Hard Rider

Brandy. That’s who that voice, and the phone, belonged to. She was the head cheerleader for the Denver Mustangs and like every other cheerleader, she had the cookie-cutter body that wouldn’t quit to go along with her perfect face and flowing, blonde hair. The cheerleaders all looked alike. Shit, most of them sounded alike with their singsongy voices and air-head attitudes. They even fucked alike.

“You’d better not Instagram that shit,” I growled.

“Oh, come on,” she pouted. “Why not?”

“Don’t fucking do it, Brandy, I mean it,” I demanded.

“Alright, alright,” she said, putting her phone down on the nightstand and curling up next to me in bed. She ran one expertly manicured red fingernail down the front of my stomach, outlining my abs as her hand traveled down below my navel.

“Stop it,” I said, grabbing her hand and pulling it away before she could grip my shaft. I rolled over away from her.

“Jesse!” she said to my back, her words full of admonishment. “Nobody’s ever said no to me!”

“Yeah, well there’s a first time for everything, ain’t there?” I growled. “Look, you’ve already woken me up, goddammit. I’m going for a run.” I jumped out of bed, leaving her alone looking a like a perfect, tiny naked blonde doll with wide eyes and a huge pout on her face.

“Can’t you do that later?” she whined.

“Nope. It takes a lot of work to stay this magnificent,” I replied, stretching my arms over my head. She shook her head and rolled her eyes as she watched me get dressed.

“Come on,” she said, sliding her hand down and sinking a finger into her pretty pink pussy. I looked down, watching her, tempted for a moment as I remembered the way she’d tasted last night - like sweet oranges. She was delicious.

But I rarely ate the same meal twice, and certainly not three times in a row. I’d fucked Brandy twice already and I wasn’t about to do it again. I had rules about these things.

The last thing I needed was some chick getting attached and causing drama in my life.

I’d planned my life perfectly and so far it had all played out according to my very detailed, very well-thought out plans. I wasn’t about to let anything in my life upset all of that.

“Gotta go,” I mumbled, as I laced up my custom-made Nike’s. I walked over to her, kissed her forehead, and walked to the door before turning back to her. She really was a perfect specimen of a woman… Outside of the lack of braincells and the fact that she already has a husband…

And I’m no fucking home wrecker either.

This girl never wore a ring out on the field, and she didn’t say a goddamned word about the man until after we’d fucked last night. That alone was enough to kick her straight out of my bed, but I was fucking tired and decided to let her leave with dignity in the morning.

“Make sure you’re gone when I get back. I have work to do.”

Her eyes flashed in disbelief, but I shut the door before she could start arguing with me. It was easier this way. Easier to be a cold sonofabitch in these situations. Any sign of kindness was misinterpreted as something more serious, more meaningful, and Jesse ‘Colorado’ Collins didn’t do meaningful.

I had too much shit going on in my life to bother. I’ve been the starting quarterback in Denver for the last five years and I’d worked my ass off to get here.

It wasn’t easy, but football’s been my life forever…

Hell, it’s in my genes.

My father was the quarterback at Colorado State even before I was born, and so was my grandfather before him. My destiny was set long before I was a gleam in someone’s eye. Neither of them had ever made it to the pros, though. I was the first in the family to really succeed on that level, and my folk’s never let me forget for a moment how proud they were.

It was a lot of pressure, sure. But I could handle it. I was used to it. Hell, at this point, I’d walked through so much fire, I was pretty sure I could handle anything. I wasn’t cocky, although some might disagree. I liked to think of it as confidence. When you’re mowed down daily by 300-pound defense linemen and you can still walk the fuck away, it tends to build up your ego.

I’m not going to apologize for it, though. I don’t apologize for anything. That’s why I make sure to think everything out before I do it. I make sure all my bases are covered before I make a move. I don’t make mistakes. I’ve never apologized for anything in my life, and I have no plans on starting now. If I never fucked up, I never had to say I was sorry.

My three times rule was in play for a reason. It was part of my plan to stay unattached and happy.

So was my morning run that I made sure to get in every single day before breakfast, no matter where I was. I pulled on my sunglasses, turned on the ‘Map My Run’ app on my phone, put my ear buds in and blasted Bruce Springsteen as I headed towards the elevator. Grady Bishop was waiting for me by the elevator doors. He was my loyal bodyguard, and he’d been doing this long enough to know my routine.

“Morning, Grady,” I nodded.

“Morning, boss,” he replied, following me into the elevator.

He wasn’t much for talking. But neither were any of the members of the my Security Team. That was part of their charm, if you asked me. If they were doing their job right while we were out in public, you wouldn’t even be aware of them… Unless they were needed. Then, in a flash, there they were taking care of whatever needed to be taken care.

Grady was an ex-cop who had dreams of being in the NFL in high school. Once he got into college, he realized he didn’t have that special something that’s required on the field. That didn’t mean he wasn’t big, mean and intimidating.

Well, not to me, because nobody scared me. But to anyone else that encountered him? They would keep their distance.

I’d resented his constant presence in the beginning, but I’d had no say in the manner, so I’d learned to tolerate him. At least he could keep up with me without complaint.

My penthouse was in downtown Denver and twenty-five floors above the Mile High City. The doorman greeted us with a nod as we made our way out of the building. I pulled up the hood of my jacket, hoping that I could get through this run without being recognized, and within seconds I was pounding the pavement of downtown Denver with Grady following a safe distance behind.

I’d started to really enjoy life in the city… And it was a far cry from where I’d come from.

I’d grown up outside of Ft. Collins in a tiny little town called Ault, and I’d been dreaming about leaving the whole time. My great-great-great grandfather, Colonel William O. Collins, had founded the tiny fort town of Camp Collins in 1860, which later became the city of Ft. Collins. My family had stuck around the area ever since, and not one of them had ever gone much further than walking distance from each other… You could say Colorado was in my blood. It was a part of my fabric. Fuck, I’d earned the nickname of ‘Colorado’ in high school because of it, and it had stuck all throughout college at Colorado State and followed me all the way to the pros. The press ate it up and when it was time for the draft, Denver was all over me in the first round. I was tired of the whole manifest destiny bullshit myself. I’d have been just as happy sitting on a beach in Miami…

But hell… If being ‘Colorado’ sold tickets and jerseys, then I knew better than to complain.

And besides that… The rewards were out of this world. My penthouse, my house in the country, my sports cars, my horses, my money…the women. All of it was amazing, better than I’d ever dreamed of as I sat in that tiny shithole town imagining what my life was going to be like when I grew up.

Although, I wasn’t sure exactly how grown up I really was just yet. Sure, I had all these adult things in my life, like Brandy’s exquisite pussy back there, but none of it made me feel like I’d actually become an adult. I didn’t have a wife or kids or even a mortgage to worry about, because everything was paid for. I certainly didn’t have a conventional job. None of the things I thought made you an adult when I was

a kid were a part of my life now.

That doesn’t mean that what I do have isn’t incredibly fucking wonderful. I love every minute of it. I’m grateful for it all. Every single fucking day I say a little prayer of thanks. Every time I buy a new car, or a new house, or bring home a new woman… I know how blessed I am. And every time I hear the roar of the crowd, I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Colorado has been good to me.

But it’s a hell of a lot of pressure. Sometimes, when I’m running through the hustle and bustle of downtown Denver, passing by all the suited clones on their way to their cubicles, I wonder if I’m missing out on something. I wonder if they feel the same pressure that I do.