Stadium of Lights: A Second Chance Sports Romance (10 page)

M
y head spun
. I had no idea what was happening. One minute I was flirting with Josh, having a good time—he was cute, funny, sweet if a little dim—and the next I was making out with Max in the back of a cab. No question who I would have rather been with, though I didn’t know where it left us. What did it all mean? I was willing to leave the past in the past if that was what he wanted. He’d have to learn how to let me live my own life if that were ever going to happen.

I couldn’t think about it as we walked through the lobby together, or as we got into the elevator to go to his hotel room. Probably because the blood had left my brain, traveling to southern regions. We didn’t say a word to each other the entire way to his room. It was enough to feel the tension between us, the certainty that if a spark went off, we would both be consumed in the explosion.

We were all over each other before the door to my room closed. We couldn’t go to his, since he was sharing. One of the benefits of being the only woman with a bunch of men was having a room of my own. He pushed me up against the door, his tongue fighting with mine just as it had in the cab. I felt his power, his strength. He pinned my wrists above my head with one hand, taking possession of my body with the other. He slid it up beneath my shirt, handling me roughly, not caring if he marked or bruised me. He squeezed my breast, pulling the bra cup aside to fondle my bare flesh. I groaned, and heat surged between my thighs.

He lifted me, letting go of my wrists to grab my ass with both hands. I wrapped my legs around his waist, gripping him tight as he carried me to the bed. It was all so sudden, so right. I hadn’t been able to think about anything but him all week. I had almost given up the hope that we would ever be together again in that way, even though it seemed inevitable that we would. Nobody would ever compare to him.

He threw me onto the bed, making me gasp with the suddenness, the near violence of his actions. I kicked off my heels while he unbuttoned my jeans, pulling them down my legs before running his hands over my calves, my thighs. I felt a brief moment of relief that I’d shaved my legs that day before closing my eyes and sinking into a sensation.

He wasn’t one for talking before sex—instead, he took my ankles and pulled me to the edge of the bed. I let out a cry of surprise which turned to a moan when I felt his fingers slide beneath my thong. He almost ripped the thin scrap of fabric to shreds in his hurry. I knew I was soaked, ready for him, and he inhaled deeply when his nose got close to the center of my pussy. My whole body flushed with embarrassment, but he didn’t seem to mind. He dove between my thighs, no preambles, no teasing. His tongue lapped at my wet swollen lips, then dipped between them and thrashed against my aching clit.

My back arched, a long cry coming from my mouth as he pleasured me. My fingers tangled in his thick, brown hair, holding his head close. He took my wrists and pulled them from his head, holding them to the bed. I felt a shiver run through me. So he wanted to be in control. I let him hold me, then, anything as long as he never stopped the pleasure shooting through every part of me and all starting with his quick, skilled tongue.

“Oh … Max …” I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think, I could only work toward my orgasm, letting it come, letting him take me there. It was almost unbearable, how good it all felt. I didn’t think I could take much more and actually tried to buck him off. He held on, licking my pussy, letting me writhe and shout beneath him. Finally, it all came together, and I shrieked, my hips rising from the bed, my legs closing around his head as I rode out the first burst of ecstasy. It was incredible, and I came down with a shuddering cry as my body trembled vulnerably.

It didn’t matter to him that I was hardly finished or that I needed to rest for a moment. I only thought I needed to rest. He knew better. He slid two fingers into my pussy, pumping them in a blur of motion while he sucked my sensitive clit. I couldn’t stand it, I was sure I couldn’t stand it, I would die. He would kill me. Didn’t he know he was killing me? And yet I cried out yes, yes, more, urging him on, and he pushed me again beyond the limits of what I thought I could take as another orgasm slammed into me, only minutes after the first. I didn’t know that was possible for me, and my head spun as I tried to make sense of what was happening.

His fingers left me. His mouth, too. I looked up, pushing myself up on shaky arms to find him unrolling a condom over his thick cock.

“Over,” he growled, flipping me himself when I didn’t move fast enough. I gasped, shocked by his forcefulness. He entered me without a word, pushing himself inside. I cried out in surprise, then ecstasy. I almost came again, just after one stroke. He filled me so completely, it almost hurt. And it felt right. I never felt like that before.

He took the lead, setting the pace. His hands on my hips, guiding me back and forth as he pumped in and out. I gladly let him take control, let him ride me like an animal. I heard his little grunts, his growls, and they set me on fire just like his sharp, deep thrusts did. Maybe more. There was something powerful about what was happening, something beyond physical pleasure. Was it supposed to be that way? If it was, I’d been missing out for years. I slammed back into him, meeting his strokes, doubling my pleasure as our bodies crashed together. He chuckled darkly, liking it when I responded like that and rewarded me with a series of quick, sharp thrusts that sent me over the edge yet again. I tightened around his thickness, pulsing and quivering.

And still, he fucked me, our bodies slapping together every time he thrusted. I loved it, wanted it to last forever. I might have come again at some point. It was all a blur. It might as well have all been an orgasm, for all I knew. I lost all sense of time and place and could only feel. It was just the two of us. Just our connection. I cried out his name, begging for more. And he gave it to me, again and again.

It was all so nasty, dirty, and right. So right. My body screamed ecstatically, every nerve ending on fire, my core tightening, tightening, the tension building. Pretty soon it would burst, and I would probably faint, but it would be worth it. So worth it. I grunted and growled and shrieked as my body burned with lust I didn’t know I possessed. How did he know? Or was it all because of him? Would I ever feel that way with anybody else? I couldn’t believe how incredible he was, how good he felt inside me.

I felt his hand slap against my ass as he pummeled me with hard, smooth strokes. I yelped a little in surprise, the brief pain melting into a sweet warmth that only added to the delicious pleasure. I whimpered, wishing he would do it again.

And he did. And then again. I closed my eyes, absorbing the blows, letting him take me whatever way he wanted to. Because he knew my body, he knew what would turn me on until I screamed. I gave myself to him, let him do whatever it was he wanted. I knew it would be worthwhile.

He heard my whimpers, louder and louder every time he spanked me. “That’s right … come for me … one more time, baby …” He slapped my ass so hard, I thought I saw stars. And my body started pulsing, shuddering with one final climax.

“Yes!” I threw back my head, screaming in pleasure as spasms wracked me. It felt like I was exploding from the inside out, my body flying apart in bliss. All I could do was scream in total euphoria to let him know how good it felt. I needed him to know how good it felt, what he did to me.

A few strong, sure strokes later and he reached his peak. I heard him grunt and felt his body strain behind me before he slid away, then fell onto the bed a moment later. I was still on my hands and knees, shaking a little, unable to believe what he’d put me through.

I eased myself down onto the bed, trembling. My body and my brain were at odds. I couldn’t let myself believe that he did it because he cared about me because he felt the sort of passion for me that I did for him. It was all jealousy, anger. Only a man angry with himself could take a woman that way. I didn’t know where his anger came from—maybe from wanting me, maybe from not being able to get over the way I wouldn’t sit and wait for him. He didn’t like other people playing with his toys.

I looked at him, where he had stretched out on his back with his feet on the floor. I didn’t know what to say. Would it hurt if I told him to go back to his hotel room? Part of me wanted to hurt him. As much as I wanted to believe that he wanted me, I just couldn’t. He’d wanted to remind me that no other man would ever compare to him. That was all.

“Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?” I whispered, pulling the blankets over me. I still shivered just a little, my body coming down from the unspeakable high he’d given it.

“Huh?” He was just catching his breath.

“You said back at the club that there was something you wanted to talk about. I thought I would ask.”

He chuckled. “Oh, that. It wasn’t important.”

I sat up, my pride getting in the way of my good sense. “Wasn’t important? What kind of game are you playing?”

He opened his eyes, turning to me. “What? You’re gonna ask me that after what just happened?”

“What did just happen? You took what you think is yours, right? Nobody else can have me, now that you have. And you wanted to remind me of that.”

He sat up, disbelief on his face. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know, Max. Jesus. Have a little self-awareness, for once.”

“You didn’t seem to mind,” he spat.

“Sometimes my body takes over for my brain. You ought to know how that feels.”

He stood, putting his clothes on. “I don’t need to hang around and listen to this,” he grumbled. “This is bullshit.”

“Right. Run away, like you always do whenever things get too real.” I stared at the wall, unable to watch as he dressed. He slammed the door when he left. Only then did I let myself cry.

W
e didn’t talk
for weeks after that. Three games went by, and I avoided her at all costs. If I had a question about something, some pain or ache I felt, I made it a point to go to one of the other therapy team members.

I didn’t know what to say to her, so it was easier not to say anything. Even I knew I was a punk. But she didn’t come to me, either. If she had anything to say that was crucial, she would have come to me. Or so I told myself time and again when I wondered if we could ever be friends again.

I wished I could get a read on her. Why did she want so much from me all the time? Why did she ask questions and want to know why I did what I did? Hell, even I didn’t know all the time. She couldn’t just let me be, could she? It was never enough.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about her. That was my fault. I had to get her out of my head. Layla was actually starting to look good to me, which was pretty indicative of the desperation I felt.

I kept my hands off Layla, though. I kept my hands off all women for days, weeks after that last night in Denver. And Abby didn’t seem to care, either. She ignored me just like I ignored her. Sometimes I thought she was just as stubborn as me.

So we went on that way. She watched practices, sat in on team meetings, treated my teammates for the sorts of injuries we always got once the season started rolling. She was tough, too. She wouldn’t let them give her any excuses for not following her rules, and she had a mouth like a sailor. She fit in just fine. Everybody loved her.

The funny part was, the more I watched her with them, the more I liked her—even when I hated her. I couldn’t stop thinking about the kid she used to be, but that image of her got dimmer the more I watched her with the guys and the coaches. She was self-assured. She knew her stuff. She wouldn’t let anybody intimidate her. If she thought somebody should sit out a practice or even a game, she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind.

More than once I saw a few heads shake after she turned away—usually after she had gotten her way. I wasn’t used to seeing a bunch of hardened tough guys break down in front of a woman’s will, and they weren’t used to it, either. It was fun to watch. So I wasn’t the only person who didn’t know which end was up by the time we finished arguing. That made me feel a little better, at least.

On Thursday we had a meeting after practice to talk about the game plan for the Chiefs, who we’d play that coming Sunday. I spent most of it checking the time since I had somewhere else to be. The practice had run a little long, so I was late. I hoped they would understand and not think I’d stood them up.

“Any thoughts, Max?” My head snapped up to find Coach Cramer glaring at me.

“What?”

He smirked. “You looked a little distracted, so I thought for sure you were going over a plan in your head on how to take care of Kansas City this week.”

“I don’t need a plan. I only need this.” I flexed my right arm, my throwing arm. A few laughed throughout the room, along with more than a few groans. I grinned, looking around. Abby wasn’t grinning. I looked away. What was her problem? I didn’t like the look in her eyes, like a disapproving parent. If that was the way she was going to act just because we had been together a few times, it was a big mistake I wouldn’t be repeating.

It had felt like forever before Coach Cramer called an end to the meeting. I hurried out, hoping nobody was disappointed by me being so late. I thought I caught a glimpse of Abby trying to get my attention, but she would have to wait. Forever, as far as I was concerned, since I was getting pretty tired of her attitude. Maybe I was still smarting a little over the way she had acted back in Denver. I couldn’t get a feel for her. What was she really after?

* * *

“
I
’m
sorry I’m late,” I said to the floor administrator when I finally got to Richardson Memorial Hospital. “Practice ran late today. You’d be surprised how quick the coach is to take our phones if he thinks we’re not paying attention.

She laughed. I’d been visiting the hospital pretty regularly for over a year, so she was used to hearing stories about the coach and the rest of the team. “No problem. The kids can’t wait to see you. They’ve been asking all day how long it will be until you get here.” We walked into the little library together, sort of a makeshift room where the kids could go to read and color and hang out when they didn’t have to be in their rooms. I grinned when their faces lit upon seeing me.

“Max!” Sally, one of my favorites, ran over to me.

“Hey, kid. You look great! Better every time I see you.” I picked her up and carried her to the chair I always sat in when I read to the kids. They gathered around me, all of them in hospital gowns, all of them with a reason to spend their childhood in the hospital. Some of them were new, but I was familiar with a lot of them. I never asked where the missing kids were. I didn’t want to know—it was easier to tell myself they had gone home.

Nobody knew I did it. I tried to go once a week, especially when I was home for a game. When we were on the road, it wasn’t always so easy. Seeing their faces when I walked in, when I settled in with a book to read, reminded me why it was important to keep my commitment to them.

“We watched your last game, Max! My mommy and daddy sat in my room, and we all watched it.” I gave Tim a high-five. He was wearing my jersey over his hospital gown.

“We’re playing Kansas City this week. Who do you think’s gonna win?

The kids answered almost all at once. “You are!” I wished I could always have their enthusiasm. I picked up a Dr. Seuss book and started to read, making it a point to show them the pictures and the whole nine yards. I remembered how weird it had felt when I first started coming with the rest of the team—I wasn’t used to kids, being an only child. No nieces or nephews. But I couldn’t help but warm up to them. They were all so open, so cheerful even when it didn’t look like they much to be cheerful about.

When I finished the second book, I looked around at the kids. They all smiled and clapped, already asking for another book. I told them I’d read one more, and everybody had a request. Their voices overlapped as they called out their favorites. I didn’t usually feel that kind of pressure even on the field.

I was still laughing as my eyes caught hers. I didn’t know when she had walked in, or even how she knew I was there. I only knew Abby stood there by the door, a tear rolling down her cheek. I held her stare for a few seconds, then turned my attention back to the kids. There was no ignoring them.

She left just as quietly as she had shown up. By the time I finished the last book, she was gone.