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All of my time off the field was spent getting wasted or getting my freak on. My agent, Savannah James, hated it and advised me quite regularly that I shouldn't be so free with the dick, but it was a part of who I was. If I saw a woman in need, then I felt like it was my duty to help her out.
Savannah said I was her biggest pain in the ass and that was saying something. She represented some pretty big douches, but their antics were preschool compared to mine.
My reputation started in high school. I was caught under the bleachers by the school principal fucking a hot ass redhead that just so happened to also be my biology teacher.
Twice.
Yeah.
That didn't end so well, but it fueled my reputation. A reputation I was proud of.
Playboy.
Asshole.
I'd been called it all. There was a time I used to let it bother me, but those times had long since passed.
There was no reason to change. Why should I?
I intended to die in the throes of passion when I was eighty with a twenty-something little minx. A bachelor until the day I died.
Some men liked to play the field until they found someone they thought they could settle down with and spend the rest of their lives with. Five years in, they realized it wasn’t what they wanted and then decided to bail
, leaving the woman at home to raise a baby with no money and no help. I refused to be one of those men.
Marriage is a joke.
And I don’t get the punch line.
At least the way I’d done things had always been upfront. Women knew what they were getting when they decided they wanted a night with me. It was never more than sex. And it sure as hell was never less. I played football like a rock star and fucked even better.
The DC Sharks were creatures of habit. We ate in the same restaurants. Drank in the same bars. Chased ass in the same clubs. Call us territorial bastards, but we liked to stake out our grounds.
As I walked into Catch, I was hit with the familiarity of a place I had spent practically every night after a big win.
The succulent smell of perfume and sex hit my nostrils. I breathed in deep, feeling my cock stir in my pants. Somewhere in a dark corner I heard the sounds of pleasure and my dick hardened. I fucking loved this place.
I made my way to my usual table and waited for the rest of the guys. I thought I would be the last one. The press conference with Coach was short and sweet. I wasn’t much for reporter questions. We won. What was there to talk about?
A cute little waitress saddled up to the table within moments. She looked young and innocent. Her uniform fit like a glove, tight in all the right places. Her breasts were pushed together, bobbing over the edge of her shirt. I could almost envision her on her knees with her mouth wrapped around my cock. My hands fisted tight in her pig tails while I fucked her mouth. It was as if this moment was supposed to happen—this girl was meant to help me celebrate my win.
She nervously tucked her hair behind her ear. “H-hi. Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.
I leaned forward. I’d never seen her here before. She looked out of place. Almost too good for Catch. Too good to serve me. It was the lightness in her eyes and the way her blond hair fell over her shoulders in waves. She was a good girl.
“A couple of beers,” I answered. My eyes trailed her throat. Damn, she was gorgeous.
She scribbled down my order on her waitress pad. “Anything else?” she asked.
“I guess you’re new here?”
She chewed her bottom lip. Damn, her nervousness was even sexy. “It’s that obvious?”
“Not many girls write down two beers.” I chuckled.
Her eyes fell to the floor. Shit.
“Sorry.” Her voice was soft and apologetic.
