Don't Promise (Don't 3)

“Is it ok if I sit here?” she purred.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” I’d played this game a million times. It always ended the same way, with the girl under me, while I fucked the lights out for both of us.

She dropped her eyes, crossing her legs. I followed the path her leg made over top of the other one. My cock throbbed for a quick second. And I realized it had been way too long since I’d gotten laid. Since the night on the beach with Sierra. That was the last time I had held a woman in my hands. The last time I had felt the rush of sex. The thrill of skin against skin.

And why was that? What was I waiting for? Why had I been holding out like some virgin rookie afraid fucking would ruin my season? Was that my excuse? No sex this season?

I turned toward her. “What’s your name, darlin’?”

“Jessica.” She smiled.

“Blake.” I winked.

She blushed shamelessly. We both knew what was getting ready to happen. Women like her didn’t drop into the seat next to me for a romantic night on the town. I’d never be a wine and roses man. My reputation wasn’t decorated with romantic gestures and sweet overtures. Women knew what they were getting into. Jessica knew exactly what she wanted.

“Congratulations on your big win,” she commented. “It was a great game.”

“Thanks. We needed it.”

And what I needed was to stop cock blocking myself. In the past month every time I got to this point I made an excuse for why I had to get home or back to my hotel room. Sometimes I led the girl outside just so the guys didn’t see me back out at the last minute. They didn’t know I hadn’t fucked anyone this season. It wasn’t any of their damn business.

Did I think something was going to change? That somehow Sierra was going to be someone she wasn’t? That if I held off on other women for a little longer that it meant something? Because it fucking didn’t. It didn’t mean anything to her. And I wasn’t eighteen any longer. I had let her punch me in the heart back then—I was too old for that kind of game now. Jessica was my kind of game.

The kind where the only thing that mattered was sex and football. No emotions. No feelings. No way to get hurt.

I looked at the brunette. “Want to get out of here?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “I was worried you weren’t going to ask.”

That had been her intention from the moment she touched me. I scooped my hand around her waist and headed toward the door. Tonight I was going to put the summer behind me. I would finally get Sierra out of my system.

I had managed to turn things around on the field. This was my last obstacle to getting complete control.

I shoved the door open and Jessica walked ahead of me. Her ass was round and tight. I groaned to myself, knowing what I should want to do to it. How six months ago, I would have kissed her and stroked her in the parking lot until she begged for more.

“My hotel is this way.” I pointed, staying a step or two behind her so I could take in her legs. I followed her thighs, watching them slice back and forth. Nothing.

She fumbled with her purse and I heard something drop to the pavement. “Shit,” she whispered. She bent over, the jersey hung loosely from her chest, and I caught a full glimpse of her heaving tits. Fuck. My cock should be hard as steel by now.

I shook my head.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“Darlin’, I think I’m just going to make sure you get home. I’ll hail a cab for you.”

“What? Why? Did I do something?” Her face fell with disappointment.

I stood on the sidewalk, waving down any yellow taxi I could. One pulled up to the cubr and I opened the passenger door for her.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing at all. Not a damn thing.”

And that was the truth. This woman dripped of sex. And it didn’t do anything for me. I didn’t want her.

“But maybe breakfast?” she pleaded.

I shook my head. “Not this trip. Have a good night.”

“But—”