PLAYERS: The Complete Series (Springville Rockets (Sports Romance Books 1-3)

by Daphne Loveling

Why not?

  17

  Marinda

  I’ve never been less excited for Monday morning in my life.

  The weekend with Jake, it was… well, it was incredible. I had so much fun being with him, I can’t believe how the time just flew, and how there were never any moments where it felt awkward between us. And the sex… Holy cow, the sex. Just thinking about it as I get ready for work is enough to make my toes curl and my breath speed up.

  We didn’t talk about when we’d see each other again when he dropped me off last night, and I’m trying to make myself not think about it. I keep telling myself that the weekend was enough, and that whatever happens after that — if anything else happens — is just icing on the cake.

  I was already in bed when Jake’s goodnight text came, so I don’t see it until I pick up my phone to throw it in my bag. The single word makes me smile much bigger than it should. Before I can overthink it, I hit reply and send one back:

  Good morning

  My stomach is grumbling and I’m just realizing I forgot to eat breakfast when Cara knocks on my door and brings in a bouquet of daisies and sunflowers.

  “These came for you. There wasn’t a card.”

  My stomach does a little flip of excitement. Of course, I know immediately they’re from Jake. I try and fail to suppress a smile, and get up from my desk to take them from her.

  “Thanks, Cara. Can you find me a vase in the break room?”

  She eyes me curiously for a moment, then turns to go do as I ask. I’m sure she’s dying to know who sent these to me. I’ve never had anyone send me flowers here before, and even though I try not to talk about my personal life at work, it would be hard to hide a boyfriend from my assistant. At least they’re not a dozen roses, which she probably wouldn’t be able to stop herself from asking me about.

  I like these better than roses, too. They remind me of sunshine, and of spending the day on the water with Jake on his boat.

  Cara returns with a heavy glass vase big enough to hold the bouquet, which she’s filled with water. I thank her and she stands there for a minute, probably hoping I’ll tell her who they’re from. Eventually she realizes it’s a lost cause, and turns on her heel looking disappointed.

  About an hour later, there’s another rap on my door. Cara opens it and peeks her head in.

  “Rose Fowler is here to see you,” she says, casting a quick glance at my flowers, which are now sitting on a corner of my desk.

  I frown. I don’t remember Rose scheduling a meeting with me. “Okay, send her in.”

  What Cara didn’t tell me is Rose isn’t alone. She walks into my office, dressed to the nines as always, and behind her strides a tall, barrel-chested man with an overabundance of salt and pepper hair combed into a sort of limp pompadour. His face is square and jowly, and he’s not bad looking for an older man, in a rough-around-the-edges kind of way.

  “Marinda,” Rose says smoothly, indicating the man. “I’d like you to meet Knute Amundson. Owner of the Rockets.”

  Interesting. I stand and walk over to them so I can shake his hand. He and Rose each take a seat in one of the chairs across from my desk. “Can I have Cara get you anything?” I say.

  “Black coffee,” Mr. Amundson says gruffly.

  “I’d love a sparkling water,” Rose answers.

  I stick my head out and tell Cara what to bring, and then sit down at my desk. “We didn’t have a meeting scheduled, Rose, did we?”

  “No, not at all. Knute and I were talking and he asked me how things were going with that quarterback, so I thought I’d bring him in to ask you directly.”

  Huh. Something feels a little weird to me about this. I can’t quite put my finger on it, though. My eyes flit toward Jake’s bouquet and I can feel my face getting warm. “Oh. It’s going very well,” I say, trying to keep my voice from wavering. “He’s been… taking it very seriously. We’ve been on a few visits to local hospitals and the McMarshall House to visit some of the kids. They seem to love him.”

  “You getting plenty of publicity about this?” Amundson grunts.

  “Yes, there’s already been a piece in the Springville Scene, and there’s something scheduled for the Sunday version of the Springville Daily this week,” I tell him. “And Jake’s doing a photo shoot in a few days for some ads that are going to run in the papers but also on billboards and buses throughout the city.”

  “And, let’s not forget the charity fundraiser coming up,” Rose interjects proudly. The annual fundraiser is one of the highlights of the Springville social season. It’s Rose’s baby.

  “Exactly,” I nod. “And actually, about that…” I hesitate. I’ve been toying with an idea that I think could be pretty brilliant, and with Rose and Knute here, this might not be a bad time to bring it up.

  “Yes, Marinda?” Rose eyes me and raises a brow.

  “Well,” I begin, “I’ve been thinking about it, and I wonder if maybe we could give Jake a larger role at the dinner. I was thinking, maybe he could be the emcee?”

  Rose looks at Knute, who’s frowning. “What’s that mean?” he scowls.

  “Well,” I continue, “Much of what Jake would be doing as master of ceremonies would involve announcing things and introducing people. It’s a role that normally I’d be taking as the director, but it would be easy enough to get him up to speed if he’s willing to do it. It would be a lot of exposure to him, being in front of so many wealthy and influential people as a spokesperson for the foundation.” I wait a beat, then add: “And, many of those same people might have some sway in how the public views the team.”

  Rose places her hand possessively on his knee. “This is an intriguing idea, Knute,” she murmurs. Mr. Amundson doesn’t react. Just then, Cara comes in carrying a cup of coffee and an open bottle of sparkling water. As she hands the two of their drinks, I happen to notice that Mr. Amundson is left-handed.

  And that he’s wearing a wedding ring.

  Which reminds me that Rose mentioned to me he was married, and that she said it in a tone that was definitely less than enthusiastic.

  Hmmm.

  “Have you spoken to Mr. Ryland about this idea, Marinda?” Rose asks me. Knute looks at me for my response.

  “Not yet,” I admit. “I only got the idea a day or so ago. But he’s definitely comfortable talking in front of crowds, if being around little kids is any indication. I can ask him about it if you’d like.”

  Knute’s eyebrows knit together for a second, and then he nods. “Okay.”

  “There, then, it’s settled.” Rose crows, leaning toward Knute with a gleam in her eye and the widest smile I’ve ever seen her give anybody. “I knew we could count on Marinda to handle Mr. Ryland.”

  Knute takes a gulp of his coffee. “Good. I want video of this on the nightly news and the local sports show.” Rose looks at me and raises her eyebrows, and I understand she’s asking me to make this happen.

  “I’ll talk to my PR contact for your team and get that set up,” I promise. I’m assuming that Jill is better connected with the sportscasters and journalists than I am.

  “Well,” Rose says, standing up. “I suppose we should be on our way.” Her sparkling water is sitting in front of her, not even touched.

  Knute swigs down the rest of his coffee and sets the cup on my desk with a loud bang. “Okay. See you at the fundraiser.”

  He’s coming to the fundraiser? I look at Rose for confirmation. “Oh, yes, dear. Will you please add Knute and his spouse to the guest list?” she says, a hint of dryness in her voice. “Seat them at one of the prominent tables toward the front.”

  And with that, they’re gone.

  Leaving me to wonder just what exactly is going on between Rose and the owner of the Springville Rockets.

  One advantage of Rose’s impromptu visit and request is that it gives me an excuse to call Jake. I’ve been trying not to think about when or whether we’ll see each other again before his next Give A Wish visit, and this way I have a real reaso
n to talk to him that doesn’t involve trying to figure out whether what happened this weekend ended when he dropped me off on Sunday.

  But, do I want it to end? I ask myself as I pick up the phone.

  Honestly? I don’t know. On the one hand, practically all I can think about today is how amazing spending the weekend with him was. On the other hand, though, it’s clear that nobody can know about this — at least as long as he’s volunteering for the foundation. Not to mention, I have no idea if the weekend was about anything but just sex for him. As much as I hate to admit it to myself, though, I think it meant more for me.

  But Jake Ryland is a celebrity — a first-string quarterback, and the kind of guy that women practically fling themselves at. He could have any woman he wants — and probably does. I know he’s been trying to keep his act clean lately, but if it wasn’t for the fact that the team’s owner is forcing him to, I know he’d have no reason to change his ways. The terrifying thought occurs to me that maybe, he just had sex with me because he’s been trying to steer clear of the usual harem of football groupies that follow him around.

  And if that’s true — if I was just a convenient roll in the hay to tide him over until he can go back to his old ways — I think I’m better off cutting this off completely, before I get hurt.

  The problem is, I may not know which it is until it’s too late.

  The phone rings on Jake’s end once, twice, and then he picks up.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he says. I try to ignore the swelling in my chest.

  “Hey,” I say casually. “I got the flowers.”

  “Yeah?” I can hear his smile through the phone. “You know, I’ve never sent a girl flowers before.”

  God, part of me wishes he’d say something totally douche-y. I don’t know if he’s telling the truth about the flowers, but it’s exactly what I don’t need to hear if I’m going to keep my heart from ruling my head on this. “They’re really beautiful, Jake. They remind me of the sun on the lake yesterday.”

  “They just seemed fresh, and innocent. Like you.”

  “Innocent?” I laugh, then lower my voice. “After what we did this weekend?”

  “Hey, you can still be innocent and sexy. Besides, I meant innocent more like… not jaded or fake. Real.”

  Holy hell. This isn’t helping me keep my emotional distance. I clear my throat. “So, I need to talk some business with you. Rose Fowler — she’s the one who started the foundation — just came to see me with Knute Amundson.”

  “Oh yeah?” Whatever Jake’s doing, I can hear him stop and focus completely on my words.

  “Yes. And during the conversation, I suggested, and they agreed, that it would be great if you were to be the emcee at the foundation dinner that’s coming up. Do you think you’re up for that?”

  “Huh.” He pauses for a moment, considering. “I don’t see why not. I mean, it can’t be too hard, can it?”

  “No, not really. It just means doing some introductory speech about what the foundation’s about, introducing the speakers and the major donors, things like that. We have speech writers who would take care of all of it. You’d just have to practice the speeches a bit and read them as naturally as you can.”

  To my relief, Jake seems totally fine with the idea.

  “Also,” I continue, “We need to make sure your attire is appropriate for the dinner. I know you said you own a tux. When’s the last time you wore it? Is there a possibility you might need it to be tailored, in case your body has changed and the fit is off?”

  “It’s been a while, I admit. But there’s one way to find out.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Come over to my place after you’re off work,” he says, his voice growing deeper, more intimate. “I can show you what I’ve got.”

  The tux fits. Holy wow, does it fit.

  Not that he spends much time in it.

  “I had a feeling this was just an excuse to get me to come over,” I pant as he throws me down on his bed.

  “Am I that obvious?” he mutters, spreading my thighs. “I’m gonna have to up my game.”

  I open my mouth to give him some joking answer, but his fingers find my entrance and I gasp in spite of myself.

  “Tell me you’ve been thinking about me,” he orders. “Tell me you’ve been thinking about this. Waiting for it. Getting wet for me.”

  God, I’ve been trying so hard not to think about him, but it hasn’t been any use. Ever since he asked me to come over, there’s been an ache between my legs that only he can satisfy.

  “I’ve been thinking about you,” I whisper.

  “Spread your legs further. As far as you can. I want you open for me. All the way.” Before I can do as he says, he’s pushing them wide apart, leaving me exposed, vulnerable.

  “You’re so fucking gorgeous, Rinn,” he mutters. “I’ve had the way you taste on my mind all day. As soon as I got off the phone with you, I had to jerk off thinking about what I was going to do to you once I had you back here. And look at me now.” I gaze up at him as he palms his steel-hard cock, his eyes locked on mine. “I can’t get enough of you, Rinn. It’s never enough.”

  It’s so filthy, what he’s saying to me. The thought of him jacking off while he fantasizes about me — God, it’s so hot. I can imagine it, can imagine him stroking himself to release, calling my name as thick jets erupt from him. My pussy throbs harder, the ache almost unbearable.

  “I’m going to make you come, Rinn. You’re going to fuck my tongue. And then you’re going to ride me.”

  Anything. Anything, as long as he releases me from this agony.

  He moves low between my legs, and I moan as the stubble of his beard grazes the soft skin of my inner thigh. He takes a slow swipe at my aching nub with his tongue, and I gasp, my hips bucking involuntarily toward him.

  He chuckles deep in his throat. “God, you’re so ready for me. I’m claiming your pussy, Rinn. This is mine.” His hands grip my ass and he pulls me toward him, covering me with his mouth. It’s impossibly warm, impossibly wet, and I hear myself begin to whine as I wait impatiently, an eternity, for him to give me more.

  Jake begins the torture, circling his tongue slowly around my clit, pinning my hips to the bed so I can’t move. I can tell my legs are starting to tremble as I try to strain toward him. It’s like I haven’t had sex in years, I feel so starved for it, but it’s been less than twenty-four hours. Any pretense of modesty has completely fallen away from me now as I hear myself start to moan and beg incoherently for him to give me what I need.

  Then, abruptly, I’m being pulled upward and suddenly I’m on top of him.

  “Straddle my face,” he commands.

  “What?”

  “Do it. You’re begging for it. Ride my face until you come.”

  “I —.” I’ve never done that before. I’ve barely even had any guys go down on me before Jake. I’ll feel so much more exposed, I don’t know how…

  “Take your pleasure, Rinn. You’re in control.”

  I’m trying to think how to protest when he grabs my ass and pulls me toward him. “Stop thinking,” he orders me.

  Before I can realize what’s happening, I’m being pushed forward so that I have to grab onto the headboard to brace myself. Then his mouth is on my pussy again, covering it. He begins to lap and suck, but this time, I can move. He starts to worship me with his lips, his tongue, as his hands wander over my ass, my stomach…

  One hand, then the other, arrives at my breasts. His thumbs begin to stroke my nipples, and it’s so good that it sends a hot jolt of need through my body straight to my core. Suddenly, I can’t think anymore, I’m lost in the sensations that are taking over my body, making me moan and call out as my thighs tense and I begin to ride his tongue. I’m so close, it’s agony, but it’s so delicious that I never want it to end, but I can’t stop the need that’s propelling me forward. With a scream I crash over the edge, through an orgasm so fierce that my entire body feels like it’s bursting
with the force of it.

  Almost before I can begin to come back to my senses, Jake is lifting me up with his strong arms, and then I’m being slowly impaled, my still-pulsing pussy enveloping the hot skin of his hard cock.

  “Fuck,” he groans. Having him fill me like this, as I’m still practically coming, is so good that I open my mouth and sigh as I sink down onto him. Instinctively, my body begins to move, sliding him and out of me. Jake grabs my hands in his, and I brace myself like that as I open my eyes and look down at him. His pupils are huge and dark, and the desire on his face is so apparent he almost looks angry. “Fuck,” he says again, his voice tight. “I’m already close.”

  There’s something about being on top of him. Something about being in control, about knowing I’m the one who can bring him to orgasm. It makes me feel powerful. More daring. I shift the angle of my hips and slide down onto him again, thrilling at the gasp that escapes him.

  I lean down to whisper in his ear, feeling dirty and sexy at the same time. “Good. Because I want your cock.”

  “Jesus Christ, woman,” he hisses. I can actually feel him growing larger inside me.

  “I want you to lose control,” I continue. “I want you to fill me with your hot come.”

  Then, slowly, I begin to angle my hips and thrust. My body instinctively knows how to take us both where we need to go. He starts to tell me all the dirty things he wants to do to me, his voice getting tighter and more hoarse as he gets closer. My throbbing pussy slides hot and slick against him.

  Then his fingers clench tighter against mine. “Come with me, baby” he urges. “I’m there. I’m there.”

  My inner walls contract and I cry out as I feel him letting go inside me, the explosion beginning deep within both of us and radiating out until it feels like we and everything around us has been consumed by a ball of fire.

  18

  Jake

  For the next week, my head’s full of Rinn and pretty much nothing else.