“Sir? No, you call me Rhett, and I know who you are, boy,” he said with a chuckle.
The blonde who had been all over me earlier now seemed more interested in the owner of the team. I was relieved for that but felt panic as he insisted I stay and share a drink with him.
Whitney was going to be pissed.
“What are you drinking, Ace?” Rhett asked. “Patrón?”
“Oh, you know it,” Ace replied, seeming very comfortable around the man. “Shots all around,” he announced as he motioned the blonde waitress back to the table. She seemed irritated that Ace had found not only one woman to replace her, but two. “Right away,” she said with full female sarcasm.
“So, what do you think of the new team?” Rhett asked, directing his question to me. I was dumbfounded, a little star struck, and still nervous that I wasn’t on my way to Whitney.
“It looks like a great bunch of guys,” I replied. “I’m sure we’ll take the league by storm.”
“I like your attitude,” Rhett said as he pulled a chair from the table behind him and pushed it towards the booth. “Have a seat.” It didn’t sound like a suggestion, so I did.
Our shots arrived, and we all cheered before pouring them down our throats. It was smoother that time, not nearly as difficult to swallow.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I knew Whitney was becoming angrier by the minute. “I really need to go,” I told Ace.
“Rhett showing up and asking you to stay is not something you blow off,” Ace said sternly. “Especially for some girl.”
“She just moved here, and she isn’t just some girl.” My tongue felt thick, and the words started to slur from my lips. I was lightheaded, my stomach was churning, and the heat in my throat from the last shot was burning its way through my gut.
“Rookies with relationships never work,” Ace snarled. “One of two things happen. They dump the chick and go on to be amazing players, or they keep the girl and end up pumping gas at Sunoco.”
“You’re full of shit,” I argued. “It’s not like that.”
“Well, then, you need to break her in right, so sit, have another drink with your teammates and the man who signs your paycheck,” Ace insisted, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe I was being so stupid. “She’s gonna have to get used to sharing you.”
I looked around the table, at the expectations staring back at me, and knew he was right. I was here because of Rhett Hamilton. The least I could do was give him a few minutes of my time. Whitney would just need to understand.
Rhett complimented me on my pre-season training. Apparently, he had been watching from the sidelines and through videos sent to him by the coaches. It felt good to hear him praise my efforts and even say he was lucky to have me on his team. Another shot was pushed in front of me, and then another.
It was getting late, but Ace kept insisting that Whitney was pissed already, so why not stay and make it worth it. The more shots I drank, the more sense Ace made.
I watched Ace’s hands, both of them traveling up the girls’ skirts. He pushed open the blonde’s legs, giving me a clear view of her shaved pussy before sliding his finger inside her. “Nice, huh?” he smirked.
Her hips rocked back and forth against his finger, her eyes closed. Her breathing became rapid, and she acted as if she would orgasm right there at the table while we all watched.
“You’ve always been a wild man, Ace.” Rhett laughed, watching the show. The brunette’s lips were suctioned to Ace’s neck as he continued finger fucking the blonde.
This guy acts like a rock star. It’s incredible.
Ace whispered something to the blonde, and she giggled. His finger slid out from between her legs, and she stood from his lap. Her eyes lingered on mine as she moved slowly toward me.
Fuck, no. Oh shit.
Before I could protest, she straddled me, grinding her sex into mine. Her skirt hiked up around her waist, she held onto my shoulders as she leaned back to give me a peek at the pink pussy Ace had just been teasing. Her flesh was smooth and pink, not a trace of hair anywhere. My cock hardened as her ass cheeks ground into my shaft. My eyes lifted from between her legs and focused on the large breasts that almost burst from her top.
Alcohol flowed through my veins, more prevalent than blood, and when she pulled my head down into the softness of her ample cleavage, I didn’t fight her as hard as I should have.
Shit. What the hell am I doing?
Unwinding her arms from around my neck, I lifted my face from her breasts, getting ready to pull her off me.
Slap!
The sharp sting on my cheek surprised the hell out of me. I looked at the blonde, thinking it had to have been delivered by her, but she was staring wide eyed at someone beside me.
As if in slow motion, my head turned, and fuck, fuck, fuck, Whitney was standing there, glaring down at me.
“Whitney,” I murmured, still in shock that she was truly there.
Her eyes were wild, her lips pursed tightly together, and her fists clenched by her sides making me think she was coming in for another swing. I pushed the blonde off my lap, stood and tried to reach for her.
She turned quickly, mumbled something that sounded like “fuck you,” and stormed toward the front door.
CHAPTER THREE
Whitney
My nails dug into my clenched fists, and I could still feel the burn on my palm where it planted hard against Calvin’s cheek. This blonde, whoever she was, obviously didn’t care that I’d arrived. Her skirt was still hiked up showing her pink slit not only to Calvin but to anyone nearby.
What was I thinking? I should have never come here.
I couldn’t think in that moment, and I certainly couldn’t stand to listen to Calvin’s apologies. I pushed my way through the crowded bar and out the front door. “Whitney, wait!” Calvin’s voice called out as I hailed a cab. My arm was gripped, and I spun towards the man who was supposed to love me. The man I’d given up everything for.
“Don’t—” I started, trying to jerk away from his grip.
“Please, Whitney, forgive me!” he pleaded, louder than I would have liked. People passed us by, staring at our openly displayed drama and offering up looks of pity, disgust, and some of amusement.
I just want to go home. Not to Calvin’s, but home to Indiana.
“I told them I had to go. I promise I tried to leave,” he said, his words slurring together as he drooled and spoke at the same time. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair sticking up all over his head.
This was not the boy I fell in love with in high school, not the one who played college baseball and winked at me from the pitcher’s mound, and he was certainly not the one who promised to love me forever.
A yellow cab pulled to the curb, and the driver leaned towards his open passenger window. “You need a ride or what?”