Hating the Cocky Jock Read online

  “Meet me outside the facility tonight at ten.”

  “Here?” she asks, surprised.

  “Ten. Out front.”

  I turn and walk away.

  I know Coach is going to be pissed that I’m talking with her, but I don’t care. I can’t seem to give a crap right now.

  All that matters to me is that Brynn is going to show up tonight. I know it, deep down inside. She could probably keep writing fake articles, and I’d let her get away with it.

  But she doesn’t want to do that. She wants to pay for her stories.

  Hell, she wants to just pay, over and over again. She pretends like I’m shocking her, pissing her off, whatever.

  But I can see through that bullshit.

  She’s aching for my cock.

  And I’m not the kind of man to disappoint a lady.

  I join Coach and fall into an interview with ESPN, trying to ignore the excitement pulsing through my body.

  6

  Brynn

  For the second time, I walk down the streets of Fargo, wondering why the hell I’m actually going through with this.

  Sean’s words keep lingering in my mind. He was so crass, so dirty, basically a fucking asshole. I don’t know why he thinks he can talk to me that way and get away with it.

  And yet here I am, heart racing, excitement strumming through my chest, and he’s getting away with it.

  That cocky bastard. He thinks he owns me now, just because we kissed.

  I wasn’t going to show up tonight. I was going to stay strong and ignore him, maybe even write another fake article.

  But just as I was leaving for the day, I changed my mind after overhearing a couple of coworkers in the break room. I was coming out of the bathroom and I guess they didn’t see me.

  “Did you hear about Brynn?” the one guy asked, an intern named Josh.

  “Oh, shit, of course I heard.” The other guy is Nolan, a local sports columnist. “How far do you think she’d go for a story?”

  “A lot further,” the intern said, laughing. “I bet she’d take on the whole team if that got her a scoop.”

  “I bet she’d let Coach Wood watch.”

  Both men laughed. I came out of the bathroom and walked past them, head held high, not meeting their stares.

  Fuck those guys. Fuck those fucking assholes. I want to act like it’s no big deal, but it is a big deal. It’s a huge deal.

  My credibility is all but ruined now. They all think I’m some kind of slut, fucking the players for scoops.

  Before this rumor, they all thought it, but they didn’t say it. Not like this, at least. Now though, now they have ammo for their sexist bullshit.

  That should make me want to stay away from Sean. Instead, it makes me want to see him and get every little detail I can from him. I want to become the best source of information on the Fargo Chainsaws in the country, and those guys can all say whatever the hell they want, but they’d better respect me.

  Maybe it’s stupid, I don’t know. Maybe I have other reasons for showing up tonight. But here I am, walking up to the entrance of the facility at ten at night, and it’s totally empty. It’s a cloudy night so there aren’t any stars, no moon, and it’s just the dim streetlights guiding my way.

  I spot Sean standing over near a side entrance. He’s holding it open and he smiles as I approach.

  “There you are. I feel like I’ve been waiting for hours.”

  “I’m right on time,” I tell him.

  “Come on, let’s go.”

  I hesitate. “Am I allowed in here right now?”

  “Hell, no,” he says, laughing. “But have you ever wanted a tour?”

  “I’ve gotten a tour.”

  “No, a real tour.”

  I hesitate. “Yeah. I have.”

  “Come on in, then.”

  I follow him inside. I know it’s stupid, but I follow him.

  I feel like I’m making a lot of stupid decisions lately. Ever since Sean came storming into my life, it’s like I can’t make the right decisions anymore. Or at least I know what the right decisions are, but that doesn’t matter.

  I’m too busy doing whatever feels good at the time.

  We walk down a short hallway that turns a corner. “Up here is the training room,” he says, pointing as we pass. Most of the lights are off, so the place is actually a little spooky.

  “Is this where you rehab?” I ask him.

  He nods. “I only work with Coach’s wife, Leah.”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ve heard about her.”

  “She’s great. Got me back on the field sooner than anyone predicted.”

  I reach into my bag and turn on my recorder. This time, I don’t bother telling him about it.

  He can sue me if he wants.

  “Do all the players get such personal attention?” I ask.

  “Of course not,” he says, laughing. “I think I’m the only player Leah actually sees anymore.”

  “Really? Wood must love you.”

  “Wood loves winning and he still thinks I’m the one that can make it all happen.”

  “That’s fair. What is it about you that he likes so much?”

  Sean frowns a little and shrugs. “I fit into the system, I guess.”

  “Seems convenient, though.”

  “I guess it is.” He’s quiet as we stop outside another room. “I think it’s more than that, though. I was looking for a home, a starting spot, and he could… mold me. Fit me into his system, instead of having the system fit me, you know? I’ve been good, won games, gotten into the playoffs, but I was never home anywhere until I came here.”

  “Must’ve been hard,” I say.

  He nods. “It was. All that traveling, never getting used to a city, never being on a team for more than a season, two at most. Every guy dreams about being a franchise starter, but the reality isn’t always so clean.”

  “But here you are,” I say.

  “Yep, here I am, in good ol’ Fargo.”

  “It’s not such a bad town.”

  “I love it.”

  I roll my eyes. “Nobody loves Fargo.”

  “Seriously. I love it. I love the small-town vibe, the friendly people. I love the country. It’s a good place.” He takes a deep breath. “I could see settling down here, even after all this is over.”

  I bite my lip. “I’m surprised to hear that.”

  “I bet you are. Everyone assumes that just because I’m famous that I want to live in a big city or something.”

  “Where are you from originally?”

  “Michigan,” he says. “Suburban Michigan, not really country, but not really city. I did the whole city thing a few times, but I’ve always felt better out in places like this.”

  I make a soft noise and watch him carefully. I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

  I’ve been in Fargo all my life. I don’t love it here, but it’s home. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.

  I’m used to people shitting on where I live. They think Fargo is so small, so quaint. They only know us from that movie.

  But it’s a nice place to live with nice people, more or less. And hearing it from Sean means something to me.

  “Anyway, come on,” he says, and we continue our tour.

  We walk down the hallway, and I stick close to him. The place is actually a little spooky after hours. There are almost no lights on, just a few guiding our path along the linoleum floor.

  “That’s the cafeteria, the weight room, the sauna,” he says, rattling off places and pointing at doors. “That’s the coaching staff, support staff, break room.”

  “Break room?”

  “Sure,” he says. “Sometimes people need a break, you know?”

  I poke my head into the break room. There are tables, chairs, and couches along the back wall. There’s a little kitchen setup and a refrigerator buzzing along. It looks like any other break room in any other corporate place.

  I hurry to catch up with him as we contin
ue. I’ve been in this facility a ton of times, but I feel like I’m seeing it with fresh eyes. It’s strange how quiet it is and how easily Sean moves through the space.

  It hits me all over again how this is his domain. Sean is the master of the place, even if the coaches are the ones that make most of the decisions. He’s the man that leads the Chainsaws to victory, he’s the face of the team. The media blames him for losses and praises him for wins.

  It doesn’t matter if none of it is his fault. It all comes down to him at the end of the day.

  “And here’s the locker room.”

  I follow him into the large space. He flips a light on, and the various lockers are suddenly illuminated by top-down glows.

  “What do you think?” he asks.

  I step inside. “I’ve been in here before,” I say.

  He laughs. “Never like this,” he says.

  I have to admit, he’s right. I’ve only been in here for media interviews, so it’s always been jam-packed full of people and equipment. Now though, it’s empty and comfortably lit and surprisingly…

  Inviting.

  Sean grins at me and walks over to his locker. He sits down and stretches his legs.

  I walk over toward him. I run my hand over the bench, look at the clothes and the personal effects in each little cubby.

  So many people would die for this sort of tour of the inner workings of a pro team. It’s not lost on me how important and strange and great all of this is.

  For a second, I forget all about my problems. I forget about the rumor with Sean, I forget about my boss, I forget about my sexist coworkers.

  I’m just a fan. I’m just the girl that fell in love with the spectacle and the show.

  Sean lets me look around in silence. I think he understands how I might be feeling. I mean, he’s in the world, he’s in the show, but he was a fan once. He must know how I feel.

  “It’s really cool,” I say finally.

  He nods a little. “It is,” he agrees. “It’s nice watching you look around.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugs as I walk over toward him. “I’m a little jaded.”

  “Oh, right, I forgot you were this really old vet.”

  He laughs softly. “Yeah, it’s true. I’ve been around the league. This isn’t my first locker room. But it’s nice to see someone really give a shit about it.”

  “I was just thinking, you had to have been a fan once, right?”

  “Of course.”

  I sit down next to him and stretch my legs out. “Do you ever stop?”

  “A little,” he admits. “I mean, I know all these guys. I know the other players. I don’t look up to any of them. I want to beat the shit out of a lot of them, actually.”

  I laugh a little. I feel myself relaxing, my stress slowly slipping away. I feel myself forgetting how much I really hate Sean right now.

  “That’s a little sad,” I say.

  He nods. “Yeah, it is, a little bit.”

  “It’s like you lost something.”

  “Yeah. But I got a lot in return.”

  “Like what?”

  “A career playing a game I love. Plus, people look up to me.”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh, yeah, I forgot you were such a hotshot.”

  “Seriously. Little kids ask me for autographs all the time, I do media things with kids, you know, that sort of stuff. They love when I show up, love when I throw them balls. It’s kind of the best part of the job.”

  I give him a look. “I feel like you’re bullshitting me.”

  “I’m really not.” He grins at me, cocks his head. “I wouldn’t say it around the other guys, you know how they can be. But I love doing the media stuff. It’s the way the kids look up to us that really gets me. I remember being that kid, thinking football players were so amazing.”

  I purse my lips and watch him, not sure whether he’s lying or telling the truth.

  But honestly, sitting here in this dimly lit locker room with him, I can’t help but feel it. There’s a magic right now.

  And it makes me want to believe.

  He moves closer to me. “I think you think I’m an asshole right now.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Fine. I get that, and I probably deserve it.”

  “You do.”

  He sighs. “But you keep acting like you don’t want to be around me, when we both know that’s the real bullshit here.”

  I clench the end of the bench. “I need an interview with you,” I say.

  “You can get it over the phone,” he whispers.

  “You didn’t offer that.”

  “Come on. You’re smarter than that.” He leans closer to me, head cocked. “If you wanted to talk, you’d talk. That’s not why you keep coming out with me.”

  “Why do I keep coming out then, asshole?”

  “Because you want me to fuck you.”

  I sit there, a little stunned, staring into his eyes. He’s grinning at me, but there’s an edge to him, a deadly serious tension.

  “I… what?”

  “You want me to fuck you, Brynn. I don’t know how much more explicit you need me to be.”

  “I thought I said you can’t talk to me that way.”

  “You did?” He shrugs. “I don’t really give a shit. So leave if you don’t like it.”

  For a second, I picture getting up and walking away. I almost do it. My whole body tenses.

  But he moves closer. His body is warm, big, hard. I can see the muscles on his arms flex slightly, his gorgeous eyes staring into mine, and I don’t go anywhere.

  I stay right there.

  “That’s what I thought,” he whispers, grabs my hair in his hand, pulls it tight, and kisses me.

  I practically moan into his lips. I feel like every inch of my body is suddenly releasing a tension I’ve been holding onto for a long, long time.

  I had no clue I’d react this way. I’ve been so angry with him, really hated him, and yet I feel this huge wash of emotion and desire come through me.

  I fall into his kiss. His hand is tight in my hair, his lips are firm against mine, and I can feel myself buzzing with him.

  “Like I said,” he whispers in my ear, kissing my neck. “This is why you’re really here.”

  “Asshole,” I say, but I grab his hair and kiss him again. I push myself against his body and I’m struck by how big and solid he is.

  His hands move over my body, turning toward me. He grabs my hips and rotates them, making me straddle the bench, legs spread. He unbuttons my jeans and before I even realize what’s happening, he drops to his knees.

  “Sean,” I gasp.

  “Don’t worry. Nobody’s here this late.” He tugs them over my ass, exposing my panties. “Black, lacey.” He practically licks his lips.

  I grab his hair, pulling him up. “Wait.”

  “For what?”

  I hesitate. “I don’t know.”

  He kisses me again, softly this time. I kiss him back, tongue in my mouth, shiver down my spine.

  “Relax,” he whispers, and drops back down. “I’ve been picturing this pink little pussy for weeks. I can’t wait anymore.” He pulls my panties down and I’m suddenly in only my top, legs spread wide as he kisses my inner thigh.

  I groan as his mouth finds my pussy. I don’t know how we went from making out to his lips on my clit but I can’t complain. I can’t do much of anything but lean back and let him explore me, every inch of me.

  He lifts one of my legs up onto the bench and grabs my ass, pulling me tighter against his mouth. I gasp and lean back, holding on to steady myself with one hand, the other gripping his hair.

  His tongue feels incredible, and it’s not just his tongue. His whole mouth works my pussy, licking every inch, sucking every inch.

  I writhe my hips, rolling them against his mouth. Pleasure blooms through my whole body, through my skin, driving me wild. I can’t help but let moans escape my lips as he grips my legs tighter, pulling me agai
nst his mouth.

  I don’t know how this is happening, but his mouth is on my wet pussy and I’m practically shuddering with joy. I glance over at the open door and for a second, I swear I can hear someone out in the hall.

  But no, we’re alone, that’s just my mind playing tricks on me. I’m just being paranoid. His tongue laps at my pussy and I grab his hair tighter with one hand, pulling softly.

  He looks up, letting out a gasp, and smirks. “You want to be a little rough?” he asks me.

  I shake my head. “Just getting carried away.”

  He laughs softly. “You’re bright red and moaning. I know what you’re feeling.”

  I bite my lip. “Asshole.”

  He smirks again and goes back down between my legs. The pleasure starts up again, this time with a new intensity.

  The pleasure is mixed with anger and desire and hate and everything, making it confusing, incredible, amazing, fucked up, wrong. This is the least professional thing I’ve ever done in my life, but god damn, professional ethics are kind of out the door when a professional athlete goes down on you.

  Whatever, I can’t let myself get distracted. I feel the pleasure blooming in my chest, in my stomach, pulsing between my legs with every new motion. I grind against him again, needing him more, tighter against my pussy.

  He pushes two fingers inside of me, sliding them in and out. He looks up, meets my eyes. “You taste fucking good,” he says softly.

  I gasp as he pushes his fingers deep. “Careful,” I say.

  “Careful?” He laughs. “I won’t break you, Brynn. Only if you want me to.”

  He sits up on his knees, fingers pumping inside of me. His other hand grabs my hair and he kisses me, pushing his fingers deeper.

  I groan into his kiss. I can feel it, every inch of me on fire. I arch my back and push my chest against him. His fingers slide deep, fucking me in and out, curling up to press against the spot that drives me completely insane.

  “I’ve been thinking about this pussy ever since I first met you,” he whispers in my ear. “Fuck, girl, the way you moan, the way you taste, I don’t think I can stop.”

  “Please don’t,” I beg.

  “That’s right. Ask me again.” His hand gets tighter in my hair.

  “Fuck, don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”