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“Don’t judge me for the language that just came out of my mouth,” I fire back, standing tall as I finally take him in. He’s wearing netted black shorts and a light gray tank top, his hair slicked back with moisture. His tan skin is glistening with sweat, and he smells divine, like a man who overexerts his body for a living—a body I remember being impeccably shredded and hard.
“Why don’t you try warning a person politely before sneaking up on them next time, and maybe you won’t have so many vulgar words spat in your direction?”
He licks his lips as he fights a grin. “My apologies, but you didn’t answer my question.”
“What was your question?” I honestly don’t remember what he asked because I was too busy trying not to pee and shit myself.
He steps closer, leaning in toward my ear and leaving very little space between our bodies. I catch a whiff of him again, but this time I smell soap. I guess what I thought was sweat is actually residue from his shower. The clean spice of his soap and his natural scent fills my nostrils, and suddenly I remember inhaling him during our night together and thinking how I could sniff him all day like a crackhead and it probably still wouldn’t be enough.
“I asked, where is Peter Pan’s favorite place to eat?” he whispers in my ear, his breath tickling my skin and erupting a flurry of goosebumps down my arms and up my neck.
I rear back and stare into his eyes, knowing I’m about to either laugh or shake my head at him. Probably both, if I’m being honest. “I don’t know, Maddox. Where?”
The corner of his lips lift as he gazes into my eyes and says, “Wendy’s.”
“Well, I’m just embarrassed with myself for not getting that one,” I say as I smile and step back from him.
“You should be. That one was easy. But hey, it helped you relax, didn’t it?”
Suddenly, it dawns on me that we’re no longer alone as dozens of men begin to enter the room, forcing me back to the reality of why I’m here.
Creating even more distance between us, I say, “For a moment, until I realized there were probably many witnesses to our little interaction just now.”
“What’s the matter, Penelope? You don’t want to be seen talking to me?” he asks as he circles around me, but I continue to stare forward, smiling in greeting as players and coaching staff walk past, their eyes dancing as they size me up.
“If you want to keep your dick and balls intact, I suggest you find a seat, Maddox, and pretend as if the only way we know each other is on a professional level.”
“And if I don’t?” I turn to find him glaring down at me in challenge.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you...”
“Gentleman, please, take your seats. Miss Klein will begin her presentation in just a few minutes,” Liam speaks into a microphone as he walks over to us with it in hand, pulling it away from his mouth to offer it to me. “Forgot to give this to you earlier, Penelope. Half of these guys have taken one too many hits to the head, so they may be hard of hearing.”
I smile and then intercept the microphone. “Thank you.”
“Maddox, why don’t you go find a seat?” he suggests before he gets pulled in another direction.
Maddox leans in to whisper in my ear. “Just remember, Penelope. If you get too nervous, just picture everyone in the audience naked.” Then he marches off, shaking hands with a few of the men I recognize on the offensive line: Vince Dayton, the center, and Hayden Palomar, who is one of the best rookie running backs in the League.
Maddox takes a seat in the front row next to the other men I just recognized, and then I stand there, counting man after man traipsing into the room, feeling sweat drip down my spine as pressure mounts in my chest.
There are so many men. Professional athlete men. Men who could probably crack a watermelon in half with their legs.
It’s a thing. I’ve seen it. Look it up. You won’t be disappointed.
At that moment, on the verge of throwing up, I decide to try Maddox’s trick. I scour the crowd, trying to picture all of these men naked, even the coaching staff who I can tell don’t partake in the same physical workouts as the players.
But then it hits me...
I’m in a room full of some of the most spectacular male bodies in the world. There are so many dicks in front of me, and normally, I would be more than intrigued by the smorgasbord of options. I’d be trying to catch the outline of them through their shorts or pants, attempting to determine who’s a grower and who’s a shower. And I’d be more than intrigued by who was rocking the turtleneck underneath or who was cut and ready for action without a wardrobe change, if you catch my drift.
But my dick radar must be broken—because there’s only one dick and one man I care to see naked, and it’s one I already have.
As if he knows I’m thinking of him, Maddox smirks in my direction. I catch his reaction just long enough to remind myself that I need to keep it together.
My vagina and brain may be malfunctioning right now, but I’m still Penelope Klein—and it’s time to make sure the Los Angeles Bolts know who they’ll be working with for the next four months.
It’s showtime.
