3. Colton

3

COLTON

T he noise of the hotel bar around me fades out as I watch a woman practically glide across the room.

Her blonde hair is sleek, straight down her back, stopping just before her ass, which is covered in a sexy black dress that sits high on her thighs.

I continue down to her feet, trying to imagine what those shoes might look like wrapped around my waist, the heels digging into my ass.

My blood begins to heat, but nothing like it would have if I saw her last year. Especially not the year before that.

Someone near the entrance calls her name and she flips her head around.

She’s beautiful. Her face is flawless, her eyes bright blue, her lips full and stained red. Perfect for wrapping around…

She smiles at her friend, and it only makes it even better.

But still, there’s something missing.

Yes, she’s beautiful. Yes, she’s exactly the type of girl who’s warmed my bed time and time again over the years. But something stops me from getting up from the bar stool and walking over to introduce myself.

She wants me to. Or maybe not me specifically, but that’s why she’s here dressed up like that. It’s obvious.

It’s not her. It’s you, a little voice says in my head.

Something has been wrong with me for the past couple of months. I just can’t put my finger on what it is.

I’ve been convincing myself that it was the off-season, and I was taking a well-earned break. But it should have been a break from the grueling relentlessness of the season and then the playoffs. Not from fucking all the jersey chasers who buzz around the team like flies.

Flies?

I’ve never even considered them to be a pest before.

But as I rip my eyes from her and scan the bar, they’re all I can see.

Dressed to the nines, desperate for some player’s attention to validate their lives.

They’re perfect. What I’ve always wanted.

No commitment; no attachment.

So why, over the past few months, has the prospect of hooking up with some nameless, faceless woman become less and less appealing?

I still don’t do anything serious. But clearly, something inside me has decided I’m not interested in casual either. And that something is not my dick, because that is more than interested in any of the half-naked girls walking around this place.

“Colt. Colt. Colton,” a voice barks.

“Ow, what the fuck?” I hiss, lifting my hand to rub the back of my head.

“Dude, I said your name like six times. Where the fuck did you go?” Kane, our rookie wide receiver, asks.

“Isn’t it obvious?” someone else answers for me. “In his head, he already has that blonde stripped naked in his hotel room.” It’s Luca, my best friend and our quarterback.

“What blon—ooooh. My bad,” Kane says, leaning around me and spotting her still over by the entrance, animatedly chatting with a friend. “She’s got night-before-a-game ritual written all over her.”

“I don’t have a ritual,” I mutter, reaching for my drink—soda—and taking a sip.

Long gone are our college days where we’d happily get buzzed the night before a game and it wouldn’t impact our performance.

Now, we need to be sensible, professional sportsmen who fuel our bodies with nothing but goodness and go to bed at a decent hour to be ready and refreshed for the big day.

How times have changed.

A smile pulls at my lips as memories of Luca, his twin Leon, and the guys at Maddison Kings University in our freshman and sophomore years come back to me. Times before Luca and Leon got themselves whipped by their girls, and Kane Legend turned up to throw our worlds into chaos.

Good times. Good fucking times.

Another face flashes through my mind, just like it always does when I think back to college, but I push it down. Nothing good can come of losing myself in memories of her. Especially not when I’m sitting at a bar with the guys and surrounded by more people than I care to count who would happily take on my secrets, knowing it might earn them a small fortune from the press.

I see the headlines almost as clearly as if I were reading them on my cell right in front of me. Seattle Saints star running back Colton Rogers confesses to still being obsessed with his on-again, off-again hookup from college.

Yeah, no. We’re not going there tonight. Or ever. And the less I think about it, the better.

“When the fuck are you going to admit it?” Luca joins in. “You’ve been hooking up with chasers even when you were backup as a freshman. Religiously, every fucking week.”

“I was enjoying life away from home. Sue me.”

“Every Friday night before a game.”

“Fuck off, rookie. You weren’t even there.”

Okay, so technically, Kane is no longer a rookie, seeing as he’s going into his second season, but that hasn’t stopped our teasing. He might be the same age as us, but he started at college a few years late, and his priority was graduating despite having the chance to enter the draft in his junior year.

It gave us a solid head start in terms of experience, and after three years together with the Saints, Luca and I are practically veterans. Something we like to point out as often as possible, purely for entertainment purposes.

His jaw ticks in irritation. “Doesn’t mean I don’t know what a fucking dog you are, though, does it, Rogers?”

“Not all of us want to sign ourselves up to a lifetime of one pussy, asshole.”

“It’s a fucking good life, though. Having someone always cheering for you no matter how badly you fumble a play. Having a warm body to cuddle up to every night.”

I think of my house and try to picture a woman in it.

Nah, not for me.

And of course, there’s the fact that all the women I meet these days are only after a handful of things.

A player, their money, and their status.

I might be willing to share my body for the night in return for pleasure, but that’s as far as it’s going for me.

I might not tell them, but Luca and Kane, Leon too, they all got lucky with their girls. The three of them are grounded, they have their own dreams, careers, and lives. And most importantly, they’re decent human beings. Unlike most who want a piece of us these days.

I knew what life as a pro would be like. I’ve watched the media circus all my life and experienced them barging into family life and ultimately running it into the ground.

But while being in the middle of that clusterfuck—and suffering years of pain because of it—I still knew I wanted this life for myself. Maybe I’m just a masochist or something. I’d rather not dig into my psyche right now, or ever. There’s too much terrifying shit that could be dug up that needs to stay buried. Really fucking deep.

“Spare me the lecture,” I mutter. I’ve been listening to this shit from them for years, and it never makes a difference. At this point, I’m sure they do it purely to bait me. They’ve probably got a bet going or some shit.

“You’re especially grumpy tonight, Rogers,” Luca points out. “Anything you need to get off your chest?”

“What is this? Some kind of fucked-up intervention? I go a few weeks—” Total fucking lie. “—without getting laid and suddenly, there must be some huge issue?”

“We’re not used to you hanging out with us over the girls, man. We’re just worried,” Kane adds.

“Well, don’t be. It’s perfectly natural to go through a dry spell.” I regret the words the second they fall from my lips.

“Dry spell?” Luca parrots. “So this isn’t just a couple of weeks off, then?”

“Bro, we’re fucking NFL royalty. Two days could be considered a dry spell.”

“He’s kinda got a point there,” Kane agrees before sipping his drink. “Glad I’ve got Let. Those girls can be terrifying.”

“Terrifying?” Luca asks with a snort. “Those size zeros wearing your number are terrifying? To a two-hundred-pound wide receiver? You need to find your balls, man.”

“He knows exactly where they are,” I add quickly. “Letty has locked them up for safekeeping.”

“Fucking right,” Kane says proudly. “She can play with them whenever she wants to.”

“How’s it going with the season starting?” Luca asks, his voice taking on a more serious tone.

“It’s tough,” Kane confesses. “Last year was hard with a newborn, but I didn’t know any better. Having that time off with them, hanging with my boy...” He shakes his head, a sappy smile playing on his lips. “It was amazing. Watching him grow, learn.” Lifting his hand, he rubs at his chest as if thoughts of his son make his heart ache.

As someone who doesn’t want a serious connection to anyone, it’s a bizarre concept to understand.

He’s the first one of our group to have a kid. Sure, there are older players on the team who have families—a couple of them have taken Kane under their wing, offering up advice from their years of experience. Luca wants it; I can see it in his eyes. And I can’t help but wonder how things will look for us and our friendship when that happens.

Luca and I came to Seattle together after we lucked out in the draft.

I wanted to be here. It’s where I grew up. I’ve watched and supported the Saints all my life. To get the chance to play here, to step foot on the field and call the stadium and training facilities home? Well, it’s everything.

Luca didn’t want familiar. He didn’t want to follow in his old man’s footsteps. He wanted to carve his own path through the NFL, so he took this chance, and we got to embark on our rookie year together. And fuck me, was it one hell of a year.

We may have both been backups for the quarterback and running back, but it was fucking everything. All my childhood dreams coming true. And, I got to do it with my best friend.

“You’ll figure it out,” Luca says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Being football kids didn’t screw us up too bad, did it?” he teases, looking at me.

“Oh no, we’re totally fucking normal.”

“Look out, blondie is heading this way,” Kane warns, jerking his chin over my shoulder.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter under my breath, although not quite enough for them to miss it.

It’s widely known that they’re both happily shacked up. And while that might not stop the most shameless of jersey chasers, a few do actually have some morals when we’re all hanging out together. It’s not unusual for me to get most of the attention. Probably helped by the fact I’ve spent years giving out plenty of my own.

“We wanna win tomorrow, bro. Get your game face on and let the ritual roll,” Luca says as a shadow falls over me.

“It’s not a fucking rit?—”

“Colton Rogers,” the woman purrs, making the hairs on the back of my neck lift, and not in a good way. Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard.

Both Luca and Kane visibly shudder before sharing an amused look.

Fuck my life.

“I think we’re gonna call it a night,” Luca says, pushing from his stool. “Big day tomorrow and all,” he says as an excuse to the girl.

“You’re going to stay for a bit, though, right?” she asks me, moving closer and practically sitting on my lap.

“Looks like he couldn’t move right now, even if he wanted to,” Kane points out.

“One drink, and then maybe we can follow them up?” she suggests before leaning closer and pressing her breasts against my chest. “I’ve got a tattoo that I’d love you to see up close.”

I grit my teeth and forcefully remove her from my lap.

“I think I’m good,” I say.

“But it’s your number,” she argues before dropping her irritating voice to something resembling a growl. “Right on my inner thigh.”

Luca snorts but quickly covers it with a cough. Subtlety has never been a skill of his.

“T-that’s great,” I stutter, hoping like hell that she’s lying or that it’s a temporary one.

Getting to my feet, I move away from her.

“I hope you enjoy the game tomorrow,” I say politely, and with a nod, I follow the others out of the hotel bar.

“Well, we’re fucked,” Kane says once the elevator doors close in front of us.

“Haven’t done too bad so far this season. Probably shouldn’t change things up now.”

“Did you just come up with an excuse to not get laid?” Luca asks, his brow wrinkling as if he just heard me wrong. “Who are you and what have you done with Colton ‘Playboy’ Rogers?”

“Just not feeling it.” I shrug.

“Aw,” Kane teases. “Our boy is growing up.”

We spill out onto our floor, marching toward our rooms. We take over this hotel every time we play at home, seeing as we’re expected to all be together. At this point, it’s almost as familiar as my own place.

“Have a good night,” I call, leaving them behind to escape to the safety of my room.

“Make sure you lube up,” Luca shouts. “We don’t want any blisters on those hands for tomorrow.”

Kane barks out a laugh as I flip them off and disappear into my room.

Assholes.