Seven Deadly Sinners

by Dark Angel

  “Ms. Heaton, Ethan Blake is here for your 11:45 meeting.”

  Fuck.

  I should have given the both of them more than 15 minutes each for their meetings.

  Colt senses that the moment’s gone as well and he pulls away. He looks at me as he takes a few steps back and starts walking to the door. “I’ll be waiting for your decision, Ms. Heaton,” he says, and I wonder which decision he’s referring to. “I’m a patient man.”

  “I’ll be watching you,” I say, my blood rushing to my brain. “Let’s hope you don’t disappoint me.”

  He smirks and turns around. I look at his perfect ass as he opens the door and heads out.

  I sigh. I need to cool myself down. I try to clear my head and look out the window towards the stadium. My stadium.

  That’s when the doorway darkens and I turn to see dark brown hair on a ruggedly handsome, outdoorsman of a face. With slight dimples, deep brown, soulful eyes. And the most gorgeous frame I’ve ever seen.

  Ethan Blake.

  Fuck.

  This decision is going to be hard.

  Ethan

  I thought I couldn’t hate him anymore than I already did. Boy, was I wrong. Only, this time, Colt Stackford got me kicked out from the Dallas Devils and shipped away to the New York Nailers. I had a clear path towards the Super Bowl before this, but now… Now we’re both headed for a team going through major changes.

  Honestly, this whole thing feels a whole lot like losing. And if there’s anything that I hate more than losing, it’s losing because of Colt.

  Sure, I ran my mouth more than I should have on that television show, back on the SportsNation studio, but what else could I do? Sit there in silence as if I was Colt’s goddamn sidekick? Yeah, I guess that’s what he would have liked me to do. Fuck that - I wasn’t going to let him take credit for what me and the rest of the team did. Sure, he might be the best QB in the whole league, but that doesn’t mean he wins games by himself. I’d like to see him try and take his foolish risks on offense if I wasn’t running the whole damn defense.

  Well, fuck it. The Dallas Devils are part of the past now, anyway. There’s nothing else for me to do than to look forward and make the best of my situation now. The NY Nailers are the future and, if it’s up to me, they’re going to pull through. In fact, if I have anything to do about it, we’re still contenders for the Super Bowl. See that? It’s called staying positive You learn that growing up around the Stackford family. Especially Colt.

  As far as I’m concerned, Colt should be shitting his pants now. There’s only space in the team for one of us, and he doesn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell against me. He might be one of the best QBs I’ve seen, but that doesn’t mean he’s the best player. That idiot cares more about women and booze than keeping his head on the game - talent will only take him so far. That’s the one constant about the Nationwide Football League that’s gotten me as far as it has so far. Hard work pays off. While he’s busy partying his life away and trying to score as much pussy as he can, I’m busy grinding away and improving my game.

  See, for me, it’s all about the game. I don’t care about money, fame, women or whatever. Those things are nice, sure, but what I really care about is winning. Everything else is just a bonus. If the Nailers’ new owner has half a brain, she’ll make the right decision and keep me on the team.

  It’s that mindset that makes me park my car inside the Nailers stadium - my new home - and make my way towards the main offices with a smile on my face. I take an elevator and stroll into the administrative floor, making a beeline towards the young secretary sitting behind a desk too large for her. She tucks a stray lock of auburn hair behind her ear, her eyes widening as she sees me enter the room.

  I can almost hear the lewd thoughts cruising inside her head. Almost too shamelessly, she looks me up and down; licking her lips in an unconscious way, she straightens her back and smiles, desire making her pupils larger. It seems that I can’t walk inside a room without having every single woman there mentally undressing me.

  I’m used to it by now, though. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. I love women as much as Colt does - I just don’t need to make a goddamn fuss about it. I like to keep things quiet. It’s better for the girl too. So when she finds out that I’ll never love her like I love the game, it’s a lot easier for her to move on without making a scene. The last thing I need in my life is to become tabloid fodder.

  “I’m here for the meeting with the owner,” I tell the receptionist, smiling as politely as I can.

  “Uhm - yes, yes. The 11:45 meeting,” she mutters, her eyes never leaving mine. She picks up her desk phone and, pressing a button, talks into it. “Ms. Heaton, Ethan Blake is here for your 11:45 meeting.” Someone on the other side of the line replies and, with an exaggerated smile, she tells me that Ms. Heaton will see me in a moment.

  “Thank you,” I nod slightly, adjusting the cuffs on my tailored Hugo Boss suit. Be sharp, look sharp - that’s my motto. I really don’t care about the office politics that happen behind the scenes, and I’m not dumb enough to get side-lined because of it. If making a good first impression helps, so be it.

  I don’t have to wait long - only one minute after the secretary’s call, the door to Heaton’s office swings open. A sixth sense turns my head by instinct, and I realize that a particular someone had already met with the owner.

  “Oh, you actually bothered to show up,” Colt tells me with a smirk. My hand curls into a first and I have to restrain myself so that I don’t knock him out again. “You don’t stand a chance here, buddy,” he scoffs at me, patting me on the chest. “You should start looking for a new team, you know?”

  I look at him with raw, seething hatred.

  He smirks. “Hear water boy spot is still open though, if you want it,” he says.

  “Oh, you’re in for a surprise, Colt,” I say with a smile. “If I were you, I’d start packing.” I walk past him and that obnoxious grin of his. As usual, the bastard thinks he can stroll in here and own the whole fucking joint with his bravado. I always hated that arrogance of his.

  Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, Colt has no idea about the hard work necessary to get to the top. Oh, I’m not badmouthing him - I know exactly what I’m talking about. I’ve known him for a long, long time…

  My dad worked for Colt’s father, on his ranch, so we go way back. We even started playing football at around the same time. And, as if being born with more money than he could comprehend wasn’t bad enough, Colt was also a football prodigy. The moment I saw him on the field, his eyes scanning the turf as he prepared to throw the ball, I knew he was born to be a quarterback.

  That was in 6th grade.

  I never had anything handed to me like that. My parents worked all their life, making just enough to pay the mortgage and put food on the table. And, unlike Colt, I wasn’t a natural on the field. I was awkward and clumsy, and that made me the butt of Colt’s jokes whenever he crushed me on the scrimmage.

  I worked harder than everyone else, combined. I woke up at 5 am and lifted weights and then went running. And soon enough, little Colt was losing in the scrimmages.

  But that’s what made me fall in love with football - the game doesn’t lie or cheat; it doesn’t care if you’re poor or rich. If you’re good enough, you win. If you work harder than everyone else, you win. That’s it. And back then, Colt was better and deserved to win… I accepted that. What he didn’t know was that I became obsessed with winning.

  Colt was a quarterback, so it was only natural that I gravitated towards being a QB’s nemesis - the defensive end. I trained every hour that I could, I watched plays on the Internet until I could decode them. Hell, I even dreamt of football.

  And I learned that my success scared Colt. On and off the field.

  “Why are you always trying to do better than me?” Colt asked during recess one day as a bunch of us tossed around the football.

  Jesus. I didn’t know how to tel
l him. What was it I didn’t know how to tell him is what you’re wondering, huh?

  I didn’t know how to tell him all I wanted was to be just like him - The Best.

  I didn’t know how to tell him that I envied his life, but even then, at that age, when I saw him take it for granted or throw away opportunities, it seemed like a slap in the face to me. I would have killed for any of those chances Colt got - whether it was a doting mother, or a father who paid for extra one-on-one practice sessions with a retired football coach.

  And that’s why I had to do better. For myself. For my father, who worked for his.

  Instead, I defended myself. “What?” I asked with a sneer. “Afraid of competition? Are you a delicate rosebud?”

  The kids around us snickered. They chanted ‘rosebud’ over and over.

  I remember Colt and how he hated that name. Throughout the years, it was only me who remembered.

  It consumed me. And same as him, football became central to me.

  It became my life, it consumed me.

  I paid the price — I sweated; I bled — and that’s how I became the best defensive end in the league. That’s why I’m a better player than Colt: while he relies on his talent alone, I’m a fucking machine. I deconstruct the game, learn it, and then destroy everything on my way.

  “Bring it, then, cowboy,” Colt says with his smirk.

  “You’re on, Rosebud,” I reply back, instantly knowing I’ve hit home.

  Don’t get the impression that I have a clouded judgment, though. I know Colt’s an impressive player and, as tough as it is to be on the same team as him, we both need each other. But if there’s only one spot available…well, tough shit then. I know the cost of success and I won’t let anyone or anything take that away from me.

  Oh, I’m going to enjoy the look on his face when they send him packing.

  I enter Ms. Heaton’s office with my head held high, but I stop under the doorway as my eyes find the woman standing at the desk. Before I can even blink, all thoughts of Colt vanish from my mind.

  I had already seen pictures of Julianna Heaton - who hasn’t? - but not one of them does justice to how beautiful she is. Forget about beautiful - she looks goddamn perfect. There’s a devilishness behind her eyes and, even though she doesn’t seem intimidated by my presence, she moves in such a feminine way that I can’t stop my head from starting to send blood rushing to my cock.

  For a fraction of a second, I think of pinning her against the wall while slowly peeling off that purple blouse of hers down her shoulders. Then I’d part her legs and trace the contour of her thighs with the tip of my fingers. Christ, what am I doing? I need to keep a cool head. Focus, goddamnit.

  “Come in,” she tells me, placing both her elbows on the long mahogany desk as she leans in. Two wide strides and I cross the distance between the door and the desk; I sit down on the chair in front of her, my eyes locked on hers. The look on her face tells me she’s not one to be messed with - Julianna Heaton knows what she wants and she knows how to get it.

  “Well, here I am,” I say, leaning back against the chair. “I see that you’ve already met with Colt.” I don’t know why, but knowing that he was inside this very office, alone with her, pisses me off to no end. One look at her and I already know the bastard has devoured her with his eyes. Well, it’s understandable - I’m doing the exact same thing.

  “Yes. And before you even say a thing, I know he’s going to be a piece of work, Ethan.” Her lips curl into a grin then, and she folds her arms over her chest. “But let’s get one thing straight - I don’t give a shit about any of that. I don’t care if he’s insane or a loose cannon. I don’t care who’s right or who’s wrong, or if you guys have an ax to grind. I care about who’s the best player and I care about making the NY Nailers a winning team.”

  Straight to the point, no bullshitting. Hot, smart, and bold - I already like her. And the way my cock is twitching inside my pants tells me I’m liking her more than I should.

  “Then you’re talking my language. I’m all about winning, Julianna.”

  “Are you, Ethan?”

  “Oh, you bet I am,” I say, leaning forwards as I say it. Her eyes never leave mine as I do it, a mischievous grin on her lips. “And I’ll prove it.”

  “In the field, I hope,” she replies with a smirk. What does she mean by that? Oh, I can prove it somewhere else too, if that’s what she means. And, somehow, I know that it’s exactly what she means. She’s got some sass. Julianna continues, “But as you know, I can only keep one of you - either you or Colt will be leaving the team at the end of the season.”

  “Then, that’ll be Colt,” I say without a trace of hesitation. “I’m not going anywhere if you care about the team.”

  “You know, from my conversation with him, I’d say he’s quite confident about his chances,” she pauses for a full second before continuing. “Inside the field, I mean.” The way she says it makes it plain as day that Colt not only intends to dazzle her inside the field, but between the sheets as well.

  I shouldn’t care about that - I seldom do - but this time it’s A goddamn different party. No way in hell am I going to stand by while Colt beds a woman like Julianna. No fucking way.

  That arrogant bastard thinks he’s the best thing on Earth since sliced bread. A part of me is actually glad we’re both fighting for a spot on the team - this way I’m going to prove him, once and for all, who is the real winner.

  “Colt’s confident about everything. He’ll tell you he can pilot the Space Shuttle if you ask him” I say with a shrug. “Doesn’t mean he’s right.”

  “I will be the judge of that, not you,” she says firmly, ice behind her eyes. This one doesn’t fuck around. No wonder - she’s a woman, and she’s quite young for an NFL owner. If she was soft, she’d be devoured and spit out in a heartbeat. This is a good omen - the last thing I need is an owner unable to man up take charge of their own team.

  “Then why did you call me up here?” I ask.

  “I wanted to see you with my own eyes,” she pauses for a second, her eyes looking me up and down, making my cock twitch with eagerness. “I wanted to know what all the fuss was about with you two. You guys have an attitude, and that attitude is now my problem all of a fucking sudden,” she says, leaning into me with a menacing look. I have to exert all of my mental strength to stop myself from looking at her cleavage. If I don’t control myself, I’m going to be sporting a major hard-on pretty soon.

  “It sure is,” I almost growl. “Colt’s a mess, and he’ll cause mayhem here.”

  “I don’t care. If any of you causes me any trouble, you’ll both be in deep shit,” she says. “I’ll cut your balls off so quick your voice will go completely squeaky.”

  I simply shrug. I don’t care about any of this politicking - it simply isn’t in my job description. I came to New York to crush everyone and everything on the field, and that’s what I’m going to do. Screw all the rest.

  “If that’s all, I’ll be on my way,” I say, getting to my feet I have some training to do.” I push the chair back as I get up. Before she even has time to respond, I’m already on my way towards the door.

  “Ethan…” She calls me. I stop in my tracks, looking back at her as she walks around her desk and towards me. Fuck, by the time I notice what I’m doing, I’m already walking in her direction. I don’t know what it is about her, but she has a pull on me I never experienced before. “I brought the two of you here so that the Nailers’ had a shot at a winning championship. Don’t let me down.”

  What the hell am I doing? I take one more step towards her, her body so close I can even hear her soft breathing. I have to restrain myself from simply grabbing her and pressing my mouth against hers. She holds her ground, not moving an inch as a train of lewd thoughts race through my mind. There’s a glint in her eyes, almost an invitation.

  Fuck, I want her.

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “I win - it’s what I do.” Warm blood runs down from my h
ead to between my legs. She’s so hot it should be illegal. I have no goddamn idea why I feel so drawn to her, but I just can’t stop my eyes from wandering down her face and towards her lips.

  Right now, for the first time in many years, football is no longer a priority. The woman in front of me has just unseated my lifelong mistress.

  I’ve always been rational and cold-blooded, even when dealing with women. But now, Julianna at arm’s reach, the scent of her perfume wrapping itself around my mind Before I even realize what’s happening, I’m leaning towards her as her eyelids droop.

  We’re inches away from each other when the roar of an engine makes itself heard from outside. We look out the window just in time to see Colt’s sports car leaving the stadium, the rear tires skidding on the pavement as he makes the turn and swerves into oncoming traffic. He crosses a red light and before anyone even manages to honk at him, he’s gone.

  Fucking unbelievable. Even when he’s not around, he manages to screw things up.

  Julianna clears her throat and when I look back at her, she’s already turning on her heels and moving towards her desk. I watch her sway her ass as she walks. Fuck, I let the opportunity slip through my fingers. Somehow, this feels worse than losing a game.

  “As I told Colt, I hope you don’t disappoint me.”

  Hearing his name on her lips, the way it tumbles down her lips drives me crazy. No, I’m not going to let him have her.

  “I won’t disappoint you,” I simply say, meaning it. “I’ll show you.”

  She grins at me, almost as if she can read the hidden meaning of my words. I don’t merely intend her to show my worth as defensive end - no, I’m going to do better than that. Way better. I won’t stop until I have her in my arms, my lips on hers. Or my name isn’t Ethan Blake.

  There’s no doubt in my mind that Colt wants her too, but fuck him. This time, I’m bringing the fight to his home court. He thinks he’s the absolute lady killer, right? I’ll show him.

  Oh, this is going to be an interesting season.