Luca pulls back slightly from our hug, enough to peer down into my upturned face. He slides a finger underneath my chin and bends to kiss me, but before his lips meet mine, I muster the will to step back and shake my head.
“Oh my God,” he mutters.
“We can’t, Luca.”
“We can, Chelsea. Wemust.”
“We shouldn’t.”
“You’re not my coach anymore, and we’ve got something amazing to celebrate.”
“I’m still on the staff and you’re still a player. Plus, I’d be an atomic bomb to your career, if anyone—”
“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
“Well, I’m not. I’m not willing to do anything that might mess things up for you. Especially not now. Also, what if you having blue balls is the secret sauce to how well you’ve been doing at scrimmages?”
“Come on, Chelsea. I’m not a boxer.”
“Huh?”
“They notoriously don’t have sex before fights. Or maybe that’s only in movies. Who knows. Either way, I’ll take the risk.”
I shake my head. “Let’s get through tomorrow’s game, and then we’ll revisit this.”
Luca’s eyebrow perks up, and I realize I’ve given myself away. I want him. Desperately. Wantonly. So badly, it hurts. And I’m hanging on by the barest of threads here.
“It’s already well past when you should be fast asleep,” I blurt. “Are you saying you’re fine with our very first time being lightning fast? Because that’s all we’d have time for, and barely that if we did what you’re suggesting.” I step back and fold my arms over my chest. “If that’s truly your game plan—a quickie with me, after all this buildup—then I’m honestly deeply unimpressed and offended.”
Luca smirks. “Wow, Chelsea. I only came here to get a little good luck kiss for tomorrow.”
I bat his shoulder and laugh. “Liar.”
Luca chuckles with me, conceding he’s full of shit. “Okay, let’s forget about ‘revisiting’ this later and make an airtight deal right now. If I pull off a sack tomorrow in whatever paltry minutes of playing time they give me, then promise you’ll jump my bones in celebration afterward.”
My clit feels like it’s nodding furiously at the idea, even though my brain knows all the same reasons to say no will still exist. I place a hand on my hip. “The enticement of my flesh is only worth one measly sack to you?”
Luca grins wickedly, plainly realizing he’s got a fish on his line. “Oh, it’s worth a whole lot more than that, baby, but it’s the best I can offer you, considering how few minutes they’ll likely put me in.”
I take a step forward, and the air between us feels like it’s become electrified. “If you ask me, the promise of me spreading my legs for you should be worth at least ten sacks.”
“Ten?” Luca looks equal parts aroused and dismissive, and I’m sure that’s a byproduct of my word choice being so raunchy and my number being preposterously stratospheric. The record for the most sacks ever in one game is seven. Derrick Thomas, 1990. And that was in a full four quarters of playing time. These days, even the best Pro Bowlers in the game, guys who get a whole lot more minutes than Luca will get tomorrow, average only about a sack per game. And even then, that’sjust an average, not a guarantee they’ll even get a single sack in any given matchup.
“Sweetheart,” Luca coos, taking a step forward. “Be reasonable now. You know I’m not gonna get nearly enough reps to pull off more than one sack tomorrow, if that. They’ve still got three guys to rotate in and out.”
I bite my lower lip. “Losers make excuses,sweetheart. Winners make it happen.”
His dark eyes blaze. “I’ll get you two sacks, baby. I promise I’ll move heaven and earth to make that happen for you.”
“You should move heaven and earth regardless. And like I said, my price is ten.”
He steps forward again, a smile curling his gorgeous lips. “Ten isn’t your price, and you know it. And two is fair because it’s a stretch. Come on, Chelsea. Yes, I’ll be moving heaven and earth regardless, but the mind is a complicated place. If I knew two sacks would mean finishing what we started the other day before Raul cockblocked me, I know I’d have superhuman strength and focus. It’ll be like how a mother can suddenly lift a car to free her pinned child.”
I’m a very bad girl for giggling at his metaphor, and an even worse girl for wanting so desperately to say yes, yes, yes to this bet. I mean, what would be the downside, really? He’s right that I’m no longer his coach. Also, that motivation is a complicated thing. Hence, the booming “life coach” industry. And if Luca somehow miraculously pulls off multiple sacks in the few minutes of playing time he’ll get, then, glory be, I’d be so horny and hot for him after a performance like that, I’m sure I’d be thrilled to throw every caution to the wind and every rule out the window.
“Get me three sacks tomorrow, and you’ve got a deal.”
“Three?” Luca bellows. “Have mercy on me, woman. The number has to at least be within the realm of possibility to motivate me.”
