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A faint smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “A while back, a client of mine had the same problem as you.” I raise an eyebrow. “Okay, not exactly the same problems, but he needed to blow off some steam, and he told me about this girl.”
“Is she a professional? Because I can’t have that shit on record. The press would eat it up if they found out I paid—”
“Not a professional, per se. There is no money exchanged.”
My lips form a thin line before my mouth drops open in utter confusion. “I’m not following.”
“This is her thing. She enjoys helping players loosen up. She’s like a good luck charm. From what I hear from my client, he’s never lost after he’s seen her.”
“So, what you’re saying is she’s a puck bunny? That sounds like the beginning of a horror story.”
“She’s solid,” he says so nonchalantly, you’d think we were talking about a dog. “She just likes to be useful, if you catch my drift.”
I lean forward in my seat and lift my brow at him. “And what does she get out of it?”
“A mutually beneficial fuck. How the hell should I know? But she’s discreet. And we can have her sign an NDA.” He lifts one shoulder and widens his eyes. “It’s a win-win. She’s kinky as all fuck too. She’ll let you do anything to her.”
I don’t respond. Instead, I mull over what he’s said. Normally, I’m able to handle my stress better, but right now, it’s like pushing a large boulder up a hill. Nearly impossible.
“I know it might sound unconventional,” Mike continues, his tone softening. “But sometimes, that’s the only answer. Your mental state is all I care about right now. This is your shot at the Cup. Maybe this distraction is what you need to get your head back in the game.”
“It sounds dirty.”
“It sounds fun.” He grins. “This girl understands the pressures you’re facing, and if it doesn’t work, where’s the harm?”
The idea of sex holds merit. Most of my teammates claim they require sex before every game to help them loosen up. The difference is that they’re all matched up with girls they care about, or they’re the kind of guys who don’t give two fucks about what’s written about them.
It’s been far too long since I’ve been with anyone.
With how closed off I am, getting laid is a luxury I often have to go without. I can’t risk my personal life getting out. It’s not just about sex. Obviously, I don’t want that leaked, but it’s my past too. My family. My quirks…
I can still hear my mother’s voice. The things she used to say to me.
You ruined my life.
You’re useless.
You can’t get anything right.
Stop being so weird. I would have loved you if you were normal.
That one hurt the most.
No. I can’t let anyone in. Walls are just bricks of memories laid by the people who’ve hurt you.
The solution?
Keep everyone at arm’s length. Letting someone in is a recipe for disaster.
One I can see coming a mile away and need to stop before the collision does irreparable damage.
“I see those cogs turning, and I know you think it’s a bad idea. But I’m telling you, you’re wrong. This is a solid plan. A woman who knows what she’s getting into. I’ll repeat…is discreet. And best of all? Kinky, yet clean.”
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am refusing to see reason. I can temporarily escape the relentless pressure on my shoulders and not have to worry that anyone will find out more about me than I want them to. This could work.
Perhaps it can even be the solution I need to find my focus again.
I sigh, my exhaustion evident. “You know what? Why the fuck not?”
