Fuck. I didn’t know how much longer we would up the money like this. And what was the point? Did I really care about the Warriors? Or did I just want to make sure an asshole like Rocks wasn’t the one who spent the season with Vanessa?
Hell, I’d only spent an hour with the woman. That was it. And I was acting as if I had to defend her. Protect her. Like our meeting meant something. It didn’t mean a damn thing, but I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted her. I wanted to walk out of this room the highest bidder. The winner. The man who would take Vanessa McCade for the entire season.
Dylan grinned. He had the worst fucking poker face. “I can do this all night. You up for it, Rocks?” He looked at Steve. “Forty thousand.”
“Fifty,” I cast another bid for her.
“You two are fucking crazy,” Rocks groaned. “No woman is worth that much. I’m out.”
“So I’m the winner?” I smiled.
“It appears so,” Steve agreed.
“Not so fast, brother.” I stared at Dylan. Slowly he raised his hand above the table. “Seventy-five thousand.”
“What?”
He shrugged. “Are you going to bid again?” he dared me. “You know I don’t like to lose. I’ll keep going.”
I shook my head. “If you want her that badly, I’m out.”
“So, I guess I have a fiancé.” He slapped me on the back. And I suddenly realized, I had just lost her.
Nine
Vanessa
I realized sleep wasn't an option for me. Too much had happened at the offices today. My mind raced with the conversations I’d had with all the people I’d met, while still trying to get my feet on the ground. It was hard to think that was ever going to happen. My grandfather had run the team as if it were a hobby. Maybe that's why it was in the shambles that it was. Or maybe that was the secret. I needed to care less. Worry less.
I padded to the kitchen to pour a glass of wine. I drank it much too fast. The dizzying effect went straight to my head before tingling through my fingertips. Sure, there was a lot to think about. But there was only one thing I couldn't get over. I had agreed to Steve’s insane plan. A plan that would tie me to a man for the entire season.
Right now, he was somewhere deciding who would be my fiancé. What if it was someone I hated? What if it was someone I couldn't stand to be around? For the full season, I was going to have to do fake interviews and photo shoots with a man I didn't like. I chugged the wine faster.
I poured a second glass, my hands shaking with nerves. It hadn’t happened yet. All I had to do was go to work tomorrow and tell him the plan was off. There would be no fake engagement. No fake wedding, no fake proposal. I could control this. I was the Warriors’ owner now. I was in charge or Steve and every one of those players.
I wandered out of the kitchen and toward the living room, clutching the glass of wine in my hands. I turned on the TV, but the first story that popped up was about the Warriors new ownership. I cringed. I hated hearing stories about myself. It was a hot topic in Austin. With only two weeks until opening day, the fans wanted some kind of certainty. They needed to know there was leadership. But I wasn't leadership. I’d never managed anything in my life. I liked to work independently. I loved working with my hands in the studio. I loved studying art and artists. I hadn’t been able to find the beauty in men chasing after a ball on the field. I couldn’t see the art in them pounding each other into the ground. In fans screaming and hollering for more violence. Football was the opposite of grace and artful lines.
But I couldn't lose sight of the fact that everyone was counting on me. This fake engagement might be the only thread of hope holding the season together.
I couldn’t believe it, but I was going to have to go through with it.
There was the possibility my fiancé could be someone I liked. For an instant, I let myself fantasize that it was Isaac Price. I leaned into the cushions of the couch, imagining his dark eyes raking over my breasts. My freehand traveling across my body. A small sigh escaped my lips. Would it be so bad to be fake engaged to Isaac? To be next to a man that looked like sex on a stick? A man who held the highest completion rating last season?
My hands roamed freely over my breasts and stomach, pretending for a moment that Isaac was here. And then I giggled. And instead of Isaac’s eyes, I saw the light green hue of Dylan’s gaze.
What if Dylan was the fiancé? What if the brash cocky player was on my arm every night at all the black-tie events I had to attend? What if he was the one who took me home?
My hands traveled farther south as my knees fell to the side. I didn't know when it happened but I placed the glass of wine on the coffee table and let my second hand join in. One was traveling low between my legs while the other traveled to my nipple. My mind twisted the two men together. As if one hand belonged to Isaac and the other to Dylan. Trading places. Exploring my body. Each hand, like each man taking and making me his. The blinds were drawn. The doors were locked and the security system was armed. I needed this. I needed alone time to forget the weight of the world. To forget the pressure and the undeniable responsibility I had.
I was just drunk enough to stay on the couch and not hide under my covers. I pushed my tank top toward my collar bones, letting the cool air brush over my breasts. I wondered what Isaac and Dylan would think of my nipples. Would they want to taste them? Bite them?
Oh God. My hand dipped between my legs, pulling and tugging at the lace of my panties so it rubbed my clit. It was just enough friction to make my hips jut back and forth. I yanked again, this time a little more f
orcefully as if Dylan were here. I imagined he would be impatient to make me come.
He would want to make my clit throb and pulse for him. He’d say dirty things. He’d tell me to do things to him, I’d never tried before. I slid a finger inside myself slowly, caressing my walls. I squeezed around it. Oh, shit. I could only imagine the taste of Isaac on my lips. I pictured his dark broody stare. I wondered what his deep voice would sound like in my ear. I wanted to know what he’d tell me to do. What things he would say made him hard. Would he want to lick me? My fingers pumped faster, making a rhythm that needed all my attention. I rubbed the lace over my clit. One man inside me. One man teasing the rest of me. Oh, God, yes. Yes. I wanted them both touching me. Moving inside me. Watching me. Telling me how dirty and hot I was. How my body made them hard as steel. So fucking hard.
I never climaxed this quickly on my own, but it was like an avalanche. My hands raced over my body, trying to coax it to an orgasmic peak. I flashed between Dylan and Isaac. I couldn’t settle on one. They were woven into one epic man. The fantasy tore through me as I convulsed around my fingers.