Page 22 of The Groupie

Zak

“No game, no hook up,” I say without thinking, as if it was a rule of my own. Rule? I have no fucking rules. But I do have some pride, and I’m fucking proud of playing hockey.

“Second, no feelings,” she says, ignoring my rule completely.

Wow. It’s like she stole my lines from the bachelor hook-up script. I should be thrilled. I am thrilled. Right?

“Like what kind of feelings? Give me an example?” Why the fuck did I bother asking? Who cares, right?

“No crying and no declarations of love—”

“Wait—you’ve had guys cry after hooking up with you?”

“No. They cry when I’m done hooking up with them.”

Trying not to laugh, I stare her down, and she rolls her eyes. I don’t even have to call her on her exaggeration before she confesses.

“Okay, so maybe it was only one guy, and maybe he didn’t exactly cry, but he did tear up.”

Now, I laugh. She’s trying so hard to act tough, but for once I keep my mouth shut, and I don’t ask her flat out why. And it’s hard because I’d love nothing more than to spar with her, to give her a hard time even though she pretends she’s the one giving me a hard time.

“Seriously. No drama allowed.” She throws her hands on her hips and shoots fairy sparks from her eyes.

Raising my hands like I’m giving up, I say, “No drama from me. I’m cool with your rules if you’re cool with mine.” I fold my arms across my chest and watch her calculate how much she wants to hook up with me. And fuck if I haven’t been this turned on by a woman in a long time.

I haven’t had to work this hard to convince a woman in a long time. Never found it worth the bother. Until now.

She nods, and my dick wants to tear through my pants and hug her. I tighten my arms in place. “Anything else?” I’m almost hoping for more because negotiating with her is a better aphrodisiac than the best porn.

“One more.” She looks me up and down.

“No seeing each other in public. No going out after the game. We go straight to your place.”

“Oookay. So... What? I’m your dirty little secret?” Why do I feel excited yet offended at the same time?

“Think of it as being discrete. I don’t want public drama with a…” she flicks her hand in my direction, “a professional athlete.”

“I see. I should be offended, but I’m chalking it up to the idea that you’re one eccentric chick.” I say the words, and I should mean them. It’s an odd request, and I should be jumping for joy because she’s not a social climber using me, or a groupie looking for a notch in her bedpost or looking for stolen fame with a famous athlete in a viral video. Not that any of those things ever bothered me too much before, because I’m proud of being a famous athlete. But it does get old. I’m more than that, right?

And yet, there’s something about her request that feels like a grain of sand in my sneaker. It shouldn’t bother me, it’s too small, but I know it’s there, and it bothers me.

“In fact, I need some kind of cover—something believable, not that I’m your little high school sister—so the people in the box won’t think we’re together.”

“What the fuck? You’re serious? Like what? Aren’t you being paranoid about what people might think?”

“Those are the rules, big guy. You want to find out exactly how much chemistry we have, you need to play by the rules.”

“Oh, I know we have a fuck-load of chemistry. What makes you think I’ll put up with a charade to sleep with you, when I could get any one of the groupies at the Tea Party—”

“You mean like Sheila?”

Jealousy sparks from her like she’s a live wire and someone just flipped her switch—that someone would be me. She ignites my dick with those eyes. No surprise. Then she turns away to hide her emotional fireworks. The squeeze of excitement in my chest surprises me. Either way, I’m on board.

“Yeah. I like Sheila. Why? Does that bother you?”

She tries to laugh. “No. Why should it? Besides, Sheila is too good for you. She’s not interested in seconds.”

I step closer. “How about if Sheila is our cover? You’re with her, and you’re… a friend, a groupie.”