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Chapter1
Charleigh
Maybe I shouldn’t have had sex with the first guy that caught my attention in the hotel bar. Maybe I shouldn't have had that extra shot of courage in the form of tequila and lime. Maybe I shouldn’t have even been in New York City for a job interview that I had no shot of getting in the first place.
But I did… all of it.
I had gotten to New York the afternoon before my interview. It felt like a lifetime waiting but I couldn't risk flying in any later in case there were delays. The job was too important, years in the making.
To pass the time, and lower my anxiety, I ended up at the bar, and that was where I saw him. The epitome of tall, dark, and handsome: he had a five o’clock shadow that made him look sensual and tempting. His eyes were a dark brown but still looked like they were glowing against his dark, tan skin.
He turned his head my way, as if he could sense me staring but I didn't turn away. I smiled, unbothered by the fact that a stranger caught me eyeing him. I didn't expect him to smile back, or to get up from his lonely corner booth and join me at the bar.
He walked with confidence in his tailored suit that bordered on hugging his thighs too tight. I could tell his body was all muscle underneath and the way he flexed as he adjusted his cuffs made me swoon before we had even spoken words to one another.
Taking the stool beside me, he introduced himself as Brett. In a panic, I told him my name was Apple. It was the only thing I could think of since I was in the big Apple. I could have told him the truth, but I got the feeling he didn't tell me the truth, and fair was fair.
Our conversation was casual but honest as I told him I was there for a job interview, and he told me he was there in meetings all day that had put him in a bad mood. Neither of us asked details since we knew it didn't really matter. We weren’t exchanging numbers or locations; we weren't taking the spark we had with us. It was staying in New York where it couldn’t distract us from rising to the top of our careers.
But we decided to take it back to his room. What could it hurt? I was a woman in her middle thirties who supported herself and went after what she wanted. I was strong, independent, and had no problem following a man back to his room if he could fulfill the promises Brett whispered in my ear that night.
“I bet I can make you come in seconds.”
“I wonder what you taste like, Apple.”
“I want to hear you breathing in my ear when I make you come.”
“You’re not going to be able to move after I’m finished with you.”
He made good on every promise, and then some. I had never had a night that dirty, that passionate, and that sexually emotional in my life. Brett made me want to cry with how good he made me feel, making me come more times than I could count and always ready for another round when I was.
Against the windows, in the shower, against the door, in the bed, on the floor. I got hot just thinking about that night.
And I thought about it all the time. Too much. To the point that I wasn't sure anyone would ever live up to the fantasy that Brett and I lived.
Three months later and I was back in Atlanta, inside my small apartment, with my jaw dropped open and regret seeping through me faster than Eminem hitting the second verse inGodzilla. I broke a sweat and started pacing as the TV in my living room blared on and on about how the Atlanta Jets were aiming at another Super Bowl winning season.
None of that bothered me, of course. It would have been too simple to only be worried about my hometown team’s ability to win the Super Bowl. Instead, I was eyeing the man being interviewed.
“Coach,” the interviewer said. “What do you think is the main thing the Jets need to focus on to get back into contention this year?”
“We need to make sure our quarterback is protected, first and foremost. We have the best quarterback in the league, but he is only one man. The line has to step up and give him time to throw the ball. We also need to make sure our receivers and tight ends have their gloves on. Too many balls are slipping through their fingers this preseason.”
“What about the changes the league has made here in Atlanta? Assigning a female referee to work primarily in your home stadium?”
“I think it’s great. It shows a lot of evolution for the league. I know she won't be the first in the league, but we are excited to have the expansion of female referees on the field here in Atlanta. We are thankful we have a facility that can accommodate the growth and changes.”
“Speaking of growth and changes, this is your fourth season as a head coach. You have a few Super Bowls under your belt and have proven that you can succeed. Yet, everyone questions the fact that you are only forty years old. You always have something to prove.”
“Yeah, I do. But I thrive on that pressure. Let them keep second guessing me...”
I zoned out of the interview after that. I didn't care what else he had to say. I’m sure it was all professional and concise. I’m sure his words were everything the world wanted to hear.
Actually, with his suit and tie on, his hair freshly cut, and the way his lips quirked up before answering each question, I was sure the world didn’t really care what he had to say. At least none of the women who were tuning in just to get a look at Coach Levi Peyton.
He looked like he had just stepped out of a magazine ad and no girl should be blamed for having a visceral reaction to him. Not even me.
That one time.
