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by Melissa Young

  All of a sudden my body erupts, blanketed with goose bumps, the same sensation she gifted me earlier in the evening when she dug her fingers into my ass. Every single strand of hair on my body is standing up straight on its end.

  I can feel her hand on my cock over my pants. The fabric the only thing preventing me from finally feeling a part of her flesh on mine. She grabs it tightly, giving it a good, hard squeeze while playfully biting on her lower lip.

  “Because I know that it can get a lot harder than this.”

  The entire limo erupts and sounds like a group of wild hyenas.

  Meanwhile, I’m wondering if I’m all of a sudden in a dream?

  Her grip releases as a moan releases from my lips. She smiles, turns sharply and her hair flips, nearly hitting me in the fucking face and sending me colliding towards the concrete. “Date. First. Final answer.”

  “Thank you.” I stand still in a bit of a daze.

  She turns around sharply, a puzzled yet curious look expression on her face. “For what?”

  “I think I’m always going to request a cock squeeze over a first kiss from now on.”

  She laughs. Hard. Even though she’s trying to stifle her laughter, she can’t contain herself and to be honest, it’s probably the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.

  “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

  I nod. “And you love it. I know that.”

  What the fuck is happening to me?

  There is this pause between us and we both can’t look away from each other. For her, I don’t know what is going through her mind and I’d pay anything to anyone to find out. For me, I feel like I’m experiencing something completely and totally out of my wheelhouse.

  I don’t date.

  I repeat.

  I never date.

  I think it’s a waste of time. If you’re not ready to fuck someone within seconds of meeting them, what’s the point? The entire focus of hot and sweaty sex is connection. That is something that you cannot create from conversation. It’s instant. It’s natural. It just, happens.

  I can’t help but think about the blonde woman I was with prior tonight and the absurd lecture she unleashed on me. Although I thought it was a bunch of rubbish at the time, maybe she had a point. I’m always so quick to jump to conclusions, why not take a risk? Why not ask Jane on a date?

  What’s the worst that could happen?

  I’m beginning to feel nervous, so I force the conversation and power back into my control. “Right. So date. What are you doing tomorrow night, Ms. Smith?”

  “Eager beaver.”

  “Well, that is an adorable nickname for your vagina.”

  She laughs and swats me on the shoulder, leaving it to sting briefly. “Oh my god, that’s not what I meant!”

  I know exactly what she meant, commenting on my eagerness to have that date with her as soon as possible but I simply couldn’t help myself to hear her laugh once more tonight. “So, what do you say? Tomorrow night. You and me.”

  She pretends to mull it over, but it’s short lived. “Fine. I’ll be free.”

  “Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” I taunt her. “May I have your number?”

  “Give me your phone.” Ms. Bossypants continues with her orders.

  I obviously oblige and fetch it from the inside pocket of my suit jacket. I don’t trust her flailing limbs to hit me in the shoulder again with accuracy and if I get slapped in the face twice tonight, well, that’s just not a record I had planned on breaking.

  She taps on the glass and hands me back my device. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Rose.”

  “You bet that sweet little ass of yours, Ms. Smith.”

  I smile and walk towards my car, trying to steady myself with the first few steps.

  I have no idea why I agreed to a date for the first time in over a decade, but I did. It happened. She challenged me and made me laugh harder than I had since before my mum passed away. I’m not sure what it is about Jane Smith. I just can’t seem to put a finger on it, nor help myself with the thought of diving my fingers deep inside her.

  Her voice clutches my attention. “Oh, so you graciously escort all of my friends into the limo but you can’t even hold the door open for me?” She stands before the limo door, waiting for my next move. “What kind of bullshit is that?”

  “I think you can handle yourself, darling.”

  “Asshole,” she hisses as she grabs for the handle to assist herself in.

  “I love you too,” I call out after her.

  She shakes her head at me and pauses.

  “What? You told me you were saving the dick grab for someone very special, did you not?”

  “Don’t press your luck.” She warns.

  “I won’t press anything against you unless you ask me to.” I wink at her.

  “If she’s not going to fuck you, I will!” A drunken voice hollers from the limousine, followed by an eruption of laughter.

  “Alright, come along then love.” I am unable to resist irking Jane. Or am I just that unable to resist a no-strings-attached fuck?

  “You’re serious?” Jane provokes me.

  The outspoken female bursts through the open door of the limo, nearly knocking Jane arse over tits on the sidewalk. I can’t help but let out a faint laugh.

  The drunken lass starts staggering over, adorning all of the possible accessories that a bridesmaid would at such a gathering. She has on the sash, the tiara and her mascara is melting off of her face, along with the other layers of makeup she had applied a mere hours earlier. However, underneath it all, her body is tight, her legs are sculpted and well, all I really need is a willing participant.

  I walk over to the passenger side of my car and open it for the mysterious young lady to enter, assisting her safely into the lush interior, further infuriating Jane.

  “You’re sexy,” she slurs at me.

  “Thank you. I know.”

  I slam the door shut behind her and start strutting towards the drivers side of the vehicle, not once feeling safe from Jane’s glare, but also, relishing in every moment of it.

  “You’re seriously going home with one of my friends right now?” Jane prompts me again, her arms folded over her chest.

  “Potentially.” I tease her. “I suppose… time will tell.”

  God that felt good.

  I enter the vehicle and rev the engine. The moment my bottom touches the sweet and familiar leather, I shift the gear, sending the stallion that it is into drive, flooring it and sending me and my newfound friend into the dark New York City street.

  eight

  Alright, so to answer the burning question – yes, but only once and I was three sheets to the wind. I made a promise to myself, though. I would try it again only under two circumstances – absolutely no Mexican food prior and maybe a pinky finger to start.

  Oh, wait. So we aren’t talking about that then?

  Kidding.

  So, second burning question then. Did I fuck Jane’s friend? Of course not.

  Did I have any intention of sleeping with her? Dear Lord no. The woman was steaming drunk and smelled of rubbish. Besides, even if she were sober, I still was not even remotely attracted to her. She didn’t even make it move or could if she tried.

  So, why all of the effort?

  To make Jane jealous.

  Did it work? Well, the friend took it upon herself to send drunken selfies of the two of us to Jane from my phone, which resulted in Ms. Smith texting me nearly every few minutes for the majority of the night.

  So despite the fact that I wasn’t able to go home with Jane last night, at least I was able to spend the night with her, in a rather fucked up yet successful sense.

  The texting frenzy ended and then, truth be told, I barely slept a wink. Granted, I also didn’t get into bed until nearly 5:00 am but that was hardly the reason why my mind wouldn’t stop racing.

  I just, for the life of me, could not shake Jane out of my mind. There was something between us in th
ose wee hours of the morning. Something palpable. The more I thought about her, the more I tried to convince it was just the booze and boner talking, which I also swear I’ve had since that blonde in the hotel last night.

  Is it appropriate to call 911 for an erection that lasts longer than 4 hours even if you haven’t had any pharmaceutical assistance?

  Another contributing factor to why sleep was nonexistent last night, was my work phone just wouldn’t stop fucking ringing. I have to admit, the girl has me so shook up, I just didn’t even want to be bothered by work, which I think was a first for me. Instead, I silenced it and gave her all of my focus last night.

  Which I’m hopeful doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass.

  The latest dire text from another agent comes through and I feel the vibration in my hand. I hold the screen up to my fuzzy eyes.

  Oscar, we need you at the office. ASAP. A-Team are all here.

  It’s big. Promise. Now.

  I roll over in bed and stare at the alarm clock on my bedside table. I already anticipate feeling utterly exhausted by this day ahead of me, but my A-Team, otherwise known as my top grossing agents, have never hassled me this much before, so this ought to be good.

  I fear there isn’t enough caffeine manufactured in the world to get me out of bed but the reminder, that if I can just get through this morning and afternoon, I’ll be in the clear to finally whet my appetite this evening with the taste of what is hidden between Jane’s legs.

  Now, Daddy needs to go find out what all of his babies are whining about.

  ***

  I swerve my Aston Martin through the car park underneath the building until it slips perfectly between the yellow lines in the spot that has the words Reserved for Oscar Rose, CEO placed so perfectly above it. Even though it has been 5 years, this still feels like a dream.

  I grab my cognac leather briefcase nestled into the bespoke leather passenger seat and exit out of the vehicle, ensuring it is locked as I step away from it and head towards the elevator. It sends me rocketing to the top floor in a matter of seconds, barley giving me enough time to finally check my emails after this frantic and unprepared morning I had.

  I just can’t get Jane Smith out of my mind, nor do I want to, which also leaves me with a very unsettling feeling. I feel like a giddy schoolgirl texting her as frequently as I have been, which also makes me feel creepy but more so because of the metaphor than anything else.

  Now, commence the random tangents.

  I try again to assure myself that once I get a taste of her, she will be out of my system and just another notch on my belt.

  Turns out, I should have been far more aware this morning of everything else in my life and not just my chance at fucking Ms. Smith tonight, because my inbox on my work phone is full. I have over 200 missed calls and 80 voicemails.

  This cannot be good.

  Before I’m even able to begin the long process of deciphering what the fuck is going on, I arrive on the top floor to the relief of all of my top agents, who were all surrounding the doors to the elevator, awaiting my arrival.

  Not creepy at all.

  The foyer goes from utter pandemonium to deafening silence in a matter of seconds. This is either really good or really fucking terrible.

  “Oscar! Finally!” Brady Waltz, or as I like to call him, my mini-me, is the first to speak up and walks right up to me. “Did you get our messages?”

  I dangle the notification list plagued on my phone’s screen in front of his face. “Just now.”

  “Where were you last night? What happened?”

  Okay, so Brady Waltz is a mini Oscar Rose in that he works his fucking ass off day in and day out. That’s where our similarities start and stop. Otherwise, he’s an annoying little ninny who can’t get a woman to save his life. Not like yours truly, like a dog with two dicks.

  Not to mention he’s mediocre in appearance. He has all of the makings of being quite a handsome man. He just lacks the finesse, to put it politely. To put it in Oscar Rose words? He looks like a gallon of hair gel, over whitened teeth, bad cologne and glasses I’m fairly certain he doesn’t even have a prescription for.

  However, he can make shit happen and that’s all I really care for.

  “Brady, please get on with it, would you? What is it?” I’m chomping at the bit.

  “It’s big, boss. Really big.”

  My top agents split down the middle, parting a path for me, making me feel like more of the God that I already am, leading my vision towards the wall of TV’s we have set on every single news outlet in North America and beyond.

  My eyes dart back and forth between the screens, all of the flashing relatively the same headline:

  PRO GOLFER MICHAEL NICHOLS DROPS AGENT, ALLIANCE

  GOLF KING NICHOLS BLASTS ALLIANCE TALENT AGENCY

  GOLF PRO MICHAEL NICHOLS’ AGENT ALLIANCE IN HOT WATER

  MICHAEL NICHOLS – IN SEARCH OF NEW AGENT OR SELF-REPRESENTED?

  Welp. My team were not lying when they said this was huge.

  Michael Nichols is not just one of the best golfers in the pro circuit – he’s responsible for the phenom it is today. He’s the Wayne Gretzky of the sport. The crème de la crème. The cream of the crop.

  Golf, in this day and age, literally does not exist without this man.

  He’s highest grossing golf player in the sport’s history, which seems like an oxymoron in itself. Golfers are notorious for not raking in the dough like their other sports counterparts, but Michael, he’s a rare breed. He’s created an empire and is well versed in the art of selling himself without losing any of his following or integrity. It’s a fine balance and he has mastered it, which makes him invaluable.

  Alliance Sports Management, his previous agent, didn’t even have to lift a finger to sign him. Michael and Rex Bleaker Sr. had an undeniable bromance that blossomed in college. They used to just be two total space cases, smoking weed constantly and almost always missing class.

  However, Rex got his first job with a sports agent and later went on to own the company himself. Sound familiar? And Michael’s tale of stardom began when he was discovered at a driving range, hitting an average of 400 yards per swing. He was like the piece of meat dangling in front of pack of wild dogs, but he knew he could trust Rex. Therefore, the undeniable bromance soon became the biggest transaction in sports history.

  Unfortunately, for Michael, Rex Sr. passed away unexpectedly from a heart attack 5 years ago, just as I was solidifying my footing here at Gold. Michael debated moving agencies, but ultimately, remained at Alliance under the helm of the new CEO, Rex’s flesh and blood, Rex Bleaker Jr.

  Now, if any of my suspicions about Junior are true, Michael dumping Alliance should come as no shock to anyone. In my opinion, it was just a matter of time and now, I have a second chance at getting this right and a second chance at leaving Alliance in the dust, once and for all.

  “So, what are we doing about this?” I ask my team, my eyes fixated on the flashing screens.

  “Well, he has personally reached out to Gold and he wants to talk. To you.”

  This is like the perfect woman falling in your lap, along with a net worth of over a billion dollars asking you to marry her. I can’t help but smile. Even though we haven’t even discussed the terms of our new contract, I can already tell he wants me. He wants what I have created here. He missed out on me once and he’d be mad do it again.

  I knew I was the best in the game; this just solidifies it.

  “When?” I ask Brady.

  “Now. He’s waiting in your office.”

  nine

  I swing open the double doors to my office suite and waste no time. “Michael fucking Nichols. I’m happier than a pig rolling around in its own shit to see you. Shall I pop the champagne now or shall I send in the strippers first? Your call, mate. Your call.”

  I have the biggest smile on my face since I bagged Demarius Adams. This deal is massive for my company and I need it. I want it.


  It’s mine.

  Michael stands to greet me, looking like he came fresh from the driving range, with the grass stains on his white sneakers to boot. He is wearing a ball cap from one of his lines of golf wear and the entire matching ensemble it appears. Not exactly the outfit I would adorn to a meeting of this caliber, but I’m also not a 51-year-old golf pro. Stick to what you know, I guess?

  He’s a tall and slender man, but still sports a slight spare tire around his midsection. His salt and pepper facial hair is slightly grown out and the bags under his hazel eyes suggests more than just a lifetime of travelling around the world, stifling infidelity rumors and raising children.

  Accompanying him is his lawyer and long time friend, Freddy Castro, who looks about as mobster as his name suggests, complete with the rotund figure, the three-piece slate suit plucked from the 80’s and the receding hairline.

  Although I’m annoyed to have to court Michael and now, his lawyer, it’s not terribly unexpected. This comes as zero surprise to me. Any good businessman knows, you never do business alone and if Michael is one thing and one thing alone, he’s a damn good businessman.

  “Oscar Rose. It’s about time you showed up, I was about ready to leave and head over to Newport Management.”

  “Now, now, now,” I try to settle him down but more so myself. I set the champagne and three flutes down on my desk and turn to face him, grabbing his hands into mine. “You’ve already made the mistake of not signing with my company once. Let’s not do that again, shall we?”

  I flash a smile in Freddy’s direction, but he doesn’t budge.

  “Gentlemen, please. Sit.”

  “You mean what we have been doing all morning?” Freddy is quick to put me in my place.

  “Oh, Freddy. You don’t need me to tell you this after you neglected to sign with me 5 years ago. Good things come to those who wait?”