My mother had done that.
She’d believed in me since the first day I’d told her that I was going to be a football player when I grew up. She supported me and showed up for me.
That was what people should be asking about.
“How does this work? We meet once a day? You torture me in a workout and then I get to ask three questions?”
“Correct.”
“Okay. What time tomorrow?” she asked, reaching up to tighten the elastic on her ponytail. Her face was free of makeup, and her skin shimmered in the sunlight pouring through the kitchen windows. Her shirt rose the slightest bit, a sliver of her toned stomach peeked out, and my dick hardened again. I was going to have to figure something out about that situation because my body had a physical reaction to this woman, which was not common for me.
But Brinkley Reynolds’ presence had me a little off my game.
“Tomorrow, we’re going to run and swim. So, meet me here, and bring your swimsuit. We’ll do a run and then swim a mile, and then you can ask me three more questions.”
“You’re just planning to exhaust me so I can’t ask much, aren’t you?”
“Nah. You’ll be fine.”
“Damn right.”
“Good to know. Let’s go. I’ll give you a ride home. Plan to be here at 7:00 a.m. tomorrow. Get your questions ready. You didn’t find anything out today that you didn’t already know.” I smirked.
“We didn’t know your grandfather bought you your first football,” she said as she glared at me. “I’m pacing myself, Captain. You’ve limited my normal form of questioning, so forgive me if it takes me a minute to get on board with your weird freaking interview process.”
I chuckled as I grabbed my keys, and we walked outside before she slipped into the passenger seat. She was quiet in the car, and I figured she was tired. When I pulled up in front of her house, I put the car in park. “Get some rest, sweetheart. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day.”
“I’ll probably go do another workout today. That was nothing for me.” She shrugged as I stepped out of the car and came around to her side, but she was already getting out. “You don’t need to open my door. I’m quite capable.”
I shrugged. “It’s a habit. My mother is a stickler for that shit.”
“Like I said… you’re some sort of rude gentleman.”
“I guess I am. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You will.” She held her hand up, and this time, she didn’t flip me off. She waved. And I stood there like some sort of creeper, watching her move up the walkway to her door.
I quickly pulled my eyes from staring at her ass and got back in my car.
I drove back home and headed straight for the shower.
My head fell against the marble wall, and I gripped my dick.
I needed some relief.
I closed my eyes as I slid my hand up and down my engorged shaft. Hot water pelted my back, and thoughts of Brinkley Reynolds writhing beneath me flooded my thoughts.
My lips gliding down her silky skin.
Over the column of her narrow neck.
Licking and sucking.
My hands covering those perfect tits before I lift her up, her legs wrapping around my waist.
I imagined driving into her over and over and her head falling back as she rode my cock.
And I went right over the edge.
We may not be able to stand one another for long, but there was no doubt we’d fuck like rock stars.
So, I’d allow myself this fantasy in my head.
As long as I didn’t act on it in real life.
“Did you give her my phone number?” I hissed at Brinkley after we’d gotten back to my kitchen after our run.
We’d worked out together every day for the last week.
We’d run. We’d swum. We’d eaten a few meals back at my house together because we’d been starving after our workouts.
I didn’t mind hanging out with her, even if she found reasons to argue with me over the smallest things.
I’d rejected a ton of her questions this week, and she was still angry about it.
She was fucking funny and witty, and I was still pissed at how fucking good she looked in a bikini.
“I didn’t give Brandy your phone number, you big baby. You order dinner from Reynolds’ all the time, and you give your phone number when you call in.” She laughed.
“Oh, I’m a big baby? She’s texted me five hundred fucking times about this surprise. I said I’d show up. Now she’s got me on a time schedule, and she wants me to stay for a while after. I thought I was tossing a ball, watching the dude kick one or two field goals, and getting the fuck out of there.”
She smiled and shook her head. “He idolizes you. You’ll be making his birthday really special.”
My phone dinged, and I handed it to her. “This is what I’m dealing with.”
She took it from me and looked down to read the texts. “Um, wow. She has texted you a lot. She wants you to make a poster for him?”
I groaned. “How the fuck did I get myself into this? I don’t even go to birthday parties for my close friends that often. Now I’m practically hosting this fucking birthday party.”
“Okay, you’re being a little dramatic. It’s not that big of a deal. I’ll help you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’ll make the poster if you give me four questions today.”
I studied the little diva. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?”
“Nope. That’s the deal. Or we can just do the usual three, and you’re on your own.”
“Fine. Four questions. You make the poster, and you have to go with me tonight. I don’t want to be a third wheel in some high school lovefest.”
“How do you know I don’t have plans tonight?”
“Do you? If so, I guess if you want the extra question, you’ll cancel your plans.” I wanted to know if she had plans. I assumed she didn’t have a boyfriend because she’d never mentioned one. But I suddenly needed to know. “Unless your boyfriend will have a problem with that.”
She raised a brow and chuckled. “Very sly. It’s a good thing you’re a football player and not a reporter. That was not smooth. If you want to ask me something, you can just ask. Unlike you, I don’t have a ton of rules.”
“Well, you’re pretty good at avoiding the question because I believe I already asked it, and you still haven’t answered. Do you have plans tonight, and will your boyfriend mind if you cancel them?” I crossed my arms over my chest, anxious for her to answer the damn question.
“I don’t have a boyfriend, and I don’t have plans.”
Relief flooded, which made no sense at all. I wasn’t trying to date the woman interviewing me, even if I was getting off to thoughts of her in the shower every day. That was because I was a horny dude, nothing more. We were spending a lot of time together, and she was attractive.
End of story.
“Why the hell did you make this so difficult, then?”
“Because I could.” She shrugged. “You certainly haven’t made my life easy.”
“Why? Because you’ve vomited twice in the last week from a tough workout?”