Page 20 of So Pucking Over You
Oakley
The sound of a buzzing alarm pulls me from the sweetest dream of a little girl and boy running through the field with a pack of dogs. Pushing up on my forearm I realize I’m resting on a warm hard chest. It wasn’t a dream. Memories of our epic night fill me and I realize I’m half-on, half-off of Dash and there’s no mistaking his state of arousal. I hope he woke us early enough to do something about the situation.
“Morning wood or is that for me?”
“It’s all for you. Forever.”
“Humm.” I’ve just gotten comfortable kissing a trail down his chest when his phone rings.
He frowns when he sees the caller Id. Glancing at me, he mouths Coach and hits the button to answer the call on speaker. “What’s up?”
“Are you on the road?”
“Not yet.”
“Get your ass moving. Another storm is blowing in.”
The drive is tense with icy spots and slow traffic. The wind gusts blow snow across our path, but there’s no new snowfall to impede our progress.
“By the time we make it to the stadium we’ll only have two hours before warmup starts. It’s going to be a tough game,” Dash says. “And Trevor is going to be pissy because coach insisted that he ride the bus with the rest of the team.”
I’ve been focused on my notes planning a dozen different responses and comebacks for the press conference after the game.
“Do you want to come to my place to shower and change before we go to the arena? Or can you get ready there?” Dash asks.
“The women’s locker room will be fine. I sorted my bag in preparation for that likelihood.”
“What can I do to help you?”
Placing my hand on his thigh, I smile. “Win today. It will make everything else fade away.”
He smirks. “Gotcha. One win coming up.”
At the arena he takes me to the office where Phil is waiting. He smiles, handing me a packet with a press card clipped to the front. “Man, am I glad you’re the one dealing with the press today. I thought we’d go over what’s in your new hire info and get you signed into all the team’s social media accounts, update you on anything new and then I’d show you around. We’ve got a little time before the local press starts trying to rattle your cage.”
“Perfect.”
“Watch over her, Phil,” Dash instructs before squeezing my shoulder, kissing the top of my head and leaving. I wonder if he even realizes what he did. I glance at Phil. He waggles his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything. After an intense hour and a half, I let myself into the women’s locker room with the key Phil gave me. Showered and hair blown dry I head to the locker where I stored my change of clothes.
Rounding the corner, wrapped only in my towel, I come face to face—ok, face to boob—with Sabrina. “What are you doing in here?”
“I saw you come in here. Trevor told me you were the new press contact for the Blades. Whose dick did you suck to get that job?”
“Humm, no one’s. I didn’t have to. It’s called credentials, a master’s degree, and a stellar dossier. I’m sure you understand hard work and commitment. Your daddy bought you a bachelor’s degree in fashion.”
“I went to school for that,” she snaps.
“Yes, three days for each class for each semester and you paid someone to do your homework.”
“That’s a lie.” Sabrina stomps toward me.
Crossing my arms over the towel, I hold my ground and glare back. “No, it’s the truth and I have the records to prove it. It’s called research.”
“You little bitch. I’m gonna slap you down.”
“Please come ahead and try. But before you do, I should warn you I have a black belt in karate and am working on my purple in Jiu jitsu. Are you sure you want me to mess up your hair? I’d hate to pull out your extensions. Your makeup looks really nice. Would you have time to fix it before the game if it gets smudged?”
“You cunt.”