Talkin' Trash (Bear Bottom Guardians MC 2)

“There a light in here?” she whispered, sounding embarrassed.

I searched for a light and realized that I’d seen one—but on the outside—as we’d come in.

I searched for the door handle and twisted it open, blinking rapidly when I saw the bright light of the hallway.

Reaching only a hand out, I felt for the switch and grunted when I found it.

Sweeping my hand up, I flipped the lights on and blinked even harder as I tried to get my eyes to adjust, closing the door as I did.

Once I was turned around, I surveyed the damage.

We were in the supply closet for the athletic trainer—or at least her stuff. There wasn’t much on the floor but ace bandage wraps and gauze packets.

The glass that shattered, however, was a jar that had been holding about eight hundred condoms.

All of the condoms were spread out over the ground. Green ones and blue, red, and ribbed, too.

“Wow,” I said as I bent over and dug her shorts out of the mess on the floor. “I guess I should count myself lucky that this wasn’t the chemical closet where the janitor keeps all his supplies.”

“You didn’t know which one you were coming to as you brought me here?” She laughed.

I shook my head and handed her the shorts she’d been wearing.

Glass shards fell out of them, and I shook them out to loosen any other stray pieces.

She took them as she reached up over the shelf above her head and grabbed a piece of fabric that the trainer usually put between our skin and ice packs that we used on various parts of our body.

Then without a hint of embarrassment, she wiped herself clean from between her legs, making me horny all over again, and reminding me that my dick was still very much hanging out of my pants.

“Hand me one of those, too?” I rasped.

Her eyes met mine, and whatever she saw there had her glancing down, eyes widening slightly at what she found.

“You cannot seriously be…” she started.

“I can and I am.” I shrugged. “I don’t know what it is about you, but my control is shot whenever you’re around me.”

She sighed and threw the towel she’d used to clean herself down on the floor, then shook out her shorts until her underwear came free of the tangled mess—as well as a few more shards of glass.

“I’m going to get glass shards in my vagina because of you.” She narrowed one eye at me. “Do you even care?”

I tucked my dick back in my shorts and tried to think about anything besides Conleigh and her vagina.

Like the fact that I still had two more sets to do, and I wasn’t leaving until they were done.

Granted, they’d be remarkably harder to do now that I’d stopped and given my arms time enough to realize that I’d killed them on that first set. I’d also held Conleigh up for a good eight minutes while I fucked the living daylights out of her.

How did I know it’d been eight minutes? A glance at my watch told me so.

“I guesstimate that Joe will give me ten minutes at most, because that’s as long as the athletic trainer can deal with him. He’ll be sent on his way and will be looking for me any minute now.” I paused, my dick once again reminding me that she was half naked. “You should probably put your underwear and shorts back on.”

And just like that, Joe called my name.

I sighed and shook my head. “Quick, tell me something that’ll make this go down.”

I gestured to my dick, and Conleigh snorted. “What would happen if you hurt yourself so bad that you can’t play next season? Do you have to give your money back?”

My mouth fell open as horror washed over me. “Why would you ask that?”

My dick was definitely no longer a problem anymore.

Just the thought of getting hurt sent terror coursing through my veins.

Football was all I knew. It was my favorite thing in life. It was the one thing that was always consistently there for me when I needed it to be.

Granted, my dad was a good dad—when he could be. But we were never what I would consider well off.

He worked his ass off, night and day, to make sure that I got what I needed—clothes, food, a car. He got them all for me, but the price of that was him working his freakin’ ass off and leaving me at home while he worked overtime to accomplish that goal.

I wanted to go to a football camp that the local college was putting on? Twelve hours of overtime. I wanted to get a new pair of cleats? Seven hours of overtime.

It was a vicious cycle for sure, and only now that I was older did I realize that there were times I’d have rathered that he was around more often.