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Is it asking too much for him to act like a man with manners?
We wait for the elevator in silence.
We ride up to the highest floor in silence.
We enter the junior suite in silence.
I glance around the room which has a king size bed and sitting area but only separated by one piece of furniture. The stark white comforter is tucked in neat, and an abstract horse painting hangs above the bed. The room feels sterile, and Chaz hasn’t done anything to make it feel special.
Is that my job?
He begins to unbutton his shirt, revealing a lean, sculpted torso. My stomach isn’t flipping. What’s wrong with me?
He stalks toward me and says, “Ready?”
I shake my head.
“It’s just sex with your boyfriend. You have had sex before, right?” He laughs rather maniacally.
It dawns on me that we’ve never had the conversation. I always said I wasn’t ready and swatted his hands away or left angry that he’d pressured me to go farther and do more. Honestly, why am I considering this? The farthest we’ve been is second base—a little fondling and fingering.
I cross my hands over my waist. “Why didn’t you pick me up?”
“Because I didn’t fucking want to. I wanted to have a drink and relax before trying to have sex with my fucking girlfriend. Which, by the way, I knew you would flake out. Like you always do. You’re a fucking tease.”
Tears form behind my lids, desperate to push them down, I close my eyes and gather my emotions. It’s a skill I’ve mastered over the years. So many disappointments when you can’t hit a skill, no matter how hard you train, teaches you to push feelings like that away. “I’m leaving. I drove myself so don’t worry about driving.” I swat his hand as he grabs me around the wrist so hard it hurts.
“We’re doing this,” he says through gritted teeth and yanks my black lace dress so hard one of the thin spaghetti straps rips.
I try to wiggle away but he tightens his grip on my shoulder and hip. My eyes widen, my heart races and my body fills with tension. He has been a butthole before but never violent. I snap back, “No, we’re not. You were the one flirting and drinking when I got here. You won’t tell me what’s wrong.”
“You really want to know?” He waits a moment. “You.You’re what’s wrong. I want a girlfriend that’s wants me. Do you know how many girls throw themselves at me? I definitely picked the wrong girl.”
He speaks about us as if we’re a product and not human beings in a relationship. My mouth goes drier than the Sahara Desert.
Chaz leans down and sucks the skin above my breast. With that opening, I push him away with the same strength I use to push off the vault and he staggers backward. “Stop. What is wrong with you?”
“Me? That’s hilarious.” He continues to ramble something about his new teammate while I hold my arms stiff to keep him away. Then in a cool sardonic voice, he says, “You’re just like that fucking transfer… always thinking you can come in and call the shots.”
“Wow. To think I was going give myself to you. But you’re the last person that deserves my body. And grow up, athletes come and go to make a team successful. You’re the captain, and if anyone should be making a new transfer feel comfortable in a Stallion uniform, it’s you. You can’t stand it when someone else has the spotlight,” I hiss.
His hands run through his honey blond hair as he cuts the distance between us in half. “He’s a hotshot—a showoff.”
Pot calling the kettle black. I don’t know this transfer because Chaz has never mentioned him by name. Based on my limited knowledge, he sounds like a replica of Chaz.
He pushes me down on the bed. “We’re doing this now or it’s over.” My eyes widen in disbelief. He crawls on top of me, but I pull my knees into my stomach and press my feet against his chest, pushing him off me and allowing myself time to run to the door.
“Fine. There was a little voice in my head telling me to hold off. I’m so glad I fugging listened.”
Chaz cringed. “God, I hate you. You can’t even say the wordfucking. Little miss goody two shoes. And by the way, those shoes portray you as the slut you are.”
He’s so drunk, he can’t decide if I’m a saint or a sinner. I yank my shoes off and storm out of the hotel room. He follows me down to the lobby where he continues to verbally assault me. I throw the fancy rhinestone shoes at him and he crosses his arms in self-defense. “Gofucksomeone else. The cougar in the bar is more your speed.”
There, I said it. But internally I say, “Fugg him,” as I hand the valet my ticket.
ChapterTwo
Hagan
