I knew without a doubt that she wouldn’t just give him my number. She’d give him my number, my team photo, and a copy of last year’s Ladies in Red swimsuit calendar. I was Miss February, and the scarlet bikini that had been chosen for me made my boobs look fantastic.

Preston hated that calendar, and it kind of made me want Jewel to do it just to spite that prick.

I tucked my good knee in and extended the other, leaning down to stretch out my tight muscles. I bit back the groan that threatened to escape my throat. This would probably be my last season—though no one knew that yet. Still, I was a captain. I couldn’t have my girls thinking I wasn’t one hundred percent.

“Back to hottie hookup,” Jewel said as she pressed her palms to the floor and stretched her wrists. “Are you gonna see him again?”

I thought back to the way Tatum and I had ended the night—the tender way he tucked my hair behind my ear and checked on me as our orgasms faded. The way his full lips pulled at the corners. He slid my bra back over my tits and fastened the clasp, then reached around and zipped up my dress. He asked me to wait inside while he disposed of the condom. A moment later, he was back, asking if I needed water or anything.

I didn’t put on airs or pretend our tryst was going to turn into a sleepover. I didn’t want that, and I was sure he didn’t either. A quick hookup with a client was one thing, but a lingering fling was quite another.

He had asked when I would be at his condo next, and I gave him the noncommittal answer of, “I’ll send the project timeline to Sam.” We shared a chaste kiss at the elevator before I saw myself out.

No exchange of numbers and no promises to call. Easy peasy.

“I’ll only see him if he’s at his house when I’m there for work,” I said, turning my thoughts back to Jewel. “But he said he travels a lot, so I probably won’t. It’s not like I’m waiting by the phone for him to call.”

“Did you at least get a picture?”

“No!” I said with a laugh. “How the hell was I supposed to get a picture? Hop off his lap while his balls were still out and ask for a selfie?”

“At least tell me what he looks like,” she pleaded. “Let me live vicariously.”

I stood up and took a deep breath before slowly dropping down into the splits. My knee sang. At least the hideous scar would be hidden on game days by the flesh-colored tights we wore beneath our teeny red shorts.

Jewel raised an eyebrow. “You good?”

“I’m good,” I croaked. “Just stiff.”

She smirked. “Stiff or sore from your secret boy toy.”

I stifled a laugh as I rolled over to try my splits in the opposite direction. “Tatum is not my secret boy toy.”

Apparently, she liked that nugget of information. “Mmm. Now all I’m picturing is Channing Tatum. Hot.”

That time, I couldn’t help but giggle. “He does not look like Channing Tatum. And Tatum is his first name, not his last.”

“Fine. What does Tatum McHotPants look like?”

I thought for a moment. He was tall and solid like the Empire State Building. Dark brown skin and brooding onyx eyes. His hands were seemingly a mile wide, and his thighs were as big around as the columns in front of the Met. He was all man and muscle.

“Like Derek Morgan from Criminal Minds, but on steroids,” I finally decided.

“Lucky bitch!” she whispered. “I love me some Shemar Moore.” Jewel turned to me as the rest of the team wandered in and tossed their bags onto the pile. “You gonna be his baby girl?” She wagged a finger in the direction of my spandex-clad body. “I bet he was all over this. Get some glasses and let him Derek Morgan the hell out of your Penelope Garcia.”

I shook my head. “I looked like a hot fucking mess last night. I was late to our dinner because I got caught up at a job site, I had paint all over my dress, and freaking sawdust in my hair.”

“Men love to fix things,” she ragged. “It strokes their egos.”

“I’m not looking to stroke any egos.”

“Just dicks!” she cheered as we high-fived.

“Ladies.” A pair of red high heels parked themselves in front of Jewel and me. We looked up and saw Catherine Trumble, our regal yet terrifying director. Her deep Texas drawl was a nod to the decades she spent with Dallas’s dancers. She fluffed her teased hair and flipped it over her shoulder before parking her hands on her hips and turning her exacting gaze to me. “How ya feelin’, Wren?” She dropped a pointed glance at my knee brace.

“Great!” I said as I pressed into my splits again. I wasn’t sure exactly how awkward I would look, struggling to get up from the position. I certainly didn’t want to look weak on my first day back.

“You gonna be out of that thing in three weeks?” Catherine didn’t look so sure about my recovery, and she didn’t allow braces to be worn on the field. If you needed one, you sat out for the game.

Tags: Maggie Gates Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net