Jock: A Secret Baby Sports Romance by Aubrey Irons Page B

for a second. But then she’s only smiling as she reaches up and pats my cheek.
    “Oh, sugar ,” she winks at me, “I think you’d need more than fifteen minutes with me.”
    And without another word, she grabs the handle of her suitcase, turns, and strolls towards the hotel room door.
    She turns with her hand on the knob.
    “Check-out is at eleven, but you’re welcome to stay here until then.”
    She places that cowgirl hat of hers atop her head as she turns. And then she’s gone, and I’m standing alone in a towel in her damn hotel room, watching the door click shut.
    Where the fuck did this girl come from, and what the fuck just happened?

12
London
    B reathe .
    It’s not until I’m through security at the Denver airport that I remember to do so.
    I take a seat in the waiting area by my gate, feeling shaky, feeling electrified, and buzzing with the flushed thrill of the night before.
    What the HELL just happened?
    I’ve never been this unprofessional, not once . Hell, even before the hotel room, everything about my dealings with Holden Cade so far have been so wildly inappropriate that I don’t even know what to make of it. Talking about the contract and negotiating directly with a prospect? What was I even thinking? It should never have been Holden at that dinner last night to begin with, it should have been his manager and me discussing the terms.
    But there I went and said yes to dinner with him , and as much as I want to vehemently deny it, I know it’s because one look at those smoky eyes and one flash of that stupidly charming grin had me saying yes like some sort of trained puppy.
    Ugh.
    And then I doubled down on stupid decisions. Because apparently taking a one-on-one business dinner with a prospect that I was already having wildly inappropriate thoughts about wasn’t enough. I had to introduce alcohol to the mix.
    Nice job, girl. Well done.
    I groan as I slump in my chair, pulling my hat down low over my eyes and blowing a thin stream of air out through my lips. I want to tell myself that the whole thing was about the deal - about making damn sure we got the trade. That’s all.
    Except that’s not true, and I damn well know it. This was about not knowing how to, or even remotely wanting to say no to a man like Holden. This was seeing that train coming from a hundred miles away and standing firmly in the middle of the tracks.
    Because I’m insane, apparently, not to mention seemingly perfectly okay jeopardizing the formidable reputation I’ve built for myself over the years.
    Oh so you slept with him to make the deal?
    I groan as the thought hits me again. I don’t want to think about what that makes me.
    In any case, he’s interested. He’s going to make the move; I can feel it.
    …Either that or it’s just my traitorous body remembering how he felt. I can feel the warm creep of a forbidden, wicked feeling starting in my stomach and spreading through my body as my mind flashes back the events of the night before.
    His mouth, his fingers, moving over my skin and making it ache and burn for him.
    The size of him.
    How he felt. How his lips tasted.
    I shiver, blushing and re-crossing my legs at the sudden tingle of heat and wetness between them.
    That’s enough of that.
    I shake my head, sitting up straight now and taking a deep, shaky breath.
    Last night happened , but that doesn’t mean I can’t put it behind me and just move on. Holden wants this trade as much as we do, and the events of last night will in no way shape or form change that.
    Besides, I think with a shrug, straightening my hat and taking my phone out of my bag; I’m allowed to have some fun once in a while.
    I thumb my phone screen on, and I’m immediately greeted by a string of texts from my friend Serena I haven’t seen yet.
    Serena also works for the Bulls on the publicity side of things. She’s my literal opposite: model-tall where I’m short, envy-inducing long, silken dark hair where my frizzy auburn locks