Rushed: A Second Chance Sports Romance (8 page)

I
'm sitting
at my desk on Tuesday afternoon, still not sure of what I'm going to tell Tyler this afternoon when he gets out of his early meetings. The training camp is going well it seems, at least the coaches are all looking pleased so far. Right now the offensive players, including Tyler, are lifting at while the defensive players are doing their tape reviews. After that, the two groups will switch places and Tyler's going to have tape sessions for three hours before afternoon practice.

None of that helps me though as I sit at my desk, racking my brain. I can't make a decision — should we go to another restaurant? Should I even go at all?

Going out with him again can be dangerous, oh so wonderfully, deliciously dangerous. I think it's the danger that part of me likes — the part of me that I’ve always suppressed.

The door to the main office opens, and in walks Francine Walker, the head cheerleader for the Fighter girls. She's perky and bubbly, all five foot two of her, but she's actually really nice, and one of the few members of the staff that I can consider a friend. She's always patient with me, and she spent six months looking patiently past my shyness before I was able to open up and feel comfortable with her.

"Hey, April, how's life?"

"I'm okay, Frannie," I reply, tapping at my desk. "Actually, no, I could use your help."

Francine, who's got a series of
boyfriends
as long as Tyler's supposed accomplishments, stops and gives me her full attention. She's the sort of girl that just dates a guy for a few weeks, and moves on. I don't even think she's slept with most of the men she's dated, just had some fun and then grew bored. But, like I said, she knows how to date and have fun. More importantly, she likes me, and I like her.

"What's up, April? Oh, by the way, is Mr. Larroquette in?"

I shake my head. "He's got a business meeting downtown until two. As for help . . . well, I've got a date tonight."

Francine bounces in excitement. "Awesome! Who with?"

“You see, that's the problem," I say. "It's . . . Tyler."

"Tyler Paulson?" Francine asks, shocked. "Whoo-wee, you knocked it out of the park this time, honey! That man is grade A, prime number one hunk!"

“We kind of had a dinner date already, two nights ago," I continue before my nerves get the better of me, or before Francine can ask me any more questions. She doesn't seem to have a filter between her brain and her mouth when she gets excited, both in her telling and her asking. "And he asked me out again, but I don't really know where to go or what to do. I mean, it's a Wednesday night, and he's in training camp. Next Saturday the team has its first game, so it's not like he's got a lot of spare time and energy either."

"April, let me give you a hint . . . a man like Tyler always has the spare energy," Francine says with a chuckle. "But that's cool. What's he like?"

"He's big into the outdoors and water," I say from memory, then smile. "Or at least, he used to be."

"You know him from before?" Francine asks, leaning in close. "Come on, spill it."

"He and I met a long time ago,” I answer quietly. "But you can't tell, okay? Only the GM knows, and Tyler . . . I don’t think he remembers me at all."

"He left an impression on you it seems,” Francine says with a knowing smile. “You've been more focused, trying harder . . . I think I've even seen you come out of that shell you wrap yourself in all the time. At least a little bit. But your question . . . well, where's he live?"

"Just down the street. I told him he might want the separation from the team, but he loves the views of the lake from there, and it's cheaper than the other places he looked at. He wants to save his money."

Francine grins and spreads her hands. "Then it's easy — go for a walk. The weather's nice, the lake looks pretty come sunset, and it's a nice relaxing time. Best of all, you can choose, it can be just friendly . . . or more intimate. You'll have control in that, at least."

I think about it, and the more I do, the more it sounds great. "Okay. I think I'll do that. Thanks for the advice, Frannie."

Francine smiles, and reaches into her purse, taking out something that she slips into my hand. "And just in case. Be careful, April. I'll be back later to check on Mr. L. He wanted to talk about the new girls on the squad, and how their uniform fittings are coming along, and some of the team promotional stuff. I'll see you later."

It isn't until after Francine leaves that I open my hand, and have to laugh. It's the perfect example of her personality, caring and blunt at the same time. Her sense of humor is also there though, as I see the condom she slipped me is not only ribbed, but supposedly strawberry flavored. I laugh quietly and tuck it in my backpack for later, even though I doubt that's going to happen, but a girl can certainly fantasize.

* * *

"
A
walk
?"

I shrug, nodding. "Well, it's a nice day, the lake looks pretty, and I thought you'd like something relaxing, that's all. No need for you to get all dressed up and worn out after practice. Not for a girl like me."

Tyler, who’s starting to smile, stops, his smile reversing before he takes a deep breath and comes forward taking my hand. “You’re exactly the sort of girl that I should get dressed up for. But if you want to just take a walk, we can do that."

I take a deep breath, and I'm lost in Tyler's crystal blue eyes, which twinkle in the lights that are starting to come on. It's nearly eight o'clock, and in the twilight, Tyler looks amazing, even though he's wearing a Fighters t-shirt and just some jeans. "It's been a long day for us both, and the idea of getting dressed up for dinner . . . just isn't that appealing. We can grab some food on the way."

"Mmm, okay. Well, maybe there's a Shawarma truck or something like that around. I read somewhere that Toronto's getting a lot of good Middle Eastern food trucks and little restaurants recently."

"Well, we can see what we find. To be honest, I haven't kept my eyes open on the drives from your apartment to here."

"You should. It cuts down on traffic accidents," Tyler jokes, and even if it's corny, I laugh anyway. "Okay. Let's go."

I go to swing my backpack over my shoulder, but Tyler stops me. "What sort of gentleman would I be to walk along with just jeans while you're carrying a big heavy bag?"

"It's not that big, just my things and my laptop," I protest. "Besides, it's pink."

"That's no threat to my manhood," Tyler chuckles, taking my backpack and swinging it over his shoulder. He reaches out with his hand, and takes mine again, and we start walking, casually and easily. We don't take the direct path along the streets, but instead take the walking path next to the lake, which really isn't all that long still, but does have nicer views. "So how was work today?"

“Good," I reply, thinking how normal and comfortable this feels. I haven't had this sort of nearly instant connection with a guy ever, and it's great. "Since you seem to be coming along well, Mr. Larroquette is happy with my work. The rest of my duties are pretty catch as catch can, so today they were pretty light. What about you, how was practice?"

"Good," Tyler says with enthusiasm. "I'm getting the hang of it now. And . . . not a single football to the crotch."

"That’s an improvement," I say with a laugh, then I look over with a little smirk. "I watched part of practice actually."

"I know," Tyler said easily. "I saw you in the stands. What did you think of it?"

“Well, twenty-four people out there, and it seems like you're just there in the middle of chaos, calm and collected. How do you read it all?"

"When I figure that part out, I'll be able to retire and make a million dollars a year coaching," Tyler says with a chuckle. "Nah, I'll never be a good coach. I mean, I study the game, but that question you just asked . . . I can't explain it. It's something I guess that comes with doing this for seventeen years."

"That's a long time," I admit, then shake my head. "I wonder if I'll ever do anything for that long."

"Oh, there has to be something that you like doing," Tyler says. "Hobbies, something. What do you like to do in your spare time?"

"I'm pretty much a homebody," I admit. "I like to cook, and well, long ago I liked to play basketball. But nowadays, I mostly ride my bike or do some yoga to try and stay in shape." Tyler gives me an appreciative look, and I shrug.

“You’re doing a good job of it,” Tyler says, and we move closer, our arms intertwining. We walk along the path a little longer, until Tyler's stomach unexpectedly grumbles. “Guess I’m hungry.”

I laugh and pat his belly, which is hard and muscular under my hand. "I think we can find something. I see a food truck up ahead."

The food truck turns out to be Korean, and to help cut the spiciness of our spicy Galba sandwiches, they put a ton of mayo and blue cheese dressing on top. We get four, three for Tyler and one for me, and find a spot on the side of the path where there's a little bit of grass and sit down.

"Cheers," Tyler says, raising his sandwich. He takes a bite, and before I know it, he's polished off his first sandwich in three big bites. "Guess I was hungrier than I thought."

"I see that," I reply, chomping down on my sandwich. We're quiet for a few minutes while we eat, and when we're done, I look over at Tyler, who's giving me an amused look. "What?"

"You still have some mayo on your face," he says, reaching out with a thumb. His thumb brushes over my cheek before touching my lips, and for some reason I don't know, I open up, kissing the strong digit. He pulls his hand back, and I'm worried for a moment before he leans in, and unlike Sunday night, I don't stop him, our lips meeting. He's everything that I dreamed of and more, so strong, with soft, tender lips that send shivers down my back and arms.

"That . . . that was amazing,” I manage, looking into his eyes. "

He smiles, and we continue, hand in hand again as we reach his apartment building. Without a pause Tyler leads me to the front door and to the elevator, where he pulls me to him when the doors close. His lips find mine again, and suddenly we're hot, passionate, our bodies needing to feel each other and feel the closeness of another person. He pushes me against the wall of the elevator, his fiery, searing kisses burning on my neck.

The elevator stops, and we pause only long enough for him to pick me up and carry me to the door of his apartment. He fumbles with his keys, trying to keep kissing me and get his door open, until I can't stand it any longer. "Either set me down or do me right here in the hallway," I growl, pushing myself off enough that I can at least put my feet down. "I don't care which."

Tyler's answering smirk lights an even deeper fire within me. He knows what he’s doing, but he's just as caught up as I am, and he fumbles his keys out, shoving them in the door lock and getting the door open in what perhaps isn't the smoothest, but maybe the most arousing door opening I could imagine. There's real desire in his movements, not just the practiced suaveness of a seducing pro. Turning back to me with the door open, I wait for him to get his keys out before I grab his hand and pull him into the apartment, not even waiting for the bedroom but instead falling onto the sofa. Tyler twists in the air so that I'm not crushed underneath him, but instead land on my side next to him, both of us pulling at each other's clothes. His hands are suddenly under my shirt, pushing under my bra and kneading, pawing at my breasts. White hot fire shoots from my nipples through my body as we kiss deeper, and my hand reaches down to squeeze his rock hard, muscular ass.

I reach for the waistband of my pants, pushing them down with my panties. I pull my knees up, not caring that I'm caught up in a wave of lust, that I just want Tyler. He gets off the couch and pushes his pants down, and I stop, my hands frozen with my pants near my knees, his cock jutting out.

Did I think he was perfect before? That was soft. What's now in front of me is massive, thick, and even more perfect. I shiver, and when he takes out a condom from his wallet and rolls it on, I can't help but whimper.

"Wait here," Tyler says, disappearing into the back where his bathroom is, and coming back a moment later with a tube of lube. He smears it on his cock, pumping the thick shaft with his hand, looking down at me with tenderness and power in his eyes. "You haven't gotten your pants all the way off."

His words startle me, and I realize I'm still frozen, and I shove my pants the rest of the way down my legs and to the side. Tyler's right there, pushing me back onto the couch, his lips finding mine again and reassuring me, telling me it's not going to hurt, that's it's going to . . .

He slips inside, and my eyes widen open. He's stretching me, slowly in and out, but never is there any pain, just deliciousness…. fullness. I've never had a lover enter me so perfectly, and I feel him slide deep, deeper . . . oh God. I'm full, but he's still got more.

"Tyler, oh fuck . . ."

He slips out, then in again, faster and harder. Tyler's pinning me to the couch, his blue eyes burning with intensity as he looks into mine, and he smiles, knowing how good it feels. He knows, and he's holding himself back, wanting me to be fully open to him, to give in to his desires fully.