I don't want to have a pretend relationship with anyone else.
Natalie's definitely not slutty, and I get the feeling she could care less about how rich I am, otherwise she would've tried to fuck me instead of run away from me. The anti-gold digger is hard to come by. They're like Halley's Comet. I might not find a woman like her again for another seventy-five years.
Before I can make it out of the locker room to the weight room my phone beeps with a new text message. I grab it from my locker to see if it's Natalie, then laugh out loud. She's responded to my text with, "Do you by chance have Marshall's phone number?"
I text back, "I do, but there's no way in hell I'm giving it to you. You're too good for him."
I put my phone away and head to do some lifting, hoping that Natalie will get my gift and I'll have a "Yes" waiting for me when I get back.
Chapter Four
Natalie
I struggle with hauling the big ass box into my small office, and have just sat it down in the floor when Tracy appears in the doorway. "Hey, you finally made it back! Did that guy reach you about the paperwork you left?" she asks, chomping her gum while twirling a strand of her long, red hair around her finger.
"What guy?" I ask, still panting from the effort.
"The guy from the Wildcats' stadium. I gave him your cell number, so he could try and reach you before you got back to the office."
"Ah-ha! So that's how Zack got my cell number. The lying bastard," I mutter.
When I pulled up at the office and saw his text message, I'd been stunned. It had only been maybe a five minute drive and the man had already tracked down my cell phone number and messaged me.
"Zack? As in Zack Bradford, the Wildcats' quarterback?" she asks, her face looking paler than normal.
I nod. "That Zack."
"Oh my God!" she squeals. "I just talked to Zack Bradford on the phone!"
Her shouting causes an impromptu meeting in my office. Our two other coworkers, Amanda and Rachel, come crowding into the small space to see what all the fuss is about.
"Why would Zack freaking Bradford be calling here?" my best friend and boss Rachel asks skeptically, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking one of her voluptuous hips. The two of us are as opposite as friends can get, almost comically so. She's tall and curvy with really long, dark brown hair that compliments her amber eyes. She and I won first place for best team costume last Halloween when we went as Rocky and Bullwinkle.
"He wanted Natalie's phone number!" Tracy exclaims, practically jumping up and down.
"What?!" the other two women ask, looking at me expectantly.
"He sort of asked me to dinner, but I turned him down," I explain with a shrug.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!?" Amanda exclaims. For a second I almost expect her green eyes to pop out of her head. She's Rachel's younger sister, and other than their eye color, the two could pass as twins.
"Are you nuts?" Rachel asks.
"I'll go if you don’t want to," Tracy says with a smile.
"You guys didn't see him. The arrogant bastard was almost two hours late because he was working out, and he was such an asshole when he strolled in, like he didn't have a care in the world. The first thing he said to me when he walked in was something like, 'You got some shit for me to sign?'" I tell them with a
horrible impersonation of his deep, sexy voice.
"He looks so good he can get by with being late, and with being an asshole. Hell, he could probably get away with murder if he flashes a few smiles," Tracy argues.
He does have one powerful smile, I think to myself, remembering it very clearly. But he shouldn't get away with being a dick just because he's pretty.
"Whatever," I reply. "The man is such a player he probably can't help himself whenever he's around a single woman."
The bell on the front door suddenly jingles indicating we have a new guest, so our gossip party is broken up. At least it was, until Tracy screams bloody murder.
The girls and I all rush to the front lobby to see what's wrong, thinking we're being robbed. I wasn't expecting to see Tracy holding a basket with a Wildcats' balloon, filled with all sorts of team merchandise.
"Oh. My. God!" she squeals. "Natalie, Zack Bradford sent this to you!"
My mouth falls open as I look over the gift. I reach with a shaking hand and pull out the black jersey. Zack's highly collectable signature is written in the white number fourteen on the front.
Tracy excitedly reads the small index card standing up in the front of the basket. "'Sorry I was late. Please have dinner with me, so I can make it up to you.' He's asking you out again!"
"Wow, this is so sweet," Rachel says, dabbing her eyes.
"Oh please. I'm sure he had someone else put it together and bring it over. It's not that big of a deal," I say, trying to downplay the sweet gesture. He probably does the same thing for every woman he dates. "I'm going to put the jersey with the other signed items for the auction."
"What?"
"No!"
"You can't!" the women yell at me.
"This is for you, Nat. You can't auction it away," Rachel argues.
"It's for a good cause," I counter.
All three women shake their heads in disbelief. I do plan to keep the other things, like the women's gray team tee and the tumbler. I can already see the big, plush, black and blue wildcat joining me in my empty bed from now on, too.
"So are you going to call him?" Tracy asks.
"I'll text him a thank you for the basket."
"And agree to go out with him?" Rachel waggles her brown eyebrows with a smile.
"No. I have zero interest in being his flavor of the week."
Three gaping mouths look at me like I'm insane. Maybe I am, but there's only one thing a man like Zack Bradford wants, and that's to get into my panties. Which is surprising as hell, but is never, ever going to happen, despite how fine a male specimen he is. Or how many naughty fantasies I've had starring him. I refuse to let normal men see me naked and breast-less, much less a superstar athlete as hot as him. Knowing his reputation from the gossip magazines, he's probably slept with every beautiful model and actress in Hollywood.
"Natalie, you shouldn't be self-conscious," Rachel says, unfortunately guessing correctly at why I have such apprehension.
"Right," I scoff as I carry the basket back to my office.
My coworkers don't know what it's like not to have boobs fill out a shirt. It's impossible to feel sexy when I'm naked nowadays. Not that I had a whole lot going on up there before. I know losing them was a small price to pay for my life, but that doesn't mean I'm comfortable with the lack of my womanhood. Yes, I willingly made the decision not to undergo reconstructive surgery, and sometimes I wonder if I'd made the right decision.
At the time, there were several medical related reasons why I'd declined the procedure, mostly because I didn't want to go through another surgery, risking infection or complications down the road with implants. There was always the chance the cancer could come back and my breasts would have to be removed again. But the main reason I had refused reconstruction? I was superstitious. Stupid, I know. Even so, I've convinced myself that getting cancer was a punishment of sorts. I'd been a silly, vain, superficial girl, obsessed with my looks. The cost of which was suffering through a horrible ordeal that could've taken my life, and still might. By enduring my scars and sacrificing my small B-size breasts, I hope I'm pleasing the cancer gods and they'll continue to stay away from me. I know it's ridiculous, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to never deal with that hell again.
I haven't been with a man since my decision to undergo a double mastectomy, even though the tumor and cancer were only in my right breast. I can imagine the horror and disgust on a date's face when I flash my scarred, flat chest in the bedroom. So not going to happen. That's why I've also made the decision not to date. I abstain from sex and relationships, putting all my time and effort into my work at the breast cancer foundation, hopefully helping save other women's lives. I need all the good karma I can get, especially until I make it to my five year cancerversary.
I sit the big gift basket on top of my desk and lower myself down into my computer chair, still not quite able to believe all that's happened today. Grabbing my phone from my purse, I figure the least I can do is be nice to the man-whore. So I type out a text message to Zack: Thank you for having someone put together the gift basket and bring it over. It was nice of you to take a minute to do that in your busy day. I've added the signed jersey to the auction items, and I'm sure it will be very popular.
Is it snippy? Yes, but he's a tough guy and I'm sure he can take it. I don't know why he's showing such an interest in me, but I'm definitely not going to lead him on.
Over the next few hours, I try to tell myself I'm not waiting for a response from Zack, but that's a lie. I'm distracted as I begin photographing and cataloging the signed merchandise for the online auction, and I keep looking over at the screen of my phone.
Nothing.
Maybe I've finally succeeded in pissing the hotshot off for good. It's for the best, since I know nothing will ever happen with him. I still can’t help but feel deflated by the disappointment that flows through me.
…
Zack
I rush into the locker room and beeline for my phone to see if Natalie’s responded to my gift. I even cut my weight training workout short because I was so anxious to see if she responded.
Damn, after Lacy dumped me I really have become a pussy.
I pull out my phone from my locker and then want to throw the fucking thing.
Sure, she says thanks, but it's clearly sarcastic. Basically saying someone else, i.e. Diane, is responsible for the gesture. And on top of that, she's giving away the signed jersey I'd meant for her to have and maybe even wear to the game she was going to attend. Not to mention the one this weekend, if I could get her on board. Of course it'll raise money for a good cause, but fuck, I'd give her a hundred more if she wants them for the auction. Whatever it takes to get her to go out with me. Why does this woman have to be so fucking difficult?
Am I ready to give up and call it quits? Hell no. I may have considered it for a second, but I've never been a quitter. Her flippant attitude just makes me want to win her over even more. The victory will be that much sweeter when she finally caves. Caves as in letting me strip her naked and fuck her until we both collapse from exhaustion. Oh yeah, and then agree to date me for, what was it Jerry said, weeks? But to accomplish those two things I need intel. I go through my call log and dial up the foundation again.
"Thanks for calling the Carolina Breast Cancer Foundation," the same woman's voice answers.
"Hi, I'm trying to get your girl Natalie to go out with me. Could you help me out? Tell me what she likes, and how I can win her over?"
"Oh my God!" she says, and then lowers her voice to a whisper. "Is this Zack?"
"Yeah. Why does she keep turning me down? Does she have a boyfriend?" I ask, suddenly concerned. Natalie said she didn't have a husband, but I'd failed to ask about a boyfriend. Shit.
"Nope, no boyfriend. We all told her she's crazy to turn you down." That means the rest of the office women are on my side. Good to know. Why does Natalie have to be so damn stubborn?
"Is she a football fan?"
"Oh yeah. The woman is a bigger fan than most men I know, that's why she wanted to be in charge of the auction this year. I have no idea what she's talking about when she goes on and on about turnovers and interceptions or whatever else."
Good. Getting her to this Sunday's game should be child's play.
"Is she a fan of mine?" I ask.
"Oh yeah. She has your jersey in black and one in pink. I've also heard her talking about watching you play in college. She graduated from Carolina, too."
"Really?" She's the same age as me so we were probably both at Carolina during the same years. Small world.
"Yeah. I think she has your number on a college jersey, too."
I can't help my cocky smile. “I’ll be damned." So she does know my jersey number. Of course if she knows a nobody like Marshall's number, she knows mine. And she's been a fan of mine since college, or at least she had been until I showed up late and pissed her off. "So, what will it take for me to get her to go out with me?"
"Ooh. That's a tough one. Let me get Rachel on the line and see if she has any ideas. Hold on." I listen to the elevator music until another woman picks up on the line.
"Ah, is this really Zack Bradford?" the feminine voice asks quietly.
"Yes. Rachel?"
"Oh wow! Do you always go to this much trouble to date women?"
"No. Never actually," I laugh.
"Well, we tried to talk some sense into Natalie, but she won’t budge."
"What's the problem?"
"She says she doesn't want to be quote, 'the flavor of the week,' unquote."
"Oh." She'd actually be the second flavor of the week, and it's been a slow week for me. Damn, I'm disgusting.
"If that's all she'll be then I can't help you. Even if you are the Sexiest Man Alive," she says, making me chuckle again.
"Natalie seems like she'd be a flavor I've never come even close to having before, and would never have again. Rachel, I promise you I want to date her. More than one night."
