Beauty and the Billionaire Bachelors

This was where the real party began.

It was already out of control. Beer cans cracked open. The music blasted.

I was in fucking heaven.

“You going out with us?” Joe asked, slapping a towel toward me.

“Yeah, Kane. You going?”

I faced my two linemen. It was a stupid question. I cracked a smile and they both laughed.

“I’ve got press, then I’ll meet you out.” The shower was calling my name.

“You fucking know it.” They bumped fists and I had a feeling tonight was going to be epic.

The hot spray of the shower slid against my tired muscles. My high from the game faded and in its place was an aching and soreness that could only be replaced by the thought of the after party.

Coming down off of a win always sucked. The thrill faded and the adrenaline subsided far too quickly, leaving me searching for other ways to fulfill my lust for the rush.

Not many other things in this world could equal the same kind of buzz I got when scoring on the field, but one of them came pretty damn close.

I loved chasing women.

Actually, I loved what I got to do with the women after I caught them. The chase was just part of the game they liked to play. I called it a game because they all wanted to be caught. They just liked to play a little hard to get.

I had yet to find a woman who could be honest and up front about what she wanted. They liked to think they were going to be the one to finally snag the infamous Kane Hawkins. I let them believe whatever crazy fairytales they drummed up, when in reality I just wanted to fuck.

I was a sex junkie. I never denied it.

All of my time off the field was spent getting wasted or getting my freak on. My agent, Savannah James, hated it and advised me quite regularly that I shouldn't be so free with the dick, but it was a part of who I was. If I saw a woman in need, then I felt like it was my duty to help her out.

Savannah said I was her biggest pain in the ass and that was saying something. She represented some pretty big douches, but their antics were preschool compared to mine.

My reputation started in high school. I was caught under the bleachers by the school principal fucking a hot ass redhead that just so happened to also be my biology teacher.

Twice.

Yeah.

That didn't end so well, but it fueled my reputation. A reputation I was proud of.

Playboy.

Asshole.

I'd been called it all. There was a time I used to let it bother me, but those times had long since passed.

There was no reason to change. Why should I?

I intended to die in the throes of passion when I was eighty with a twenty-something little minx. A bachelor until the day I died.

Some men liked to play the field until they found someone they thought they could settle down with and spend the rest of their lives with. Five years in, they realized it wasn’t what they wanted and then decided to bail, leaving the woman at home to raise a baby with no money and no help. I refused to be one of those men.

Marriage is a joke.

And I don’t get the punch line.

At least the way I’d done things had always been upfront. Women knew what they were getting when they decided they wanted a night with me. It was never more than sex. And it sure as hell was never less. I played football like a rock star and fucked even better.