Counter Play
By Stella Marie Alden
Copyright (C) 2017 Stella Marie Alden
Cover design by Reddhott Covers
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 1
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
My mouth drops open wide at the sight of Mary Jane McAllister lying naked on my bed in my hotel room. When I find out who let her in, heads are going to roll.
“You don’t need to be vulgar.” My ex stands to her full six-foot height with her lower lip sticking out and a tear pooling in the corner of one eye.
I may have succumbed to her antics long ago but I’ve changed. First off, I don’t want to be fined for having a sleepover the night before a game. Secondly, I don’t need this ditzy blond messing with my head and ruining my concentration.
And most important? I don’t need Mel, the woman I’m totally into, finding out I have an ex-fiancé
I suppose after six months, most guys would’ve said something about being engaged but there are times I can be a real jerk. Selfish, some might say but it’s not so. I just hate drama about shit that no longer matters. It’s such a waste of energy.
I keep my voice low and gentle because despite all she put me through, we grew up together and our families are friends. “Listen up. I thought we agreed. We’re over. I’m with someone else now.”
Mary Jane scowls, distorting her near-perfect features. “Don’t lie to me, Chance James Quinn. I keep up with the news. I know that trailer trash left you high and dry last fall.”
“It’s complicated.” At the thought of sweet Melanie, I smile. She’s the love of my life and there’s no way I’d ever discuss her problems with my ex.
Mary Jane closes the distance between us, smacks a cherry-flavored kiss on my lips, and then her hands clasp around my neck. Expensive boobs press into my chest and her sharp pelvis digs into my lower half.
Overly mascaraed eyelashes flutter while she waits for me to react. “Of course, it’s complicated, sugar. It always is with you.”
Was I always that easy?
Gently, I remove her grip and press her curvy body off from me. I guess, not so long ago, I would’ve taken her up on her offer but now there’s only sadness for the loss of an old friend.
I pick up the flimsy dress she dropped on the floor and hand it over. “Honey, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but you need to go. You know how it is. No girlfriends allowed.”
“That’s so sweeeeet, CJ.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“—Shush now.” With an index finger to my lips, she smiles brightly and like always, never listens to a word I’ve said. “Ah gave you a little time to recover from that awful corn-fed woman but I’m here now. Don’t y’all worry none. I’ll take good care of you.”
“Just get dressed and get out, okay? We’ll talk later.” I manage a weak smile as I hold back the curses about to spew out of my mouth.
It wouldn’t do any good, anyhow. The girl’s heart is in the right place, she’s just a bit slow on the up-take.
MJ practically beams as she slithers into an almost see-through dress. Then, as she reaches her left hand for the door knob, I notice the engagement ring, the one she never gave back.
Shit, she’s got no business wearing that. Obviously, I have to spell that out as well.
If I’m honest, this whole situation could’ve been avoided. I should’ve let it out to the public weeks ago that me and my Iowa-honey didn’t break up. It’s just been so damn nice having some privacy without paparazzi constantly snapping pictures. Never in my wildest dreams did I figure Mary Jane would take my public bachelorhood as an open invitation to get back together.
“See you later, Chance, honey-kins.” Her voice is unnaturally loud as she flings open my hotel door.
A second later I get why.
There’s about a half-dozen guys with cameras waiting in the hall as she plants a wet kiss on my mouth and grabs my ass. If it was anyone else but her, I’d bring her up on charges. However, for the sake of expediency, I just shake my head, and slam the fucking door shut.
Damn it all to hell. What’s Melanie going to think when she sees those shots? I need to get ahead of the curve. However, when I try to call, I get voice mail. She’s probably with a client.
I wish like hell it was me under her talented fingers, getting one of her famous massages, or even getting bossed around the rehab center. Unfortunately, I can’t claim her services anymore. She got my knee working like new. Still, I might put her down as a personal expense so I can keep my eye on her.
I trust her, it’s those randy athletes, I don’t. It’s because of me that she got some great recommendations, including my buddy, Kit, a hockey player with more money than God. I just don’t want him thinking my baby’s booty comes with the deal.
At the thought of her passionate kisses on someone else’s mouth, my gut churns. Even after six months of daily sex, I can’t get enough. And now that the season has started and I have to leave her for days at a time. I swear I’m in withdrawal.
There’s this incredible quiver thing that happens when she comes apart around me. Man, it’s fucking mind blowing. After that, she melts like chocolate and makes me crazy as she plays with my chest hairs, catching her breath.
Another five calls and twenty text messages, I get dressed because there’s nothing more I can do. It’s time to go out with my team, get reamed out for screwing up the game, and have a bite to eat. Then I’ll just have to explain to Mel what happened when I get home.
I grin so hard at the thought of make-up-sex that my bruised jaw aches. I’ll have her screaming out my name, begging for release.
Chapter 2
Bushwick Physical Therapy and Sports Rehab Center
“You’re all set.” I pat Kit’s strong back as a way of saying that his time is over, switch on my cell phone, and glance down at all the messages from CJ.
Once back at the front desk, I try to call but there’s no answer. Darn. He’s probably in the air. I hate that the season has started. I never realized there were so many away games.
We both agreed that I’ll never be that trophy wife with nothing else to do but hang out with the WAGS. That’s what the guys call wives and girlfriends. Sounds pretty derogatory to me, like hags, nags, and old bags.
Suddenly, I picture him getting hurt, open the Giant’s app, and scroll through his profile. What’s this? The first shot I find is of a model sitting in the stands. The caption reads, Is CJ over his summer’s heartbreak? Check out that ring.
My chest tightens so hard I can barely breathe as I scan the article, staring incredulously. It says CJ’s back together with his fiancé. Then, there’s this second photo of the same gorgeous woman kiss
ing my man on the mouth in a see-through dress.
Pissed, I put down my phone, open my work computer, and check her out on Facebook. Oh my God! He never once said he was engaged. Biting down on my lower lip, I flip through about a hundred photos of them together.
He’s been cheating on me? All this time?
He looks so damn happy in every shot that my whole world crumbles into little pieces. How the hell could he do this to me? I should log off but like watching a train wreck, I just can’t stop from myself from clicking.
“Hey, you okay?” Kit walks up behind me, looks over my shoulder, and hisses. Then he puts an arm around my shoulder. “That bâtard. You’re too good for him, Melanie. I mean that.”
I’m so freaked that I can’t talk and so just nod numbly as I get my coat. Then I head for the door, desperately needing fresh air and a good, stiff drink.
“You want me to walk you home?” He’s such a nice guy to offer but my heart belongs to the asshole that just broke my stupid heart.
Wishing he’d go, I stare down at the sidewalk, holding back tears.
“Give me your cell phone.” He thumbs in his number and hands it back. “Call me, no matter the hour, oui?”
“K.” In addition to being a naïve fool, now I’ve let my most important client see how unprofessional I am.
Excellent.
So then I trudge up the hill to my Brooklyn apartment on the border of Queens. It’s the one CJ helped me find, the one where we made love a zillion times, and the one when I’m home alone, he’s been double-dipping.
Shit, shit, shit. What is it about me and cheaters? I am such an idiot! My last boyfriend, Des, locked me out and stole everything I owned. Then he invited his other girlfriend to come live with him.
Déjà vu. Right?
Somewhere on my back, I must have a tattoo that reads Tread All Over Me. Or maybe, I just ooze fuck-buddy instead of nice-girl-from-Iowa. I suppose it’s because of being abused as a kid. No matter what I do or say, there’s a stink that guys can smell a mile away.
Refusing to sob, I unlock my door and then sit and stare at the black TV screen. I should eat but can’t. Finally, I shut off my phone and hit the hay. I’m never going to speak to that lying, cheating, jerk.
I knew what we had was too good to be true.
Around midnight, another part of my brain, the rational side, makes me take another look at the photo of her kissing him in the hotel room. His brows are creased and fist are clenched at his side. I’d say he’s downright angry.
Woo hoo!
I log back onto Facebook. Those photos? He’s missing the little scar just below his right eye, the one he got at the end of last spring.
That little, conniving bitch. She’s trying to steal my man via social media.
Unable to go back to sleep, I wait up for CJ, finishing off my maple walnut ice cream. Halfway through his pint of coffee-flavor, heavy footsteps pound outside, and I fling open the door.
Not letting him put his bag down, I reach up on my tip toes, grab the back of his head, and kiss him with so much pent up passion the he falls back against the wall.
When I finish devouring him, he gives me a weak smile. “Ah baby, it isn’t what you think.”
“How do you know what I’m thinking?” I kiss the stubble on his chin and pull him into my apartment where his heavy bag clunks onto my kitchen floor.
Pointing to the half-eaten container of Haagen-Dazs on the end table, he chuckles. Then hazel eyes search mine as I’m pulled into his firm chest, incredible biceps wrapped around me. Warm lips meet mine as our need grows. It’s crystal clear that I’m the one he wants to be with which is pretty friggin’ awesome.
My stupid heart’s about to explode with love. “Maybe I just couldn’t sleep.”
He places a finger under my chin, holding my face captive. “Maybe you saw that picture of a woman kissing me?”
My eyes lower feeling a little guilty. “Well, yeah, maybe. But still, you should’ve told me you were engaged.”
“Baby, she was over long before I met you. She just caught me off guard. I sent her packing. No worries. Now as long as you’re up…” He lifts me, cupping my ass under one arm while I hold to the back of his neck.
On the way down the hall, he tears off my pajama top and two small buttons plop on the floor.
Shit. More sewing.
“Chance…C’mon now. We’ve talked about this.”
He snickers as he tosses me on the bed and follows. “I’ll buy you another.”
“That’s wasteful.” Laughing and on my knees, I pull his t-shirt over his head.
He shrugs off his sweats, then mine, and tickles my ribs. “Say uncle.”
Giggling hysterically, I try to roll away but he’s locked me between his thighs. “Hee-hee, uncle, hee-hee, oh stop, Damn it, Chance. Uncle!”
When he pulls away his fingertips, I launch a counter attack at the small area just below his arm pits. “Gotcha.”
He jumps a mile then pins me down with my arms over my head. “You’ll pay for that.”
“I hope so.” Tears of joy pool in the corners of my eyes as I inhale his aftershave mixed with his tangy male scent. This is the side of CJ that turns me on, macho, playful, yet totally in control.
Suddenly, his pupils darken, he looms over me, and his kisses become more urgent. Locked onto his gaze, I nibble his lower lip, a shiver running up and down my spine. When a low groan comes deep within his chest, I arch into him, wanting so much more, so much faster.
In sync, he releases my hands and pulls me on top of his chest, his cock rigid. “I missed you, so bad.”
“Missed you worse. Why not quit your job and come be my boy toy?”
Grinning, he palms my drenched clit and plays with my nub, making little circles with his fingertips. He knows that drives me crazy.
Not to be outdone, I grab his thick length and hold tight.
“Fuck.” He lifts me, placing my opening over his cock, then pulls me down over him until I’ve completely sheathed him.
Damn, he’s big.
After I adjust, I slide up and down him with my knees wide, him helping with hands on my waist. Then his incredible abs crunch, he lifts his head, and sucks one breast until tingles shoot to my core.
After a moment of pure bliss, he pulls me forward by falling back onto the pillow. My sex throbs and swells with each lick and gentle bite. Sweating and panting, I place both palms on his chest and ride him, shivering.
When he takes over, he drives up so damn deep, I swear, we’re like one. Then I meet him thrust for thrust, urging him on.
“Holy Shit, CJ!” With all my strength, I crush down onto him while he pushes up, thick and wide.
“Fuck it, Mel. Now!” He arches up so hard I see stars and rainbows, then everything breaks into little heart shaped pieces, a glorious high.
One last primal groan and his fluids fill me while my body echoes his final twitches.
Then, as my head falls onto his chest, I’m loving how I made this incredible athlete’s heart race out of control. Pulses slowing, I caress my fingertips up and over his abs while his hands rub up and down my back.
The air thick with the smell of our sex, I look up, unable to resist kissing him once more. “Love you, hotshot.”
He exhales a sleepy whisper, “Love you, too, babe.”
Chapter 3
My next game is in Giants Stadium and although I’d rather stay another night with Mel, I need every moment of training I can get to figure out what I’m doing wrong.
Lucky me, the guys are great at handing out a shitload of advice. Good thing I got a thick skin. Then, exhausted and sore at the end of the day, I pick up the phone and speed-dial my publicist-man-Friday because I’m pretty sure I saw MJ in the stands, sitting with the WAGS.
He needs to shut her shit down.
“Hey, it’s me.” I park my ass down on the hotel bed, staring at an awesome view of Route 3, a parking lot, and some condos.
“Just
a second, hun.” Jaz puts me on hold and when he picks up, the weird echo of speaker phone is gone. “How’s my favorite client?”
“I need you to fix something for me.” My sneakers fly as I lay back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling, scrolling through the last photos I took of Mel. Damn she’s beautiful.
Jaz sighs heavily. “You are so high maintenance, Chance. My God, worse than a woman.”
“How would you even know?” Snickering, I repeat the lines used since we were in college.
Despite a light snort, his voice tightens. “From you, vicariously.”
I wish I could smash his significant other in the face for being such an ass. “You and Mike still a thing?”
“Hmph. You know how he is. On again, off again. Mostly off. But I don’t want to talk about it. What I want to know is what is going on with you and Mary Jane McAllister. We need to get a buzz going. She could be worth millions of dollars in free advertising. I can have you lined up with People magaz—”
“—Hold off. Me and MJ are definitely not back together. I’m with Melanie. My blue-eyed Iowa baby? I have been since last January.”
“Whoaaa… No way! You did not say that. Are you telling me that you’ve been back together with that girl for months and didn’t tell me?” When his voice goes up an octave like that, and his lisp increases, I know he’s really pissed-off.
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
While Jaz chews me out with imaginative cursing that I didn’t even know he had in him, I recall how Mel cooked up this wild idea after her boyfriend locked her out of her apartment. She needed a toaster and shit like that and I wanted to look golden for this advertising campaign.
“…I am your publicist, your oldest, dearest friend, and you don’t tell me something as important as this?” There’s real hurt in his tone.
Dammit. I knew he wouldn’t take this well and so I try to explain. “I really like Mel. She may even be the one. I wanted to give us a chance.”
Counter Play: A Sports Novella (Players Book 2) Page 1
