Football Dick (Big Girls, Bad Boys, and Babies)

by Violet Blaze

  I check my phone for the time.

  Not even ten o'clock yet. Nope. He's on his way to a party.

  “You want to tell me why you spent the night sleeping in my arms instead of his?”

  “We've never had sex,” I blurt and then flush a crimson color that makes Rhoden laugh, this deep velvety chuckle that makes my lady parts pulse.

  “I don't know what your standards are, Miss Della Garland, but what we did was definitely sex in my book.”

  “Not me and you,” I groan as I try to cover the embarrassment on my face with my hands. “Walter and me.” Why are you telling secrets to some guy you barely know?! Stop it.

  I keep my eyes covered as Rhoden whistles under his breath, super aware of his body heat and that heady masculine smell of his. Our thighs are less than an inch apart, the nearness bringing up memories better left forgotten. Hell, it's been like a week since the masquerade ball? He's probably slept with seven different girls already, the memory of me fading into nothing in his massive catalogue of sexual exploits.

  “Now that's even more interesting,” he says as I drop my hands and look over at him. It's surreal, sitting so close to the guy like this. I've watched him on the field for so long, watched Ariana literally lick her phone screen when his picture pops up … had anonymous sex with him on a Thursday night. But sitting like this, all casual and friendly? It's weird. “Why not?”

  That's a good question actually, one that I don't really have a clear answer to. I open my mouth to say something about Walter buying the team, but manage to stop myself. Once the sale is final, the players will be informed and a press conference will be held. Until then, I should probably keep that information to myself.

  “I have no idea,” I whisper as the puppy tries to invite Rhoden's dog to play. The husky bares her teeth at him and trots off with my little orange and white nightmare on her heels. I glance over at Rhoden and find him staring at me with those bourbon brown eyes of his. The attraction between us crackles like embers in a fire. “I guess I'm not … really … attracted to him?” It comes out as a question.

  Rhoden's expression shifts into something interesting as he sits back and hooks his hands together behind his head. Even a motion as simple as that shows off the sleek, graceful way he moves, like a panther or something, all rolling hips and padding paws.

  My breath catches, but I pretend it's just a cough.

  “Where do you want to go on our date?” he asks, momentarily distracting me from the whole Walter thing. I blink stupidly for a moment and look back out at the dog park. Even at this early hour, it's deserted. Except for Rhoden Richards and me, of course.

  “How did … is this another coincidence?” I ask, pointing between him and me and avoiding the question. Stating confidently to Ariana that I'm not going on the date is one thing, but looking Rhoden in his eyes and telling him no is a whole different story. Sitting here so close to him, I don't want to say no. This is a heartache waiting to happen.

  “Oh, hell no,” he says, completely and utterly unashamed of his own behavior. “I saw you on the sidewalk outside and followed you over here. I live in the building directly next yours, you know.”

  “You're kidding?” I ask, aghast at the pile of coincidences that are starting to stack up. “That's crazy. How come I've never seen you before?”

  Rhoden drops his arms and shrugs, the movement rustling the smooth lines of his leather jacket.

  “I don't spend much time around here except for at the park. Basically I come home to change, take Billy out if I've been gone all night.” There's a pause there and a flicker of those dark eyes back to my face. “Like say, if I've spent all night holding a lioness in my arms.”

  “You were not there all night,” I say and then cringe a little. Ouch. I did not mean for it to come out that way. I adjust myself, surreptitiously scooting a few careful inches away from Rhoden. “When I woke up, you were long gone. I mean, not that I care. Not to be rude or anything, but I was kind of hoping to never see you again.”

  Rhoden relaxes his smile into a sinful curl of lips that's lazy and sexy and brimming over with self-confidence. If only he could bottle some of that and sell it to me …

  “I almost stayed you know, or left my number. And I never do that. Now that I know who you are, I'm positive this is fate. I'm not sure what she wants from either of us, but I'm not one to let uncertainty get in my way.” Rhoden turns to me, leaning in so fast and so close that for a second there I think he's going to kiss me again. “Want to go to a party with me tonight? That's got to be better than sitting in the dog park by yourself, crying.”

  “I wasn't really crying,” I assure him, but he's putting his hand on my knee and drawing it towards him, effectively opening my thighs. My breath hitches and I drop my own hand, curling it around his. “I'm engaged,” I say, but there's no weight to that statement. I don't feel engaged. Maybe I should just talk to Walter about all of this? I owe him at least that, don't I?

  Rhoden licks his lips, but he doesn't pull his hand away. Neither do I.

  “Just come to the party with me, that's it. Dance. Drink. Have a good time.” He smiles at me and my heart bounces around my chest. “I promise, I won't tell Mr. Virgin you were naughty.”

  I smile back even though I know I shouldn't. Even if it wasn't for Walter, I can't have anything to do with Rhoden. The masquerade party is a perfect example of why. This is a guy who picks up random chicks, sleeps with them, and then bails. He's famous for it. In fact, he's gotten himself into trouble with the league more than once for his ostentatious behavior.

  “Okay,” I hear myself saying before I can stop the syllables from falling out of my mouth.

  Rhoden leans in even closer, his hand sliding up my thigh. His scent wraps around me and makes my spine curl involuntarily.

  “Let's go.”

  He hops off the table and holds a hand out for me, helping me down and then whistling for his dog. Both of them come running.

  “Billy,” I say, remembering the name he gave the husky. I reach down and rub one of the dog's soft gray ears. “So it's a boy, I take it?”

  “Nope. Girl. I just call her Billy the Kid because she's a little bit of a shit.” I laugh as I lean down and hook the leash to the puppy's harness. As I stand back up, I notice Rhoden watching me with a hungry gleam in his eyes, taking in all my curves with an appreciation that can't be faked. I find myself blushing again. “So, did you really rig that charity thing?” he asks as we start towards the gate that'll take us out of the park.

  The question does nothing to dispel the redness in my cheeks.

  “Actually, no. My friend is … well, let's just say that she's a huge fan of yours. She bought a bunch of raffle tickets with my credit card and didn't tell me. Trust me, the win came as a huge shock.”

  “You never answered my question,” he says absently, his voice this intriguing promise of more, like everything we're doing right now is just a prelude for sex. Goose bumps break out across my skin. “About the date, I mean. What do you want to do?”

  “Isn't this already a date?” I ask as Rhoden leads us down the sidewalk toward my apartment complex. I have no idea where we're going; I'm assuming we're dropping the dogs off at our respective places first. Oh, God, Rhoden's apartment. Half of me is desperate to see it and the other half wants to run screaming.

  “This isn't a date,” he says casually, but the words sting anyway. I know I'm the one who just emphatically announced my engagement to another man, but still. “It doesn't count. On our real, official, NFL sanctioned date, where can I take you? And is Mr. Virgin going to throw a shit fit about it?”

  “Do you and Walter know each other or something?” I ask as I look over at him, trying my best not to continuously catalogue and admire all of his beautiful features. “Because I sensed some hostility there.”

  “No hostility. I just didn't like the arrogant fuck. I'm having a hard time imagining that you do either.”

  “My family's broke,�
� I blurt out before I can stop myself. Something about this man makes me want to spill my guts and I'm not sure why. The vibe he gives off is the same one I lament when he's on the field: cocky, arrogant, completely full of himself. Yet … when those whisky-honey eyes swing over to me, I'm lost, floating in a sea of stars. “My dad's going to lose the company he built and …” When I say it all aloud, it sounds twice as pathetic.

  “I see,” Rhoden says, but he doesn't sound like he's judging me at all. On the contrary, he sounds like he understands. “I grew up poor. It's fucking awful. My mom killed herself working three jobs. If somebody told me I might lose the chance to support her, I'd probably marry Mr. Virgin, too.”

  I smile.

  “We were poor, too,” I admit. “Right after I turned eight, my dad finally got his big break, found an investor who believed in what he was doing. He designs eco-friendly farming equipment,” I explain which is kind of funny since Walter's company, Donsanto, is sort of the complete opposite of that. “Anyway, I know it sounds stupid and shallow to say I could marry a guy for money …”

  “It's not stupid or shallow at all,” Rhoden says with conviction. God, I like this guy already. He's the same a-hole I've seen in all the interviews, but … there's something genuine about the way he owns himself and his own faults. “We all do what we have to do to survive. It's okay to want to live without spending every second worrying about money. I've been there; it's hell. The world is skewed and twisted and unfair. There's nothing wrong with taking advantage of an opportunity.” He looks over at me like I'm that kind of opportunity.

  “Should we … drop the dogs off?” I ask because this conversation is getting weirdly real and oddly personal. I'm not sure what to think about that.

  “Nope,” Rhoden says as we come up to the intersection and turn left, taking the crosswalk to the other side. “This is a completely different kind of party from the mask thing.” He looks over at me and lets his mouth melt into a slash of sex across his face. Staring at him now, all dressed up like this, it's hard to match him up with the half-naked Lion Man that I slept with. “Not that I didn't enjoy myself,” he adds with a silken purr that drips down the back of my dress and makes my thighs clench tight.

  “Where exactly are we going? Because Dickhead doesn't have a lot of training to fall back on.” Crap. Dickhead was sort of the dog's name-in-progress because he was driving me nuts. I never meant to say it out loud to another human being. “I'm not a crazy animal abuser person, I swear,” I say as Rhoden laughs and presses his hands together in a prayer position, putting them against the soft perfection of his lips. “He's just … well, an annoying puppy I guess.”

  “Dickhead, huh? Not as good as Billy the Kid, but I suppose it could work.” Rhoden snaps his fingers and molds his mouth into a cocksure grin. “You can call him Little Dick for short.” He turns toward me and leans in close. “Little Dick … and Big Dick. It's a friendship destined to last.”

  “You really condone that nickname?” I ask him with a raised brow, suddenly remembering that I'm on my way to a party with the hottest player in the NFL, no mask to protect me this time. I glance down at my floral print dress. It's flirty and fun, but it's not exactly a party dress. I've seen the pictures of the girls that Rhoden usually goes out with and I check off none of the normal requirements: skinny, model-pretty, designer cocktail dress, four inch heels.

  “Why not?” he asks and this time his voice simmers when he speaks. “It's true enough, isn't it? I spend time in the locker room; I know where I stand.”

  “And so modest about it, too,” I say as Rhoden continues down the sidewalk in that easy, confident stride of his. I can see why he chose the lion mask; that's what he reminds me of. A big, hulking beast with liquid muscles hiding just beneath his a skin, a mighty roar capable of tearing from that throat just as easily as a gentle purr.

  I wrap my arms around myself.

  “It's kind of … a terrible nickname,” I admit and it feels good to say it directly to the source. “Even if it is true.”

  “Ah, there it is,” he whisper-purrs in my direction. “The admission. Doesn't it just feel good to say it? Rhoden, you have a massive cock. There it is. It's out there now.”

  “Now, I never said that,” I tell him as his dog weaves figure eights around us while we walk.

  “You kind of did,” Rhoden says as we come up to another intersection and then continue going west, towards the beach. Since the dogs are with us, I wonder if that's where we're headed. Party on the beach. A classic way to spend a California evening. “You know, my mom still thinks Big Dick is completely innocent, because of my last name and all, and the fact that I'm kind of a big guy. She even calls me that at Thanksgiving.”

  “No,” I whisper in mock outrage. “Are you serious? That's so awful.”

  Rhoden laughs and keeps walking, drawing me along in his wake. I'm still not a hundred percent sure what I'm doing here, but it feels good, and in the moment that's all that matters.

  “Won't I cramp your style tonight?” I ask him as we pass by shuttered shops, their interiors dark, displays lit up in the front windows. It used to be marshland, this area. Things have changed so much around here in the last few decades.

  “You? Nah. I figure we could be each other's wingmen, scope out the crowd together. If you picked me out at the masquerade party, you clearly have a good eye. Figured I could trust you to help me pick up women. And you know, if you need another night free from Mr. Virgin, I could understand that.”

  “Well, I'm still trying to figure out if what I did the other night was technically cheating or not. I don't think I need to add another tick to the list of items on my guilty conscience.”

  “Fair enough,” Rhoden says as we near the edge of the sidewalk. The developments stop here, the sidewalk shifting to sandy trails that weave through mounds of sea grass all the way down to the beach. It's a bit of a walk, but for October, the night is about as warm as it gets and the stars are bright and clear. Might as well take advantage of it.

  As soon as we're away from the road, I let the puppy off his leash and enjoy the way he frolics through the sand, Billy reluctantly giving into a small amount of play. They chase each other in circles around us, tongues lolling happily. In the distance, I can hear music, see the flickering orange arms of a bonfire. A column of gray smoke cuts the night sky in half as wisps trail away to join the stars. There's a bit of a crowd out here, but it's not too crazy. At least not yet.

  Before we're even halfway across the sand, I make out the vague shapes of naked bodies sprinting into the ocean waves with shrieks of delight. Personally, I feel like I owe those people at least a small amount of respect. Even of the hottest day of the year, the Northern Pacific Ocean is cold.

  Rhoden and I don't talk as we make our way over to the fire, people nodding and greeting us with sly half-smiles. Nobody seems shocked to see him here, so I imagine the rest of these people are trying to avoid the press, too. Somebody must've worked really hard to keep this quiet.

  “Can I get you a drink?” Rhoden asks as I settle myself onto a log near the fire and stretch my toes out to warm them. I wore flip-flops down to take the dog to the park which I suppose was actually a smart choice. They're not the sexiest shoes in this little gathering, but at least they're functional.

  “Sure,” I say with a warm smile as Rhoden moves over to a small bar that's set up in the sand. It's just one guy with a small two by two counter, some coolers, and a collection of bottles, but it's still impressive. I watch Rhoden's movements, the casual easy grace that makes him so hard to catch on the field, like he's too slick to touch. Apparently, that's not true for everyone though because a girl with dark hair and a fierce purple painted smile moves up to him and slides her palm down the arm of his leather jacket.

  My stomach clamps like I'm having really bad period cramps. It's a sick, nauseous feeling, like my insides are an unfortunate pumpkin on Halloween that somebody's taking a scraper to, digging out all the seeds.


  My mind brings up images of Rhoden's golden body draped across me, clenched tight between my thighs, moving rhythmically until I fell off the precipice of pleasure. I really felt like we belonged there together, like we were animals claiming each other's bodies. His scent fills my memories as I close my eyes, imagining the rough graze of his legs against mine, the heat of his mouth.

  Whoa. What the hell am I doing to myself? My Lion Man is just as mysterious, just as unobtainable as he was when I didn't know his name. In fact, he's worse now because he's a member of the team that my fiancé just bought. My very rich, very powerful fiancé. I imagine if Rhoden pissed Walter off, that he could not only fire him from the team, but make very certain he didn't participate in the NFL ever again.

  Not that I think he'd do that, but … this is still a really bad idea. If there's anything that might trigger a man into going extreme, it'd be finding out his fiancée screwed another man on the night of their engagement—especially since she'd never actually had sex with him.

  “Here,” Rhoden says, handing me a copper cup with a sprig of mint on the side. “Moscow mule. We're having vintage cocktails tonight apparently.” A slight twist of his mouth. “Our host is a bit eccentric.”

  “And who might that be?” I ask, trying to pretend I didn't see that woman hitting on him. I have no idea what happened after I glanced away, but I don't see her anymore so I guess that's a good sign.

  “Her.” Rhoden points past the bonfire to a woman with electric blue hair and leather pants. “That's Kierstin Bowlin. She's a clothing designer from New Jersey. She designs dresses for all the big names, red carpets and all that shit.” Rhoden grins at me and takes a long swig of his drink.

  “You're like a party connoisseur, huh?” I ask, lifting the cold copper of the cup to my lips. It tastes like ginger and lime, not my favorite flavors in the world, but I promised I'd try new things. This whole evening, from Rhoden to the drink to the goddamn puppy, it's all new.