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There’s no doubt in my mind that Colt wants her too, but fuck him. This time, I’m bringing the fight to his home court. He thinks he’s the absolute lady killer, right? I’ll show him.
Oh, this is going to be an interesting season.
5
Julianna
Walking toward the field, I can hear Coach Karl ripping into the team. "You mean to tell me that you're going to just let him run all over you like that? You play football to WIN GAMES! That was a horseshit performance. I don't care if you don't have any wins right now. On my team, you are here to fucking win!" He throws his sun visor onto the field, and I watch as a cloud of dirt swirls around his feet.
Guess he wasn’t having the best day. I shrugged. Not my problem. Early on, Coach Karl made it known that he didn't want me showing up to practices. I never paid him any mind. Who is he kidding?
This is my team.
These are my rules.
Karl’s whistle pierces through the afternoon breeze, and by the pitch of it, I can tell he’s irritated. I can also see that players are getting tired. They stand hunched over as they took their water break, sweat dripping into their eyes.
These men look damn good all sweaty.
They look like well-oiled machines with their rock-hard bodies. I straighten my tight black pencil skirt, fix my hair, make sure I have just the right amount of cleavage exposed, and scan the field.
Now don’t get me wrong. Just because I’m wearing a tight skirt with heels that showcases my ass, and just because I have some cleavage showing doesn’t mean that I’m doing this on purpose.
In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a bad girl. That doesn’t mean I’m a slut. I won’t sleep with anyone that comes knocking.
But I’m not hiding my sexuality either.
Fuck that. Men have a problem by thinking I’m distracting. Let them be distracted. I’m just being me.
I exude sexuality and I love it. But my legs won’t open for anyone. I’ve never fucked anyone.
Not even after I bought the team and the most powerful sports columnist in New York came calling. Looking for an easy lay. But never mind him, for now.
As I near the 30-yard line, I hear a few of the players whistle in my direction. "Now, now boys," I say, waving a finger and smiling at them devilishly. "Don't you know that catcalls don't work on women?" In secret, I love the attention from all of those strong, hard bodies and hungry gazes looking on me, but I’m here for only two men—Colt and Ethan.
Noticing my arrival, Karl approaches me. "You know how I feel about you showing up like this," he says. "You're distracting the players. Just look at 'em. They can barely pick up their tongues from the turf."
"Spare me the drama, Karl,” I say. “I need to make an important decision. I'll be running today's drills."
"Isn't that my job?" Karl asks, visibly frustrated.
"Not today it isn't,” I reply – matching his gaze with a steely look of my own. “I think you're forgetting who owns this team.”.
"Jesus, lady. Give me a break. Don't you have some paperwork to push or a GM to harass?" Karl asks, frustrated.
"Why don't you go fetch some water for the team if you’re so disturbed, Karl?” I ask. “I'll be evaluating all of our players on the field, but two in particular—Colt Stackford and Ethan Blake. As you know, we can't keep them both. One will need to be cut from the team."
Karl shakes his head, but he knows better than to keep arguing with me so he walks off. I grab a whistle from the nearby table and place it around my neck. I blow into it with force, and it gives a shrill, commanding pitch. The players who’re not already distracted by my presence turn to me now. With helmets in hand, they huddle around me. I can feel their eyes on my tits and ass.
I love it.
"Listen up, boys. Practice is going to be handled a little differently today," I declare. I can see some players give one another confused looks and shrug their shoulders, and then, at the edge of the huddle I see the two men I’ve been looking for—two perfect bodies chiseled like Greek gods—Colt and Ethan. I can’t help but look right at their crotches and wonder if their cocks are as perfect as their tall, sculpted physiques. While it's true that we can't keep both players on the team, my plan today goes beyond analyzing them for their careers as potential New York Nailers—I need to size these men up to see who is going to be a better fuck.
That’s right. I have an ulterior motive. I’m not going to apologize for thinking with my clit. I don't have time for guessing games. Whoever is more athletic on the field will be better in between the sheets … or better at bending me over my marbled kitchen counter, or on top of my desk, or…
Fuck. I need to stay focused.
"I'll be analyzing your performance based on a few drills," I say. "You will be split into two teams—Shirts vs. Skins. Colt and Ethan will be the team captains."
