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I’m trying to think of the last time a woman escorted me to the door so we could go have sex, and I’m coming up blank. I’m usually the one propositioning, and while that was still true this time, she seems somehow…different.
I know, I know. It’s the same old cliché about how she’s different and blah blah blah. I’ve known her all of fifteen minutes, so I can’t quite commit to her being the one who changes my life just yet.
But there really is something about her. She’s familiar, as if we met before in some previous lifetime. She looks at me like she knows me, and while that’s not uncommon given my status as a pro football player whose personal life is frequently in the news, I get this sense of something much deeper from her.
She literally linked her arm through mine and walked to the door without even saying goodbye to her friends, which makes me wonder whether this was her plan all along—to come to the Gridiron, which is a known hangout for Aces players, and shoot her shot.
Well, shots have been taken, and it was a fucking swish.
What is it about her? She’s a little younger than the women I usually hook up with, and aside from the familiarity I can’t quite place, she’s got this sweet purity bordering on innocence going for her that makes me want to besmirch and corrupt and…mess her up a little. I want to knock a few hairs out of place. I want to thrust into her and watch her face screw up as she takes pleasure from what I’m giving her.
That’s not my usual modus operandi. I play the field. I’m not one of those different women in every city kind of guys, but I’m also not the kind of guy looking for anything more than a fun time. And if I can have a fun time with Cookie again after tonight, great. If tonight is it for us…then that’s okay, too.
My last relationship was more of a situationship. A friends with benefits sort of deal but, honestly, minus the friends part.
Daphne knew what she was getting into, and she didn’t have the sweetness or the purity Cookie has.
She was a fun one, and while she tried to get me to be the kind of boyfriend she wanted, she understood that my career doesn’t easily lend itself to allowing time for that unless we’re in the offseason. Daphne and I hung out for over a year, but I knew my time was coming to an end in Los Angeles, and I made no secret that I wasn’t interested in taking what we had to another city with me.
She got that, and when trade talk turned serious, we had a pretty serious talk, too.
And that was that.
She might’ve felt the sting, but all I felt was relief.
I thank my father for that shitty attitude.
But now that I see Linc happy, and even Spencer, who just got engaged to some girl none of us have ever met, I’m starting to wonder if that sort of life is in the cards for me, too.
I’m not opposed to it as I stare down the end of my career. It’d be nice to have somebody at home waiting for me, but I have yet to form the sort of connection where I could ever see a woman in my life for more than just a good time.
Maybe it’ll happen for me. Maybe it won’t. In the meantime, I’m down for a hell of a lot of fun with Cookie.
I can’t help but wonder why she gave me her nickname rather than her real name. Maybe it’s Courtney or Catherine or Cadence, but none of those fit her. Maybe she’ll tell me before our time together is up.
Once we’re out front, I call up an Uber to take us back to the Palms, the off-Strip hotel where I’m staying that’s both close to the action and has plenty of action.
I was planning to spend the night in the high-stakes poker room, but spending it with Cookie sounds like a hell of a lot more fun. And more thrilling.
Part of me wonders if she makes a habit of heading home with strangers from a bar, but she’s the one who said she’s not passing up the chance with Grayson Nash, so I’m choosing to think I’m special.
I can’t help but ask the question anyway once we’ve slid into the backseat. She’s grasping my arm again, and I kind of love how it makes me feel—strong and protective over her.
“Have you done this before?” I ask quietly so the conversation is just for us and not our driver.
“Taken an Uber? Yeah, lots of times. You?”
I chuckle. “I meant picking up strangers in a bar.”
“Oh,” she says, and her cheeks turn a little pink like they did when I was hitting her with my best work at the bar. “No. This is a first.”
I lean in close and lower my voice to that level that usually makes women drop their panties for me. “I like being your first.”
She presses her lips together as she glances out the window, and when her eyes return to mine, they’re heated.
I study her for a few beats as her lips become unpressed. They look so soft that I can’t help myself.
I have to know what she tastes like. I have to know how she kisses. If I was the romantic type, I might care that this kiss is taking place in the back of an Uber. But I’m not, and we both know what this is.
