The Score

“Sounds like a good tradeoff.”

“I know, right?”

Logan leaves a couple minutes later, and my in-dire-need-of-sex libido springs to life at the thought of having the house to myself tonight. I don’t waste any time contacting Allie, who must be as horny as I am, because she answers right away.

Her: YES! 3 days of stress = coming over right after my workout. Gimme a couple hours, tho.

Me: Favor to ask.

Her: ?

Me: Bring Winston.

The request earns me a laughing emoticon and a winky face, which could either mean “That’s hilarious but no” or “That’s hilarious and yes I will.” I hope for the latter.

*

I flip through a Sports Illustrated at the kitchen counter while I scarf down my dinner, which consists of leftover chicken and broccoli. The team nutritionist emails us a weekly list of suggested meal plans, but Tucker, our resident chef, seems to think the word “suggested” means “mandatory” because he refuses to keep any junk food in the house. Since he’s the only one who remembers to go grocery shopping and the only one who actually enjoys cooking, this is the healthiest house on the fucking planet.

After dinner, I shower, shave, and do a little bit of manscaping, because I’m nice like that. Then I settle at my desk to start my International Relations paper, which I’m still working on when Allie rings the doorbell. I save the file, close the laptop, and go downstairs to let her in.

She’s on the phone when I swing open the door. She mouths, “Sorry” and holds up one finger to indicate she’ll be a minute.

“Want dinner?” I murmur as she enters the front hall. “We’ve got leftovers.”

Allie covers the mouthpiece for a second. “Thanks, I already ate.” She lifts her hand, “No, I’m still here, Ira. And yes, I sent you the tape. I don’t get why you needed it this fast, if they’re not making any casting decisions until February.”

We head upstairs, and I let her walk ahead of me so I can admire her ass. When we reach the second-floor landing, I can’t help but ease in behind her, rubbing my aching groin against her bottom as I bend my head to kiss her neck.

She shivers and swats me away. “I don’t know,” she says into the phone. “I’m still on the fence about this role.” She pauses. “Yes, I read what they asked me to read. My friend Megan read Zoey’s part off-camera.”

I notice that she keeps rubbing her lower back. Every time her palm touches a certain spot, her expression grows pained. Or maybe she’s just annoyed with whatever this Ira dude is saying to her.

“I overnighted it to you at the campus shipping center, so you should get it tomorrow afternoon.” She presses her hand to her tailbone, massaging absently. “If you think I need to redo it, I will. But I did the best I could with what they gave me…yes…yes, Ira…we’ll talk tomorrow.”

She hangs up and turns toward me. “My agent is driving me nuts,” she announces.

I hadn’t even known she had an agent, so I’m notably impressed. “How come?”

“He wants me to audition for this Fox pilot, but I’m not able to fly to LA for the casting session so I had to send an audition tape instead. Now he’s all worried that my ‘natural charm’ won’t show through on camera. Which is fricking stupid, because that’s what television acting is—conveying emotion on camera.”

I frown when I notice she’s still clutching her back. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” she moans. “I think I pulled something at the gym. I’ve been super stressed about this play I’m doing, and I worked myself too hard tonight. My back is killing me.”

“Want me to rub it for you?”

“God, yes. Please?”

I’m about to instruct her to lie on the bed, but then I have a better idea. “Get naked,” I order. “I’ll be right back.”

After years of playing sports, I’m no stranger to aches and pains. Tight muscles, sore ribs, busted knees…I’ve had it all, and I discovered a long time ago that nothing loosens me up more than a good soak. Since a visit to the team facility’s whirlpool or steam room isn’t an option, I do the next best thing by running a scalding hot bath.

As the water level rises, I rummage in the cabinet under the sink to see if there are any bath salts or oils I can dump in there. I find a bottle of bubble bath, which I assume belongs to Grace because Hannah has the luxury of using Garrett’s private bathroom. G, that greedy bastard, pulled rank on us and used the team captain card to claim the master bedroom when we moved into this house.

Logan, Tuck and I are forced to share the one in the hall, and it shows. The shelves are overflowing with dude products, the towels are forever on the floor, and the wastebasket contains an alarming amount of condom wrappers.

Sighing, I start collecting the discarded towels. Logan left a pair of khakis on the rack, but I just drape the damp towels over the pants, then grab two clean ones from the linen closet and set them on the closed toilet lid.

I return to the bedroom to find a very naked Allie sitting at the edge of the bed. My body responds, hardening to the sight of all that smooth, bare skin. Her nipples are pointed in salute. Fuck, I want to suck on them.

A grin breaks out when I notice what she’s holding. “You actually brought him?”

“You texted when I was still at the dorm, so I decided to grant you your favor.” She menacingly waves the dildo at me. “But if you want me to shove Winston up your butt, it’s not happening.”

I choke out a laugh. “Don’t worry. I’d prefer it if my butt stayed Winston-free.”

“Good.” She lovingly strokes the pink phallus. “Don’t get me wrong—I’ll totally shove whatever you want up there. Just not Winston. He’s special to me.”

Wait, what?

“Hold up. That’s your issue? You’re willing to peg me if I ask you to, but only as long as we don’t use your precious Winston?”

“Of course I’d peg you if you asked me to.” She says this as if it’s the most normal thing on the planet. “Why would I ever deny you all that prostate pleasure? It’s like telling a woman you won’t touch her clit.”

“As a man who has never experimented with his prostate, I can’t comment on the strength of that comparison.”