Dolce (Love at Center Court #2)

by Rachel Blaufeld

  Oh, the power of the Internet.

  I was living out my thesis, making a quick name for myself on the Internet and paying my bills while doing it. And all the while, I was writing a book, a book that would twist Stanwick’s knickers. When I was tossed out of the program, I’d gone into deep-research mode, and my thesis paper had transformed into a full-length book.

  Bitch.

  Meeting Sarina has been a lucky break for me. Turned out, she was a single mom living in the middle-of-nowhere, Ohio. Originally from Arizona, she’d followed some guy to the Midwest, and he had his fun with her until he knocked her up. Then she was stuck all alone with nothing more than a GED and a screaming newborn. She’d tried working at a grocery store for a while, but the hours sucked and the pay was worse.

  Then she met Frank.

  After that night she first took me to the set, we met for coffee. Over a big piece of cake, of which she only took one bite and I ate every last crumb, I told her all about the three S’s that had ruined my life.

  Stanwick.

  Steele.

  Sonny.

  After hearing my story, she agreed to introduce me to her world and help me expose the harsh realities of why women stayed in the porn industry. How it helped put food on the table and afforded women time to be with their children.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath before dusting a fine layer of pale pink glitter onto my cheeks. It had been Sarina’s idea for me to try out in a skit, and the thing went berserk with five-star ratings. She’d suggested I keep going but hold true to my hard limit—penetration—and make some money on the side while learning exactly what went on in the adult-film industry.

  I knew it would isolate me from the entire women’s studies world, but I couldn’t help but feel compassionate toward Sarina and her friends. They were women too, and how could I really write an exposé without going undercover?

  So Ariel Stone was born and the real Caterina Presto was found—the Catie with a new purpose. I finally had a mission, a cause, a place to call my own. I’d been looking for that my whole life.

  I also knew it was the last thing on earth Blane Steele needed in his life with the league calling. Maybe it was self-punishment on my part; I didn’t fucking know. What I did know was Blane would have no use for me when I finished with this project.

  As if Blane Steele wants me in his life.

  I frowned at my reflection, hating when I thought about Blane at work. Sometimes I got so wrapped up in thinking about what would happen if he knew about this, tears stung my eyes.

  Tonight, I shoved any thoughts of the six-foot-four baller out of my mind and took a deep breath. It was a new year and a new me. What had started out as an experiment to prove Stanwick wrong, a way to prove my theories correct, was slowly turning into a way of life.

  “Let’s go, kids. I got a party to get to,” Frank hollered across the room.

  “Me too,” Ricky yelled back, rolling his eyes.

  Frank had turned out to be an okay guy. He produced the videos on the cheap and passed a lot of the profits over to us; it was how he kept good talent. We made money, and he made more movies and even more money.

  I dusted a little glitter over my boobs and puckered my lips, making sure my lip gloss was even before I headed out to the set.

  As I lounged in a sexy pose on a red velvet chaise, Ricky approached—more like sauntered for the camera—while rubbing his hand over his clothing-covered erection. His dick bulged in his skinny black pants, and he made all kinds of weird moans and facial expressions for the camera. I thought he looked like he was in pain, but Frank had assured me that was what ecstasy looked like.

  To me, that wasn’t what Blane looked like during our one moment. The one I ran away from because I was ashamed of what we’d done.

  Look at me now.

  I kept trying to imagine what it would be like to actually be turned on by Ricky with his mouth shaped like an O and his body now angled over me, his breath puffing on my face.

  “Look what the cat dragged in,” I said, repeating my lines. “If it isn’t another hard dick. Oh my . . .” This cued my long sigh and husky breathing as I ran my fingers along Ricky’s bicep.

  “Baby, you have no idea,” he said, his voice all deep and manly.

  I almost giggled because the dude was as gay as they came, or maybe he was bisexual. Whatever. His penis was huge and hard, so he must like women a little.

  I was wearing tight leather leggings and a sheer white T-shirt marked PROPERTY OF ATHLETICS DEPARTMENT. It was a ridiculous outfit, made more so by the high-heeled athletic shoes I wore on my feet.

  Was this what men wanted? It must be, since I was making big money doing it.

  Ricky ripped off his gray hoodie. An effort to make him look like a college student? He unbuttoned his pants and pulled them off, his tight black boxer briefs were next, and then his penis was in my face. I oohed and aahed as I touched it, acting like it was full of holy water and I needed to be baptized in the worst way.

  He cupped my hand and stroked his length with my hand over his, working his shaft at a quick clip. I could have been microwaving oatmeal or sitting in stats class for all the excitement I felt. In one undisciplined second, my mind went back to my night with him before I yanked it back to the present.

  Ricky leaned closer, bringing his penis front and center.

  Moans and grunts mixed with choruses of Oh, baby and I’m gonna blow. The slap of skin provided the percussion to this perverted symphony as his hand and mine worked his penis. Leaning closer, he let go of my hand and yanked down the neckline of the V-neck I wore, exposing my breasts so he could run his penis between my cleavage.

  I twisted and squirmed as if this was taking me to new heights of pleasure. Before long there was a splatter all over my boobs as Ricky grunted and pumped his hips, and he reached down to rub his ejaculate over my glittery skin.

  “And that’s a wrap,” Frank yelled. “We’ll have this puppy out tomorrow, call it something like ‘Rose Bowl Splash.’ The college guys will devour it on game day.”

  Ricky handed me a towel and kissed me on the cheek. “Have a great new year, Ari,” he said, and then he hightailed it out of there.

  I wiped off and tossed my wig in a bag before I threw on my coat and went straight home for a shower. A long, hot, disinfecting one.

  Blane

  “Hafton, are you ready? Are you pumped? Sonny B., that’s me, and I’m here tonight at the field house, coming to you live for Hafton’s first conference game of the season. Can the Green take on those big, bad guys from Akron? I think so. Even though you losers didn’t get tickets to the game, put your hands together and up in the air, wave them like you actually do care for our starting lineup!”

  Sonny’s voice boomed through the locker room’s speakers as we kept moving while we waited for our names to be called.

  I bounced on the ball of my feet, jumping up and down and rolling my shoulders to stay warm and loose. It was the first Friday after winter break, and we were on point. I needed to play and burn out some aggression.

  The holidays had been a fucking bust. First, Cate kicked me out of her life. Then my parents visited, ended up banging, and weren’t speaking afterward. Same shit, different day . . .

  I’d been going on adrenaline and riding the high of a few easy wins, but wasn’t in the mood for any bullshit when I walked into brunch by myself. My mom had sat there waiting like the cat that ate the canary, a huge grin on her face.

  Shit. I’d seen that look before.

  “Christ, don’t even say it,” I’d said, sliding into the booth at Denny’s. She loved that restaurant, and although it wasn’t my favorite, I liked to make her happy. “He’s not going to fall for you like one of the guys in your books. You two were done before it started, Mom.”

  She laughed like it was some funny late-night TV joke. “Honey, I know that. But that ass is stuck on me, and now I’m making him squirm.”

  “Mom, you have
got to stop playing these games. I get it. It makes you feel like you have the power, but you don’t. Relationships aren’t about power. They’re about being equals.”

  “They’re not kidding,” she said, studying me with a smile. “You’ve gone soft. I like it, Blane. You’re one of the good ones.”

  “Mom, stop. Stop messing around with Dad. Move on. Don’t go back to your mobile home and plot how you’re going to torture him more. I love you, and I know deep down, you hurt. Just move on.”

  “Let’s talk about you, honey. Any young women in your life?”

  The waitress came and took our orders, bringing me a tall glass of milk and my mom a coffee. Apparently, she’d ordered those while waiting for me.

  “She needed some space. I’m respecting that and then going back in.”

  “Good. I never thought you to be a quitter.”

  “Ugh, Mom, enough. How about we talk about your pets?”

  That was a safe subject, so that’s what we discussed.

  We ate and said our good-byes, and when Christmas rolled around, I didn’t tell her Dad stayed to have dinner with me.

  It had been a lonely dinner for two at the diner. Two despondent men acting macho over two plated Christmas dinners. Afterward, I’d gone home and downed some Crown Royal with Mo, who was envisioning the following year when he’d be a dad, and no doubt dressed up as Santa.

  As a team, we’d lost some of our focus over the holidays, so when we got back, Conley had verbally whipped the shit out of us on a daily basis. Tonight we needed to be focused, to run like a well-oiled machine, or however the expression went.

  “And last but not least, they’re calling our starting two-man, my good friend and the guy you wish you all knew, third-year player Blaaane Steele!”

  Sonny’s annoying voice trailed behind me as I ran out to the crowd screaming my name. I ran through the line, bumping shoulders and chests with my teammates before removing my warm-up jersey.

  We went right in for the tip, and the ball was flying to me. I kept the ball to myself and took it right to the rack. Two–nothing, Hafton. The bad guys got the ball and went for three, the ball swishing through the air, and we were down one. Back and forth was pretty much how the first quarter went. I imagined Sonny’s colorful commentary kept the radio listeners entertained.

  It was only a four-point game at the half, and I knew by the way Conley was staring at me, his eyes nothing more than tiny slits, he wanted me to take over in the second half.

  I tossed my warm-up jersey over my head as I made my way to the tunnel. Foolishly, I looked up when I heard, “Stealer! Hey, baby, be mine!” It wasn’t the girl screaming who caught my attention; it was the short stack leaning against the wall right under Section 108.

  I shook my head to get the vision out of my mind. The next twenty minutes were crucial. I needed to listen to Coach; my judgment couldn’t be clouded by a tiny black-headed minx. But after . . . that was a different fucking story.

  “Y’all are my fucking men!” I pumped my fist in the air as I entered the locker room, raging obscenities.

  “We gonna take our game back?” Ashton banged his fist into the locker.

  Coach yelled, “Shut it, gentlemen. Not enough of a show out there. Where’s my team? You all stay out too late last night? Give me a W!”

  We took over the second half with an attitude adjustment. I moved the ball down the court, feeding the guys with dimes. One by one, they hit buckets. I had a gorgeous outside shot that swished through the air and sailed into the net. We ran a man-to-man defense where each of our guys guarded one of theirs, and we basically rendered them scoreless in the second half.

  We won by twenty-five and poured out of the court on a sea of cheers.

  “Unstoppable! Yeah, boys,” Ashton chanted as he pounded his fist into his locker.

  Sweaty clothes flew through the locker room, most landing in the big industrial hamper, and steam filtered above the showers as the cheering continued.

  “We partying tonight,” D screamed. “Yeah, boys. Fucking A-right, Green for life!”

  “Get after it, next week, we’re gonna kill it! Yeah!” Mo slapped his towel against the wall and swiveled his hips, waving his dick in the cool air.

  We were a bunch of pigs, but winning pigs.

  “Put that fucking thing away,” Demetri said sternly.

  “Don’t be so fucking crazy, it’s all your sister’s,” Mo taunted him.

  “Shut the fuck up, Maurice, while I’m still in a good mood.”

  “Let it go,” I told them, not in the mood to break up a fight.

  “Where’s the party?” Alex strutted in, toting a few freshmen behind him. “They’re ready to get laid on our coattails.” He pointed to the scrawny nineteen-year-olds.

  “I got my lady waiting,” Mo said as Demetri eyed him up. “Speaking of ladies, I saw your DJ girl over New Year’s, Steele.”

  I was drying my ass with the towel, and didn’t bother covering when I turned around. “What did you just say?”

  “I saw Ms. Cute Catie.”

  “Where?”

  “Put your cock away and I’ll tell you.”

  I snagged my towel off the floor and tied it around my waist. “Well?”

  “At the new wine joint.”

  “She’s not twenty-one. What was she doing there?”

  Ashton smirked at me. “I thought you were over her.”

  “Be quiet,” I said to Ashton, then circled my hand at Mo to spill it.

  “She was alone, man. Spewed something about you not needing her shit right now.”

  I glared at him. “What’s up with you waiting two weeks to tell me?”

  “Oh boy, you got it bad for Cute Catie,” Alex said, taunting me. “I’m going to tweet her.”

  When he grabbed his phone off his locker shelf and started banging away at the keyboard, I kept quiet. I knew what he would find.

  Puzzled, he looked up at me. “She’s not on Twitter?”

  “Canceled her account. For the best,” I muttered.

  “Now that we got that out of the fucking way, where’s the party?” Alex asked, still scrolling through his phone.

  All of a sudden, his head flew up, water spraying from his dreads “Whoa, listen to this. @Hafton101 swears he saw an Ariel Stone lookalike at the game tonight. What the fuck? I have to go home and google her. I heard her titty-fuck shit is hot as hell.”

  “I’m heading out,” I called, dressing in jeans and a Henley.

  “What the fuck? Where you going?” Ashton called after me, but my Timberlands were already at the threshold.

  “Catch you later.”

  Snow had covered my pickup during the game. I turned the engine over and got back out, pulling the collar up on my coat before I brushed off the windshield. After jumping back in the driver’s seat, I put the truck into gear and hightailed it to the far end of campus. The Golden Goblet sat at the very end of College Avenue, and from the looks of it, wasn’t a place I’d ever go. But Cate had been there two weeks ago, and maybe it was a regular thing for her.

  I left the truck in a spot behind the shopping center and hustled through the cold, shivering because my hair was still wet and it was fucking freezing. I practically ran to the door of the joint. Once I got inside, I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to make myself look presentable. I hung my coat on a hook and paced toward the back, surveying all the tables.

  Nothing.

  As I headed to the bar, I saw her. She was sitting on a stool, her hair tied up on top of her head, her sweatshirt falling off one shoulder.

  I walked right over, no warning, no patience. Running my hand over her bare shoulder—her right one, the one without my name—I spoke in her ear.

  “Thought you weren’t legal.”

  She flinched and jumped in her seat. “Blane?” She gave me an annoyed look and quickly slipped her phone into her purse.

  “Hi,” I said sheepishly.

  “What are you doing here?”


  I leaned against the vacant stool next to her. “Looking for you. Where have you been?”

  “Mo said he saw me?”

  I nodded. “Where have you been?” I repeated my question, wanting . . . no, needing an answer.

  “I got thrown out of my major.”

  “I heard. Sonny told me, but that’s all he would say.”

  “I moved off campus, and I’ve just been trying to stay under the radar.” She kept twisting her wrist and looking at her watch.

  “You meeting someone?”

  “Actually, yeah. I have to go; someone’s picking me up.”

  “I miss seeing you,” I admitted foolishly.

  “Miss you too, but I have to go.”

  I curled my fingers and ran the back of my hand along her cheek. She wasn’t wearing much makeup, and she looked beautiful. “Saw you there tonight.”

  A smile started to form on her face, but she quickly schooled it. “You know I’m a fan.”

  “Let’s have another drink.” I pointed toward her empty glass.

  “I can’t.”

  “I got you; I’m not who or what you want. I’m just a baller or whatever. A stupid guy who will make a ton of money someday, thanks to my athletic skills.”

  “Stop.” She placed her hand on my chest and fire licked through the Henley, her fingers sending a jolt to my pulse. “It’s not you; it’s me. I’m figuring stuff out, and you don’t need that.”

  “Let me decide that, not you.”

  “Seriously, Blane. I have to go. Great win tonight.”

  She planted a small kiss on my cheek, her lips ghosting over my five o’clock shadow before slipping away. I wanted to sink my tongue into her mouth, but she was on the move.

  “Wait!” I said. “Can we get a drink tomorrow?”

  She swallowed hard, and a strange expression flitted over her face before it was gone.

  “Coffee maybe?” I was grasping at anything.

  Cate sighed. “Sure. How about Starbucks off campus?”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Two o’clock?”

  “Good,” I said, taking her elbow. “Let me walk you out.”

  “No, you go ahead. I’m going to use the restroom first.”