by Hart, Lane
"Probably talking about us and taking pictures, too." If we're lucky. "Welcome to my life," I whisper against her ear. "I've forgotten what it's like to have any privacy, and I swear it's getting worse."
"Because you're getting better," she says, and I lean back to see her face.
"Wait. Was that, was that a compliment?"
She squares her shoulders and straightens her back while looking away. "Maybe."
"You act like it causes you physical pain to admit that."
"It wouldn't be so bad if you weren't so damn smug."
"So I'm not supposed to be proud of all the years of hard work I've put in to become one of the best quarterbacks in the league?"
"I didn't say that."
"Is it my fault I was voted Sexiest Man Alive two years in a row?"
She shakes her head and smiles.
"I know I'm good at the sport I love and that I'm attractive, but that doesn't mean I don't have insecurities like everyone else."
"So what are your insecurities?" she asks, tilting her head up. After a moment of looking into her beautiful jade eyes I decide to tell her the truth.
"I'm scared of being the best."
Over the years, the pressure on my shoulders keeps growing instead of getting easier. I can't ever actually enjoy being successful before I have to strive to hit the next milestone. In high school it was to be good enough to get a scholarship. In college it was to be better than the other quarterbacks on our team. Once I made first string I had to play my best so I'd get selected for the draft. After being the first round draft pick for the NFL it was the pressure of proving I could succeed in the big leagues, which is not the easiest transition to make from college. Now that I won the Rookie of the Year award I have to show everyone I can perform even better than I did in my first year.
"Because after you become the best, there's only one direction to go? Down?" Natalie asks quietly. "You can't let that hold you back. Who's to say where the top really is? As long as you have your own goals to keep reaching for, you won't ever fall."
I smile in surprise when she actually understands exactly what I mean. And I know what she's trying to tell me, that as long as I keep striving to make improvements to myself, who cares what everyone else says. Easier said than done with it feels like the entire world is watching and judging my every move.
"Maybe you're right," I concede and then decide to lighten things up. "And how about helping me with this other insecurity. My ex says I need to learn a few things in the bedroom. You're an older woman, you want to be my teacher?" I ask, and her jaw drops.
"I'm only a month older, and I'm sure you're fine in the bedroom. When you hurt a woman her first knee-jerk reaction is to attack a man's masculinity."
"I think she was pretty serious, and I can admit that her calling me a selfish lover was warranted."
"Well then that's something you can easily fix."
"Maybe so, but I think I need some practice. Especially with oral," I tell her. She barks out a laugh and blushes right as our waitress comes up to take our order. I nod for Natalie to go first.
"I'd like a strawberry daiquiri," she tells the waitress, but I have a feeling the woman isn't paying attention since she's staring at me. I'll remember since that's what Lacy always ordered too.
"And let me get a bottle of Daughtry's."
"Sure thing, Mr. Bradford," the waitress says. Her tone sounds breathy like Marilyn Monroe saying "Mr. President." "And what was it you wanted?" she asks Natalie again.
"Strawberry daiquiri," I repeat, thinking she’s more likely to remember it if it comes from me.
"I'll be right back."
"You distracted the poor woman." Natalie says with an amused smirk.
I run my hand up and down the side of her arm and feel chill bumps raise along my path. "You're the only woman I want to distract," I tell her, pressing my lips to her neck. I can't help but notice when her sexy little body shivers against mine, along with her sharp intake of breath.
"Are you hungry?" I ask, grabbing the menu and holding it out in front of us so we can both see it. Food is the last thing on my mind, but I figure Natalie might want to eat something.
"I don't want much."
"Good, since I can't afford much with your spending limit in place," I tease. "Split a pizza?"
"Sure."
The woman is spoiling me. I'm used to the women I date wanting expensive restaurants and for me to buy them extravagant shit. Natalie just goes with the flow, and I'd almost bet she would never ask me for anything of material value.
"So tell me something about Zack Bradford that has nothing to do with football," Natalie says after the waitress returns with our drinks and leaves with our food order.
"Something not about football?" I repeat. "That's tough since football's basically been my life since I started playing when I was six-years-old. I figure it's the sacrifice for getting to the NFL. During the season I play and during the off season I train to get better."
"But there has to be more to you than football. Oh, and women, of course."
"I eat, sleep, and even dream of football. I get up early and workout with my trainer most days. Go to practice. Watch tapes and study the playbook at night. In my free time I watch college or other NFL teams play on TV."
"Okay, that's kind of sad," she says, twirling her red straw around in her girly drink. "So let me ask it this way, if you weren't a football player, what would you be doing instead?"
"Easy. I probably would've tried to go to medical school. Tried being the keyword."
"Medical school?" Natalie exclaims so loud even more people turn to look at us. She covers her mouth and blushes. "Sorry, that was just...unexpected."
"Why, because I'm a dumb jock?" I chuckle.
"No! That's not what I meant at all."
"Sure," I tease her. "But seriously, my dad's a doctor. A pediatrician, actually, so that was my backup plan. Thank God football worked out! Struggling to get in and get through medical school would've sucked."
"Wow. That's...I had no idea."
"What about you? What would you be doing if you didn't work at the foundation? What was your major at Carolina?"
Natalie fidgets with the pink breast cancer bracelet on her wrist like she's nervous. "Don't laugh, but I was an art major. What a waste, huh?"
"Why’s that a waste?" I ask.
She shrugs her shoulders. "You know, the whole starving artist thing. It never would've paid the bills, that's for sure, but I wanted to be a sports photojournalist. There's just something amazing about being able to capture a perfect moment and save it before it's lost forever."
"So why don't you? Why did you leave school?" I asked her again. The look on her face...she just seems so passionate talking about photography.
This time we're interrupted by a fan before she can answer my question.
Normally I don't mind signing autographs even if it takes all day, but I don't want Natalie to feel uncomfortable with the attention. I have to gradually ease her into the public spotlight or she'll probably run for the hills before this starts.
After the first brave soul that approaches me, there's always more that follow. On the sixth request I turn to Natalie. "You okay with this?" I ask, and when she smiles wider I brace myself for what's coming.
"Hell, even I was once a Zack Bradford fan. At least until I actually met you," she jokes, or at least I hope it's a joke. The college aged kid I'm signing a hat for chuckles at her remark and tries to cover it with a cough. After Natalie takes a picture of us for him, the fan wanders off.
"I'm trying to sway you back into my fan camp again," I tell her, reaching down to squeeze her bare thigh above her knee.
"You're going to have to try harder," she says, covering my hand with her own small one.
Unable to resist, I lower my lips to run them across her hair and neck, then over the top of her ear before she tilts her head for me to kiss her lips. My hand on her leg moves higher toward the apex of he
r thighs as our tongues meet, tentatively at first, and then become more urgent, just like Wednesday night. Every time I kiss this woman I get swept away.
"Here you go. Can I get you anything else?" The waitress has to choose that moment to interrupt with food.
Damn it! I know the woman beside me is going to instantly withdraw from me again and then it'll take another half hour or more to get back to where we just were.
"Refills would be great," I tell her, figuring a little alcohol wouldn't hurt to lower Natalie's inhibitions enough to relax with me.
"Are you trying to get me drunk?" she asks when the waitress finally wanders off.
"I just want you to loosen up and have a good time."
"Right," she says sarcastically. "Well, you're still going to be disappointed at the end of the night."
"I don't have any expectations, baby. I just want you to have a good time with me tonight before I drop you off at home. I want you to think about me when you go to bed alone, and wonder what it'd be like to have me there beside you," I tell her, placing a kiss next to her ear. "Or even better, what it'd feel like to have me above you, buried deep inside of you. But I have to admit that when I imagine our first time together...your sexy little body is riding the fuck out of my cock."
Chapter Seven
Natalie
I reach for my glass with a shaky hand and drain the rest of my first daiquiri when the second one arrives. My body feels like it's strung tight and overheating. Just looking at the man beside me usually has that effect on me, but with the side of his big, warm body against mine, his hand moving up my thigh and my lips and neck still damp from his kisses, I'm about to catch fire. Oh yeah, and then there are his heated words that I have to deal with, too.
I want him. Not just in the “wow, he's hot way,” but in the "I want to get naked and roll around with him until his long, hard length relieves the pressure building between my thighs," way.
No, no, no. I can't go there with him! Not unless I insist on a no-contact order for my upper torso and keep my chest covered the whole time. Kissing him is incredibly nice, but I don't want to end up on his long list of conquests. My resolve always seems to hold strong until I get around him and he starts touching me. I need to get some air and some separation from him to get my wits together.
"I'm going to run to the restroom," I tell him. "I'll be right back."
I'm out of the booth in record time, heading for the back hallway of the club. There's a line for the ladies’ room of course, so I stand and wait trying to take deep breaths to clear my head and cool off my hormones. I have to stop kissing that man or I'm going to keep drowning even further. It's too much, too good, and I can't handle it.
I realize now that my initial anger at Zack may have had more to do with him kissing me in college and not remembering me, more so than the fact that he'd been really late. It was silly to think that after that kiss that we'd end up together, but that's what my younger, dumber self imagined happening. At least now he knew it had been me that he crushed in more ways than one during that game.
I'd promised him four dates and I'm half way through the third. It's for a good cause, I remind myself. I can do this. I will be strong, put a little more distance between us, and after the photoshoot in a little over two weeks we'll be done.
A sharp pang of sadness flits through me. I'm going to miss Zack and his surprise lunches, sweet flowers, tickets to games, and just...him. His smile, his touch, his playfulness and smooth, confidence boosting lines. Lines that lots of other women have heard before, long enough for him to get what he wants and then move quickly along to someone else. I'm no different than all the rest, and look where they all ended up. Cast aside and forgotten, quicker than yesterday's newspaper.
Zack even admitted that he doesn't do the relationship thing. That he cheated on his ex and has sex with women all the freaking time. Why would he give up his wild ways for someone like me? Someone missing standard female anatomy that most men probably obsess about on a daily, if not hourly, basis.
After I calm myself down and use the facilities, I head back out to our table. Zack gives me a questioning look when I glance up at him.
"Hey, are you okay?" he asks as I slide back in the booth. Unlike before, I stop short, putting several inches between our bodies.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I say, grabbing a slice of pizza and taking a bite for the distraction. If my mouth is full then he can’t expect me to answer his questions. And damn, he's already eaten more than half of it during those few minutes I was gone.
"Uh-huh. Then why are you sitting all the way over there, acting like I have cooties?" he asks and I have to use a napkin to cover my laugh.
I grab my second daiquiri and take a big swallow from the straw to wash down the pizza. Which is probably a mistake. Throwing alcohol on the inferno inside me isn't going to be very helpful in keeping my distance. Lord knows it didn't help Wednesday night when I ended up making out with Zack in public for hours.
Luckily the lights dim, saving me from a response when the warm-up comedian comes out on stage. Resolving the distance issue himself, Zack merely slides around the booth until his thigh is against mine again, and his arm is around me.
Damn it, I can't resist him. It's almost painful to keep trying to fight the pull I feel, the one I've always felt toward Zack. Especially when he smells so good, like the sun and ocean waves, and he's wrapped around me all big and warm and…comfortable. Giving up on my pizza I lean into his chest, allowing his arm to come around and tuck me into his side. It seems so natural and perfect. I feel like I'm finally where I'm meant to be.
I can barely follow the jokes on stage because I'm distracted by Zack's large fingers trailing unknown patterns up and down my side. When I don't protest, his other palm comes back and caresses my bare thigh, sending delicious tingles all the way through me, tightening my belly.
I finish up my second alcoholic beverage and even start on the third when the waitress magically appears with another one.
"Mm, whipped cream," Zack whispers against my ear before he dips the tip of his long index finger into the white fluff and offers it to me with a cocky smile. He's daring me, and probably thinks I'll refuse. I'm starting to feel a rather nice buzz, so instead of declining, I grab his wrist and cover his entire finger with my mouth, swirling my tongue around it as I pull back, sucking off the cream. I hear Zack mutter a curse before his finger pops free and then his mouth is suddenly crashing down on mine.
It's a needy, sensual kiss that sets me on fire, and I'm not the only one burning. Zack's mouth and touch are almost frantic. His hand moves up my thigh, underneath my dress, and I don't even try to stop the progress of his quarterback sneak. In fact I may have uncrossed my legs to give him better access. The ache from earlier is back and growing stronger.
Alone in our dark, secluded corner with only a candle flickering for light, Zack's long, wet, and previously whipped cream covered fingertip glides over the center of my panties. I almost come right then. Instead, he swallows my gasp, and my hands reach out, grabbing the front of his shirt before rubbing my way up his rock hard stomach and chest. I hold him to me, making sure he doesn't move his hands away from my body.
As his tongue penetrates my mouth in sensual thrusts, his fingers do the same, feeling me through my damp panties. I almost cry out when he nudges the fabric out of his way to stroke my flesh. His expert fingers quickly find my swollen, and much neglected pleasure button, making me come so fast it feels like the room is spinning around us. I pant through the wonderful release as he continues kissing me. Softly and slowly, his lips and tongue begin calming mine as my body relaxes and floats back down content and sated.
"I want you so fucking bad I can't stand it," Zack breathes heavily against my ear as he removes his hand from underneath my dress.
Coming out of the lust haze, I remember where we are. I open my eyes and look around, but to everyone else in the club we'd only been kissing as far they can tell. I'm certain tha
t our laps are fully hidden behind the thick table in front of us. There are no knowing looks, just the occasional, general glances from fans.
Oh God! I can't believe I just let Zack Bradford finger me in a crowded public place. I'm not sure what's come over me. I always seem to lose myself with him, and it feels so damn good that I don't want to ever be found.
"No one saw anything," Zack assures me and I nod against his chest.
Even if they had I'd almost say it was worth it. It’s been years since a man has touched me, and now after all that time the man doing the touching is a sexy football god. Speaking of which...
"We have any football fans in here?" the comedian asks from the stage, grabbing my attention. "How about the hometown team? Any Wildcats' fans in the house?" The crowd cheers loudly in response.
"Zack Bradford's here!" someone in the audience exclaims.
Oh no.
"Zack motherfucking Bradford is here? Where the hell is that handsome son of a bitch?" Everyone laughs when the comedian uses his hands to shield his eyes and look over the audience. I feel the man in question tense up beside me. "Ah, there he is in the back! Yo, Zack, I'm a huge fan!"
"Thanks, man. Glad to hear it," Zack yells back.
"You are a legend among men! You're a damn good quarterback, well, most of the time, and the only thing you're rolling in more than dollars is pussy," the man on stage says and the crowd laughs.
"Fuck," Zack mutters under his breath. To me, he says, "Sorry."
I think he must be psychic because it was about to get worse.
"And look at the fine ass woman on your arm tonight. Hell, I think I'm a little jealous. I know every woman in here is jealous of her, and probably more than half the men. Fine, that's not exactly true. All the men are jealous, too." After a short break of cackles from the audience he continues. "I'm not going to lie, I'd suck your cock for some sweet tickets." The crowd roars after that statement. Zack makes a small, quiet groan of aggravation. "I'm not even gay, but you better believe I'd sing to the world, I sucked Zack Bradford's cock and I liked it!"
