“It’s Brady. He’s a fucking mess. And I think you know why.”
“Um, maybe?” Oh my God, what does the Coach know? I’m afraid to find out. I slide down my headboard and cover the bedspread over my face.
“Say you’ll talk to him. Help him out.” He pauses. “Help the team.” Coach is a legend in Chicago, a hero of heroes, and we’re coyly talking about Brady’s erectile dysfunction. There’s a good chance I’ll die of embarrassment before this call is over. “The penchant is in reach for Chicago. We have a chance at breaking the curse.”
“I’m not sure,” I stutter in a whisper. This is a hairbrained idea.
“What can I do to sweeten the deal?” Coach asks, like we’re negotiating a player’s contract. “Box seats for the season? Free hotdogs and beer?”
“We’re at the end of the season.”
“Smart girl. I like that. How’s this? Season tickets for you and a friend. All the food and drinks you want, plus playoff games, and, God willing, World Series seats. Just talk to the guy, please?”
“Okay, but there will no phone sex,” I declare, because I have dignity…and I’m a virgin in that department.
A couple guys I’ve met from dating apps have sent me dick pics, but I see those up close and personal all day long, so the appeal is limited and not that impressive. Now, a dick pic of Brady would be in a class all its own. What did he say? “I’m nine inches of fine.” The guy is so modest.
“He’ll call you in five minutes,” Coach says, his tone seeming lighter than when we first started talking. “Work for you?”
Panic sets in. I’m in my bed. My hair’s a rat’s nest of epic portions. Mascara flakes from last night dot my cheeks like freckles. Not to mention, I feel slightly drunk.
“Nothing like FaceTime or anything visual.” Ground rules laid for a crazy plan. I shake my head. People are always calling me smart and sensible, but this is dumb and ridiculous.
“Of course. Anything you want.”
As soon as we hang up, I scramble off my bed, comb through my hair, and brush my teeth. I consider applying some lip gloss, but realize he’s not going to see a thing. What is it about hot, cocky boys that makes girls turn to mush? I return to my bed, nestle under the covers, and wait, glancing sadly at my discarded book and aim-to-please friend.
My phone lights up. It’s him. I take a deep breath and silently tell myself to play it cool. After all, he’s the one chasing me.
“Hello,” I say in a steady voice, one that doesn’t match my racing heart and sweaty hands.
“Cali,” Brady rushes out. “Thanks for taking my call. Hell, I’m going nuts. You’re a doctor. What do you think’s happening to me?”
I have to admit, he sounds desperate and nothing like the cocky guy hunting me down at every turn.
“First off, I can’t give you medical advice since our practice is no longer seeing you as a patient. Second, you didn’t have this problem in the exam room. Are you faking it?”
“Hell no,” he practically shouts. “I would never lie about something like this. Promise.”
“I had to ask. I don’t know if there’s anything I can do for you, Brady.” I could tell him it’s all in his head, but from experience, that doesn’t help.
“But there is,” he declares with an intense passion.
“You’re wrong if you think I’m going to tell you what I’m wearing or listen while you list off what you want to do to me.”
“That’s not going to happen. Coach said I needed to keep things on your terms. And I gotta say, just talking to you right now helps. A guy would have to be blind as a bat to miss that you’re hot as hell. What I like most about you, Cali, is your sass. You don’t take shit from anyone, including me.”
I try not to let the fact that he thinks I’m hot affect me. Yet, I squirm in my bed and feel my face flush. I glance up at the mirror on the opposite wall and see a dopey smile on my face. I look like a girl whose crush just said he liked her. Before the entire Erection Gate, it would’ve been true. Maybe there’s a small part of me, likely my lonely vajayjay, that crushes on him still.
“Thanks, Brady. I think.”
“Talk to me. Like, what are you doing right now…well, besides talking to me?” He chuckles in a sweet, non-cocky way. Maybe he is willing to look at me as a real person, not just a quick fix for what ails him.
“I was reading.” I glance at my book and battery-operated bean machine. What started out as a great day of self-care now seems sad to me. I really wish I had someone real in my bed.
“What’s the book?” Brady asks. Of course.
“An erotic romance. I’m sure you’ve never heard of it.”
“Oh, really?” he says with an abundance of enthusiasm. I’m pretty sure he’s getting the right idea about my day. “Why don’t you read a hot part to me?”
“Like a sex scene?” I bite my lip, considering the option. What would it hurt? I close my eyes and take a centering breath.
“Yeah. I’d like that, but only if you’re okay with it,” Brady says in a husky voice, and my pulse quickens.
“Okay.” My response is weak and unsure. Can I really pull this off? Does it make me slide down Slut Street? I let out a heavy sigh, caving into reading him smut. “Let me put you on speaker phone.”
“Thanks, Cali.” He seems as happy as a kid in a candy shop mixed with a big side of relief.
I open the book and find the page where the scene sex begins, trying not to imagine what Brady will be doing while I read it.
* * *
I stand at Professor Black’s open door. Glancing up from his desk, he motions for me to enter his office. I look down the dark hallway. It’s afterhours and all the other teachers and staff are gone for the evening. We’re alone for the first time, and my mind swirls with the possibilities...
* * *
“Holy shit. He’s her professor. This is gonna be good,” Brady says in a gleeful voice. I imagine him rubbing his hands together…or over something else.
“No interrupting please,” I scold him.
“Gotcha,” he says, and I swear I hear the sound of a zipper running through its teeth. I get a visual of him exposing those glorious nine inches, and shake my head in an attempt to clear my thoughts—as if that’s possible.
* * *
“Are you sure, Professor Black?” I ask, still standing in the threshold.
“Be a good girl and do what I say,” he commands while rising from his desk. He’s so tall, dark, and forbidden. I’ve never wanted anyone like him, but does he want me too? His hooded eyes and heavy breaths tell me he does.
“Does she go into his office?” Brady asks.
Dammit.
* * *
“Hush,” I whisper-yell at him.
“Sorry,” he whispers back. I roll my eyes, wondering if he’s going to interrupt after every sentence. He’ll end up driving me mad.
“One more interruption and I quit reading. Three strikes and you’re out. Got it?”
“Yep,” he quips. “Promise.”
* * *
“Yes, sir,” I reply, no longer caring about the right or wrong of my decision.
“Lock the door,” he instructs while tossing his tweed jacket with suede elbow patches onto a leather chair. He rolls up his sleeves as I reach behind me and turn the lock. As soon as it clicks, a shiver runs over my skin. This is going to happen.
Professor Black steps to me in two long strides, then pulls me into his arms. I meld to his body. Hard lines meet softness. He bends down and ravishes me with a kiss.
“You’re as sweet as I thought,” he mutters into my ear. His lips continue from my jaw to my throat. I lean my head back against the door, allowing him better access to the rest of me.
“More please,” I moan.
* * *
Brady hasn’t said a word, though each inhale and exhale he takes registers in my ear. I picture him with his hand around his penis, stroking it in a fast motion.
* * *
He places his large hands under my behind and lifts me up. I wrap my legs around his waist, feeling his erection pressing against my most secret place.
“May I touch you, Monica?” he asks.