I haven’t been this disoriented since my rookie season, when a defensive end for the Chargers came at me like a tank and rang my bell so hard that I saw stars.
My response to her is instantaneous. One minute, I’m laughing at her comparing my dick to her pinkie finger, and the next, my body is demonstrating how wrong she is.
The only sound is the combined rasps of our labored breaths. Seconds tick by, then a minute, then two.
Oh. My. God.
“Cash?” Her voice has the substance of smoke, and her eyes are the color of a blue blaze.
“Yes.” I’m still holding her. She’s still naked. And I’m hard as granite.
“I’m, um …”
“Yes?”
Her pillowy lips disappear between her teeth. “I’m sorry for the gross misrepresentation of your manhood.”
I laugh like I haven’t laughed in years.
There’s still apprehension on her face, but she’s grinning, and I know that this isn’t going anywhere. Any minute now, my erection is going to catch up with this conversation.
“Can you put me down and cover your eyes?”
It’s the last thing I want to do, but this woman is all kinds of wrong for me. She’s clearly trying to win the award for Ms. Ryder, Texas, and I’m out of here as soon as I get this rec center thing sorted. I reluctantly lower her to the ground and look away. Besides, I caught her with my bad arm, and my shoulder is screaming like a little bitch.
“You can turn around now.”
“You sure? I don’t want to get on your bad side.”
“Too late.”
I face her, and she’s once again covered by the towel. “About that.” The apology I need to deliver hangs around my neck like a ten-pound weight.
Slender arms cross over her chest like she’s armoring up for battle. “Yes?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
Suck it up and do it, King.
“About yesterday … I said some pretty terrible things and … well … I apologize.”
“Apology accepted.”
And just like that the weight’s gone. I hadn’t realized how much I needed her forgiveness. “Also, I called the guy who runs my foundation for me, and I’m waiting for a response from him. I’m sure I’ll hear something this morning.”
“You don’t run your own foundation?”
“No, but that’s not the point.”
“I think it should be.”
I rub the back of my neck, which is suddenly prickly with heat. “Okay, let’s go with that’s not really any of your business.”
Her derisive snort leaves little doubt as to what she thinks of me. “Sounds like it’s not your business either.” She reaches for a plastic shower tote and turns to the door. “I’ve got to go.”
I follow her out of the house and onto the porch. Why? I have no fuckin’ clue. But for some unknown reason, I want to explain myself to her. “Wait.”
She turns, and her eyebrows are nearly at her hairline. “What?”
“I …”
“What is it, Cash? I’m in a damp towel, and I’m cold, so say what you want to say.”
My fingers tunnel through my hair. She needs to know that what I do is a big effin’ deal and that football takes all of my focus. I open my mouth to say so, but that’s not what comes out. “You’re right. I should know what’s going on in my own foundation, and I will find out what happened. I’m sorry. I want to make this right.”
Why did I say that? First rule of football—don’t leave yourself exposed. Stay in the pocket where you’re safe. As I stand waiting for her response, I’ve never felt more vulnerable.
Her eyes search my face, but I can’t read her expression. A nod that communicates nothing is all I get, then she’s gone.
I’m left in my underwear in the chilly morning air. I make my way back to the house, and head to the bathroom. The smell of her is everywhere, and I pull it deep into my lungs. The feel of her slams into me. The memory of all that soft, warm, smooth skin pressed up against me causes my mind to go to very dirty places.
The alarm on my phone goes off, reminding me it’s time to lace up my sneakers for a run. Thank God. Maybe I can run off this thing with Tiger.
A guy can hope.
Twelve
Tiger
I dress as quickly as I can. The whole process takes twice as long as it should because my fingers refuse to cooperate. I’m a shaking mess. I have no idea if it’s from the cold, or the fact that my boobs