Booty and the Beast, page 12
“Don’t be worried…” He led me to the locker room with a smirk. “I want you enraptured. Beguiled. Utterly consumed day and night by your unquenchable desire for me.”
“Something’s wrong.”
It’d taken a bit of prodding, but I finally made headway. Nick scowled. His voice darkened.
“Drop it.”
“I will if you tell me what the hell is going on.”
“Can’t. Gotta get a shower now.” He rapped on the locker room door. “If you’re that desperate to talk, we can meet me up after practice. Then I can prove to you that the only thing I need are those perfect fucking lips wrapped around my cock.”
The asshole thought he’d leave me in the hall.
Yeah, right.
Like I hadn’t been subjected to the horror that was the Ironfield Rivets’ locker room before.
I slammed the door open, crashing it against the wall. The florescent lights flicked on as Nick tossed his bag into his locker—still bare. Nothing more than his name scrawled on a piece of masking tape over the metal.
“Christ, Charisma. This is a locker room.”
“And I learned long ago not to touch a damned thing in here.” I crossed my arms just to be sure. “Tell me the truth.”
If he wanted privacy, he didn’t ask. He tugged his shirt over his head, those hard-built muscles flexing and stretching.
“The truth is…” He tossed his shirt in the cubby. “…I’d like to shower before starting.”
“I’m not leaving until I get answers.”
“That’s not the way to get answers—that’s how you get a free show.” He tucked a towel under his arm. “If you wanted a private dance, all you had to do was ask.”
“I’m not here to watch you strip.”
“You sure?”
No.
He kicked his pants to the floor and dared me to look.
I did. Wasn’t proud of it, but sometimes a girl needed a bit more than caffeine to wake her up in the morning.
The man didn’t need to dance to show off his body. Every inch of his sculpted, heated flesh was built for admiration. His chest begged for the kiss of my fingernails. His abs craved the heat of my lips.
And lower?
These were terrible thoughts to have in the locker room.
He was gorgeous, frustrating, and he’d somehow wiggled his way into good graces long enough for me to dive in over my head to help him.
Or maybe I was head-over-heels?
He’d taken his toothbrush into the showers with him, lazily brushing his teeth and washing his hair at the same time. I hoped he didn’t use the same paste. I kept my back modestly turned, ignoring the misty warmth that filled the communal shower with hot steam.
“I don’t know why you won’t be honest with me,” I said.
Nick spat out his toothpaste. “I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with where I sleep.”
“You’re sleeping in a car.”
“And you’re fully clothed in a shower. None of this makes sense.” The scent of his bodywash blended with the steam. “I’ll get your back if you get mine.”
“Be serious.”
“Just admit you can’t get enough of me.”
“No.”
“You followed me into the shower.”
I sighed. “I should’ve let you get arrested for vagrancy.”
“At least I can count on you to bust into the cell after me.”
Was it too cruel to flush a toilet and hope he got scalded?
“Maybe someone ought to lock you up,” I said.
“I got a pair of handcuffs if you’re in the mood.”
I grunted. The water puddled around my shoes, but he wasn’t besting me.
“I could think of a million uses for handcuffs that you’d hate,” I said.
Nick laughed. “You underestimate how kinky I am.”
“And you’ve forgotten how much of a dick you were in high school.”
“This is all a punishment?”
Yeah, except I was the one learning a very valuable lesson about whom to trust, when to walk away, and why I should never be tricked by a handsome face.
Or a perfect body.
Or the biggest, thickest…
“We’ve got some time if you want to work out together,” Nick offered. “What’s the Rivet’s policy on staff fraternizing with players?”
Hadn’t stopped the team photographer or neurologist.
I huffed. “I’m only trying to help you.”
“I don’t need help.” Nick chuckled. “But I could use an eighteen-ounce ribeye and a blow job.”
“You’re such a pig. You should be sleeping in a sty, not your truck.”
“And you should be in your office, not sneaking a bite of the bacon.”
“Ass.”
“Get a good look while you can. You’ll have to go a whole day’s practice without me. Think you can manage?”
The steam would frizz my hair, but the man would grate my nerves.
“The sooner you’re cut, the better,” I said.
“And the sooner you give into your desires, the happier we’ll both be, princess.” Nick doused himself in soap suds. “Repeat after me…Yes, Nick. Harder, Nick. I can’t take much more, Nick. Your cock is too big, Nick.”
The locker room door clattered against the wall. A voice called over the showers.
“That’s more than I needed to know about you, Nick.”
Great. Just what this man’s ego needed—a bigger audience.
Jack Carson dropped his bags at his locker but sauntered toward the showers with a cup of coffee in one hand, a football in the other, and a baby’s spit-up rag on his shoulder. Hated to tell him, but he should’ve put the towel on the other side of his shirt.
“Jesus, Charisma…” Jack shoo’ed me away with his towel. “You’re relentless, you know that? Leave the guy alone. He’s only been here for four goddamned days. Let him learn the playbook before you start shoving supplements and vitamins down his throat.”
Nick ducked under the water. “You got it wrong. I’m the one trying to get down her throat.”
“Oh, Walk-On. Very bad idea.” Jack warded me away by making a cross with his fingers. “This girl is insane.”
“Hey.” I poked the multi-million dollar slab of beef with an insulted finger. “Careful, Playmaker, or I’ll have you on an all-liquid diet quicker than you can say Vitamin B12.”
Jack must’ve bargained the devil for his dimples, but I knew better than to let the quarterback charm me. At least he behaved himself in my presence.
“You sure you want this one, Nick?” Jack asked. “For two years, Charisma chased me around the stadium, trying to force-feed me concord grapes because they had some sort of anti-inflammatory properties. I ate so many of the damned things I was shitting a Smucker’s factory for weeks.”
“And where is the gratitude?” I sighed. “It was only a couple years ago that you were chasing me across this whole damn complex, begging for a baby.”
The shampoo slipped from Nick’s hands.
He spun around. “You did what?”
Jack calmed him down. “Not what you think, Walk-On. I needed help to improve me and Leah’s chances of getting pregnant. Charisma was kind enough to give us an ashwagandha root to try.”
“And once he realized he was supposed to powder it and not…” I made an uncomfortable motion miming one of Jack’s wilder nights. “It improved his…”
“Swimmers,” Jack said.
“And look at you now.” I awaited the praise. “A proud daddy of four.”
“Should’ve warned me to limit how much I took…” Jack pulled the spit-rag off his shoulder and tugged a pacifier from his pocket. “Shit’s potent. Gave me triplets.”
“You a nutritionist or a witchdoctor, Charisma?” Nick asked.
“I work miracles,” I said.
Jack snorted. “Yeah. Except you started spreading miracles all around the team. Rest of the guys started taking shots of the powder too…with predictable results.”
And so far I’d skirted by unscathed. No demands for child support. Yet.
“Just watch whatever you drink around here,” Jack said. “After the powder got to the locker room, everyone on the team started popping out kids—married or not.”
“Told you it would work,” I said.
“Yeah. Too bad you didn’t tell Lachlan or Cole or—”
“Nothing bad about babies.”
Jack jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Nothing private about this shower either. Spare your virgin eyes, Charisma.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Like all of Ironfield hasn’t seen what you’ve got to offer.”
Jack held out his arms. “Hey, I’ve been on my best behavior lately.”
Oh, really? “Didn’t the media just catch you having sex in your car last week?”
Nick gave him a thumbs up. Jack didn’t deny it. He’d never been ashamed once in his life, even when it came to his more scandalous accolades. Still, he defended his honor.
“I was caught with my wife,” Jack said. “That’s different.”
“Both of you were buck naked in your Corvette.”
“Just some innocent fun…” Jack had a practiced, fuck-the-haters grin that Leah must’ve loved. “Christ, I have a three-year-old son and six-month-old triplets. Leah wanted a date night, and Daddy got a new vasectomy.”
I snickered. “From what I heard…you didn’t need a vasectomy the way you were doing it.”
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”
Nick slammed a hand against the shower and turned the water off. “That’s what I’ve been telling her. Save your breath, Jack. She’s too damned stubborn to put out.”
I turned as Nick wrapped a towel over his waist, gathered his supplies, and booted me toward the lockers.
“Let the man shower,” Nick said. “Hard enough to get you in bed without having to compete with Jack-fucking-Carson.”
Jack tossed his shirt off and headed into the water. “Watch out for her, Walk-On. She’s trouble.”
Nick winked at me. “And I can’t wait to get into trouble.”
“You have more of a chance scoring in a game than with me…” I followed him to the lockers. “And that’s pretty slim.”
I blocked his path with an outstretched arm. Nick grumbled and dropped the towel. I averted my gaze, but that was all the opportunity he needed. He hauled me around the waist, carried me away from his bags, and set me on the bench behind him.
The man was all muscle.
Wet, slick, and just begging for a good smack.
So, I spanked him across the ass.
Figured he’d like it.
“Christ, had I known it was this easy to get naked around you, I’d have approached you in your shower,” he said. “Time’s up, Charisma. I’ve gotta get to work.”
Nick grabbed a pair of sweatpants and tossed them over his damp legs. The material clung to his form and did an excellent job at framing everything they’d attempted to hide.
He made it increasingly difficult to be angry with him, especially as he stood before me, bare-chest and mouth-watering, practically begging me to take a bite.
He’d either be all gristle…or the most decadent, delicious, and deviant taste of pure sin.
His expression hardened. “You’ve got ten seconds to get the hell out of my way.”
I planted my tush on the bench. “All you’ve gotta do is tell me the truth. Are you in trouble?”
“You’re gonna be.”
“What’s going on, Nick?”
I flinched as his bag slammed into the ground with a hard thunk. His body shifted—tensed and nearly shaking. Pissed.
I’d made a mistake.
Didn’t scare me. He’d made worse.
“Fine…” His voice threaded with a rasped threat. “You want to know what’s going on? Why I’ve been kicking my own ass? Why I chased after you so hard? Why I’m sleeping in the parking lot?”
Pure fury poisoned his words.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear them anymore.
Wasn’t sure he’d ever admit them to anyone else.
“Yes,” I whispered, though he’d never hear it over the roar of the showers. “Are you okay?”
He didn’t bother with a shirt. Didn’t even look at me.
“I had nothing after college,” he said. “No prospects. No jobs. No interviews. No teams offering me even a free-agency contract. I entered the draft and got nowhere. I sent out films. No one called. I had to do something. Anything. I wasn’t letting this dream die.”
“What were your options?”
He snorted. “I had none. So, I got three credit cards, maxed them all out, and bought a car. Then I drove across the entire goddamned country—team to team—looking for any organization who would give me five fucking minutes to show them some film, to prove how good I am on the field.”
I swallowed. “What did they say?”
“What do you think?”
My stomach pitted. “You maxed three credit cards?”
He didn’t answer. “I went to all thirty-two teams in the league. Drove coast-to-coast just to get doors slammed in my face. And when I’d exhausted those options—I went to Canada.”
Jesus. “But they didn’t want you.”
“Never gave me a fucking chance.” He kicked the bag from his path. “By that point I started running out of money. Didn’t stop me. I kept trying. Heard rumors of opportunities. Talked with coaches. Spent three months pissing around Canada before I came back home—debt to my balls, no place to live, and no prospects.”
“Your…family?”
His laughed turned cold. “Charisma, you remember my family. Mom ran out after she found out Dad like the whiskey better. I never had a family. Never had anyone rooting for me in the high school bleachers. My dad couldn’t keep a roof over his own head, let alone help me.” His voice strained. “Hell, you were the only kid at school who never fucked with me about it. Everyone else got a good laugh at the hand-me-down pants with the threadbare holes. Free school lunches. Walking home three miles every day because Dad couldn’t drive after the last DUI.”
And how had he repaid me for my kindness?
I shrugged. “Why didn’t you give up?”
He stared at me as if the thought had never once occurred to him, a look so dark, fierce, and hardened that I wondered if he even realized that he still teetered on the brink of absolute ruin.
“Why would I give up?” he asked. “I don’t give up. I’ll never give up.”
“What did you do after Canada?”
“I went to the arena league.”
Couldn’t believe he’d admit it in the locker room. The arena league hardly even paid a salary, and there wasn’t a Rivet on the team who’d even respect a man who played the game.
But Nick shook his head. “They didn’t want me either. I tried all the teams. Halfway across the country, I ran out of money. Sold the car—recouped only a fraction of the value. That’s why I’m driving the piece of shit truck out there. Figured it wouldn’t matter as long as I made one team. I could build a reputation. Get on some films. Prove myself.”
I sucked in a breath. “But…?”
“Not a goddamned one would take me.”
My heart broke for him. “So…what did you do?”
“Flag football.” He waited for me to laugh. I didn’t, but he simply shrugged. “Go ahead. You can say it.”
“Flag football?”
“I needed to do something. Anything. It kept me sharp. Had me working foot fundamentals and improving my speed. When a man’s gotta work, he’ll take whatever he can get—no matter the implications. I won’t be shamed for playing whatever game I could find.”
And I had no intention of mocking him. “It’s admirable.”
“It’s not. But it doesn’t matter. I did my job, got noticed, and networked. If I hadn’t been playing flag football, I wouldn’t have heard about the try-out. That’s why I came to you. That’s why I followed you. Stalked you. Did whatever the fuck I could to get close enough to you so you’d agree to help me.” He held his arms out. “Because I had nothing else. No home. No credit. No money. No jobs. Nothing.”
I swallowed. “I can’t believe you never gave up.”
“A boy doesn’t become a man because he gets older. Being a man means taking chances, figuring out what you want, and refusing to quit, no matter the broken bones, shattered hearts, or last breaths. Nothing else matters in life except achieving those goals. Nothing.”
I hadn’t doubted him before. I sure as hell knew better than to question him now.
“What would’ve happened if you didn’t make it through try-outs?” I asked.
He answered immediately. “It was never an option.”
“But—”
“I don’t believe in luck. I believe in work. And the harder something is to obtain, the more it’s worth.” He tapped his chest. “I’ve never had anything handed to me in this life. I’ve worked and scraped and fought for every goddamned inch I’ve stolen from this world, and I’m not about to stop now. If that means sleeping in my truck every fucking day through training camp—fine. If that means starting to work at six in the morning every day—so be it. I’ll do it. I’ll prove to this organization that I belong here—because there is no other option for me. This is it. This is everything I’ve ever wanted.”
I stood as he stepped close, his chest radiating a fierce heat.
I should’ve walked away.
Should’ve stayed quiet and never pressed the man for questions. Never tempted the once-dormant beast that lurked behind his diamond smile.
I bit my lip. “You’re taking a big risk…”
“Life is one big risk. At least I’m brave enough to try.”
“But if you lose this…you lose it all. No money. No home.”
“Go ahead and gloat.”
The implication sliced through me. “Gloat?”
He smirked. “Christ knows you deserve the chance. If I were in your shoes, I’d be fucking celebrating.”
“Why would I celebrate when you could lose everything?”
“Because I made your life a living hell in high school.” Nick shrugged. “I ruined your reputation. Humiliated you. Destroyed you. You hate me. This is probably the exact scenario you’ve always dreamed out—Nick Hart, down on his luck, practically on his knees, clawing through the mud just to get kicked in the teeth. Take all the enjoyment you can out of this. But realize—a man’s pride only shatters when he finally gives up…and I don’t know how to surrender.”
