They were always what my grandfather would call “hot to trot.”
They were women who oozed sexuality in every look, every gesture. In the way they dressed and moved and spoke.
That wasn’t me. Not by a long shot.
Nope. I was the virgin intellect who dressed her pets in team jerseys.
So, I knew that Dak just found me a kooky cat girl and that I was entertaining for five minutes whenever he was in the office. But he’d never date me or want to have sex with me.
Which sometimes was devastatingly disappointing.
Because, hello, sexy alpha male with a charming smile, muscles on muscles, and a confidence that made him a powerhouse on the field.
Other times I realized that this was Darwin at his finest. If Dak ever got tired of supermodels and decided he wanted to take a dip in the nerd-girl pool, I probably couldn’t handle it.
He would break me, in all ways imaginable.
I may have had intelligence, but it didn’t mean a damn thing when hormones were involved.
Survival of the fittest and all that.
“Well, if you ever want me to explain it to you, let me know.” Dak gave me a wink. “It involves pussy and being joined together. Think about it, Kitty.”
I blinked, my cheeks turning pink. Dak wasn’t usually quite so sexual with me.
I liked it.
But I was also flustered. “I’ll think about it,” I assured him, crossing my legs in my yellow flare skirt. My inner thighs felt hot.
Dak laughed.
“North!” The GM’s voice roared from down the hallway. “In my office. Now!”
Dak made a face. “Gotta go. Dad’s going to ground me.”
“Good luck,” I told him. “And don’t worry, we’ll spin it and everything will be fine.”
“I never worry,” he told me. “It’s a wasted emotion. I just live my life.”
I fully believed him. If he worried, he wouldn’t say or post or do half the things he did.
“Must be nice. If worrying were an Olympic sport, I would have the gold,” I said. “I’m just drawn that way.”
Dak tapped my nose. “That’s sad. Loosen up, kid.”
I shivered. Dak was so close to me I could smell his aftershave.
Given that I was sitting and he was standing, his movement shifted that bulge behind his pants perilously close to my face. I wanted to open my mouth and say I would, I absolutely would loosen up.
Heck, I wanted to open my mouth and offer it as an end zone for him, but again, I was a worrier. I could never, ever jeopardize my dream job by screwing around with the star quarterback, who would dump me the second he got bored, which would be five minutes after I took my panties off.
My job was my proudest accomplishment, aside from graduating magna cum laude and being fluent in Klingon, and I wasn’t going to lose it.
“You should go,” I said, before I got melancholy from having to be responsible, and before he got in even more trouble. Jeff Dimarco, the GM, was not known for his patience. “Mr. Dimarco doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Dak nodded. “Yep.” He backed away from me and gave a wave. “See you around, kid.”
I waved to him and turned back to my computer. I gave a heartfelt sigh.
The words on the screen blurred. What the hell was I doing?
Right. Fixing Dak’s lack of restraint.
Will sat down next to me, plunking his mug down so hard he splashed coffee onto the desk. “Don’t be a basic bitch, Eloise. You’re better than just another notch on that guy’s bedpost.”
I snorted. “Thanks.” Will was a nice guy, reasonably attractive, who had asked me out once.
I had turned him down because we worked together and I didn’t want to make that mistake.
Sure, he was a little pale and a little skinny, but that was my wheelhouse.
He was the type of guy I should be dating, if we didn’t work together.
Dak North was out of my league and that’s why Will’s words seemed so ironic and ridiculous.
“No, I’m serious.” Will adjusted his tie and shook his head. “He’s fucking with you, El. He wants you to like him just to stroke his already huge ego.”
Now my co-worker was just being silly. “He doesn’t need me to like him to feel good about himself. He’s pretty sure he’s awesome already and there is a passel of way-better-looking women than me telling him that.”
“You’re good looking,” Will said.
I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t a troll but neither was I anyone’s idea of a centerfold. We were talking apples and oranges here. “Can we just focus on what we need to do?”
“Sure. Absolutely.” Will threw his hands up in the air. “You tell me how we change the narrative on a guy who clearly doesn’t give a shit about anyone but himself.”
I wondered if that were true. Was Dak just a selfish douchebag and nothing more?
Probably.
“Excuse me, Miss Carter?”
I turned at the sound of a woman’s voice and realized the GM’s personal secretary was standing by my desk. “Um, yes?” My heart started to thump. I didn’t even know that she knew who I was.
Madeline Murray was Jeff’s ride-or-die assistant.
“Mr. Dimarco would like to see you in his office.”
Panic made my palms sweat. “Sure,” I said, my voice rising three octaves and cracking like a pubescent boy’s. “When?”
“Now.”
I nodded, then shot Will a look of horror.
His nostrils flared and he shook his head slightly. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“Oh. Okay. Of course.” I stood up so fast my chair rolled out and hit Madeline in the thigh. “Oh! Sorry.”
“Come with me.”
I pushed up my glasses and prayed that I wasn’t being corporate downsized.
Not only was this a job I wanted to keep more than anything, if I couldn’t be at headquarters, I would never see Dak again.
Both were depressing-as-hell thoughts.
* * *
Dak
Mondays can suck my dick.
Normally Mondays we went over film from the game the day before, but Monday also meant my weekly Stop Being An Asshole speech from our GM. I’ve explained to Jeff I don’t mean to be an asshole. I just open my mouth and shit comes out. My mother said I never had a filter, and she’s right.
I can’t say I even regret ninety percent of what I say. I speak the truth. No bullshit. Say what I think. If people don’t like that, not my problem.
We’ve got one go-round in this life and I don’t want to waste mine worrying that people I don’t even know don’t like me. It amazed me that the team had a whole staff of people to manage social media and respond to haters.
My response to haters?
Get off the internet and get a fucking life.
Not that I would ever say that. I don’t think.
Give me enough tequila and I might tweet the shit out of that statement.
Except Jeff Dimarco and the organization were going to do everything possible to prevent that from happening.
I eyed Jeff over his desk.
He was taking a hard stance with me this morning.
No smiling. No handshake. Arms folded over his chest.
I sat in my chair and waited.