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I smile at her, although it might be a bit tight. "You're looking beautiful as ever," I say, as if I've ever noticed her aside from the day she and her bestie licked my cock together. She preens.
She honestly is gorgeous. Honey highlights peek through her thick brunette hair and amber brown eyes look up at me beneath thick eyelashes, and her pink lips are parted coyly. Her body is slim and fit, with a nice curve to her ass and tits that make her trim waist look even smaller. She's wearing a pretty yellow wrap dress that makes her skin glow, and impossibly high, pointy heels.
But when I look closer, I can see that her tan is fake, slightly too orange. Her eyelashes are almost comically long and also obviously fake. And her makeup is so caked on, you can't see the girl underneath. Her bra is definitely padded—I don't remember her tits being as big as her friend's.
She's trying too hard, and it reeks of desperation. Still, she's interested and I might need a cover. Plus, it's been a long time since I sank my dick into a warm body. Like it knows what direction my thoughts are headed, my cock gives a small twitch, which does not go unnoticed by… Anya?
Fuck. If I'm going to make this work, I'm going to have to remember her name.
She lifts up on her tiptoes to whisper in my ear. "I think he remembers me."
"How could he forget?" My dick really starts to take notice when I think about all the ways I can torture Coach with this. What will I have to do to earn permission to fuck a pretend girlfriend?
Her hand slowly moves down the front of my body, tracing the outline of my half-hard cock. "Do you want to get out of here?" she asks.
I clear my throat. "I have to get back to the donor brunch, but maybe some other time?"
Too many long hours later, all the guests have left and I'm finally free of rich, old people that live in a cloud of cloying perfume asking me questions about my height and weight—like I am indeed a prized pig. Nicks wasn't kidding.
Speaking of Nicks, I don't know where he's gotten off to. He glowered at me when I returned from the restroom with Aniyah, whose name I am determined to remember. One of the guys at my table corrected me and made a joke that she wouldn't mind if I called her the wrong name as long as she's being stuffed full of cock. Apparently, she's dated a few of the guys on the team. I don't give a fuck, and I'm not about to slut shame anyone, especially considering I've been a bigger slut than most. Before moving here, at least.
I take my time getting ready to leave, visiting the restroom again before I finally give up on waiting for him. I shoot him a quick text before I go, though:
JP: Didn't see you anywhere, and you didn't say otherwise, so I'm heading out.
The message comes up as read, but there are no little telltale dots to tell me he's going to respond. Shrugging, because I'm not going to sit here and wait like the puppy he thinks I am, I head out into the late afternoon. It's too swelteringly hot to be outside, and a big storm is brewing. My lips quirk, thinking about Coach's shoulder.
JP: Storm coming in. How's that shoulder, old man?
The three tiny dots that say he’s responding flash, then disappear twice before his response comes through.
BN: You can't fuck her.
My steps falter as I do a double take.
JP: It's like that, is it?
BN: My game. My rules.
JP: Jealous?
I know I'm baiting him. But he makes it too easy.
The little dots that tell me he's typing start and stop three times before I make it to my room. I pull off the stuffy clothes and put them back on hangers, grabbing a pair of shorts and a t-shirt while I wait for him to decide what to say next. My dick thinks Nicks might be flustered, and we both like that very much.
BN: You can't afford any distractions.
Oh, so that's how he's going to spin this. I think for a moment before sitting back on my small bed, angling the phone just right. I don't give myself more than a second to rethink my actions before I push send on the picture of my hard cock.
JP: This is a distraction.
The dots appear and disappear again before the phone rings, a video call from Bryant Nicks coming through. I answer, expecting him to lay into me about sending shit like that through text again, and then promising me torture on the field tomorrow. Or he might make me do pushups with him on the phone. He's done it before, but not with video.
What I don't expect is a closeup of Nicks' hard cock, his hand stroking the length in a punishing rhythm.
"Fuck," I murmur, my hand squeezing my cock.
"Come on, Jack. We can take care of this distraction together."
