4. Storm

4

STORM

Eyes on the ball .

My heart pounded in my chest like a war drum as Andy Watkins got right up in my face, sticking to me like glue. Sweat dripped down every inch of me, and every muscle in my body burned. The good kind of burn.

We were tied 14-14 with Miami.

Past my helmet I saw Watkins' fierce gaze. He was Miami's best cornerback, and he was trying to get to me. He'd been trying to fuck with my mental for the whole game. We were nearing the end of the fourth quarter, and the game had been tighter than a fucking vise the whole time.

"Fight me after this, Rosling?" Watkins grunted at me. I waited patiently for the hike.

"Gonna eat shrimp cocktail and fucking celebrate after this, when we win the game," I muttered back.

I knew I shouldn't be shit-talking on the field. He shouldn't have been either. It was only a distraction. Miami had no timeouts left, and this could be a done deal if I played it right.

Eyes on the fucking ball.

That football is the only thing that matters.

I listened to Tomlin's cadence. When the signal came I broke into action, routing left then going hard right.

Tomlin gave me a perfectly thrown pass, clear and direct and right into my open hands.

The ball hit my fingers like it was coming home.

Yes. Fuck. Yes.

I knew we only had eight seconds left on the clock, but I didn't have very far to take it. I juked left again, Watkins right on my ass, then took off directly to the right, gunning it down to the endzone. I could feel thousands of eyes on me. The crowd, Miami, my own teammates. Millions , with everyone watching on TV.

The best pressure cooker on Earth.

Just me and the football .

I ran like it was the last thing I'd ever do. When my foot landed past that goal line, I roared, unbidden, as Miami's crowd groaned and my own team shouted in celebration.

"That's how we do it!" someone on my team screamed, and as the clock hit zero, my own team came to jump alongside me in the endzone.

"How's that feel, Stormy Eyes?" Kace shouted out at me, grinning wide as he used my silly nickname.

He jumped over to hug me. "Kind of feel like I'm about to puke from that last route, but you fucking bet your ass I loved every second of it."

Kace laughed.

Miami's fans were already flooding out of the stands a few moments later. I couldn't blame them. Their team had been on fucking fire all night—but we'd just outplayed them in the last few seconds.

"You were nasty with that route running in the third, too, Storm," Kace said to me, giving me a big pat on the back. "This is going to be a fun season."

I choked up a little, despite myself. Pride welled up in me, hearing Kace Tomlin say something like that to me. Moments like this made all of the bullshit worth it. Having my name in headlines, being misunderstood, and dealing with people who didn't believe in me meant nothing when we played football that well.

Within another couple of hours, we were all already back on our flight to Colorado. Other than my legs being tired, I felt pretty great, and when the plane touched down in Denver, an email popped up in my notifications.

Contract Ready to Sign: The Fixer Brothers

I couldn't keep a smile off my face.

"There it is, man," I said to Kace, showing him the email on my phone.

Kace smiled at me. "I wasn't allowed to tell you, but Nathan let me know last night that they were going to go forward with you." He held up a hand to high-five me. "Welcome to the club, bro. If you think you're already famous with football fans, wait ‘til the home TV network fans learn who you are. Those ladies are going to fall in love with ol' Stormy Eyes."

"Nah, don't need that," I said. "I've had plenty of attention from women since going pro, but I'm more excited about Emmett."

Kace raised an eyebrow at me. "Didn't know you were into guys. But that's hot, Storm."

"Oh. I'm not," I said, heat creeping up to my cheeks. "I didn't mean I'm interested in Emmett."

He shrugged. "All I know is that he is single, gay, and looks so hot, like he belongs in a glamorous old movie or something."

"I'll admit that's true. He really does, doesn't he?"

Kace nodded. "So what are you excited about, then?"

"About rubbing it in his greedy little face that I'm going to be on the TV show," I said. "He hates me. He'd probably pay me a million dollars in cash not to be on the show."

Kace furrowed his brow. "Emmett hates you? Emmett Waycott?"

"That's the one," I said.

Kace seemed confused. "I've only had dinner with him a few times, but that guy seems like he could befriend anyone. He could make a panther with a machine gun into a docile kitten in two seconds flat."

I snorted. "Don't even try to explain how a panther would hold a machine gun."

"In its teeth, obviously," Kace said. "But I mean it. I really doubt Emmett hates you. You're a charmer, he's a charmer…"

"And he thinks I'm going to ruin the Fixer Brother's reputation," I said. "Because I tell it like it is. And because I talk shit to homophobes, like the guy who fucked with you in that bar."

Kace nodded. "The guys do really want that deal with Racks," he mused.

I shrugged. "Emmett Waycott isn't the first guy who's had a problem with me, and he won't be the last. I'll figure something out. He's just a wealthy, Mad Men-type anyway. I don't need him to like me."

The thought of Emmett gnawed away at me all night, though. An hour later, back at home, I signed the digital contract, finalizing my home renovation plans and appearance on the TV show.

I was going to do it.

And I knew Emmett was going to be pissed about it.

I walked out into my backyard afterwards. The wood of the old failing patio deck creaked under my feet, and the air was filled with the sound of crickets. Somewhere far off, a charcoal barbecue gave off its last embers of smoke.

I looked over the top of the fence, toward Emmett's backyard. I could faintly see the glow of a dim light coming from one of his upstairs windows.

Emmett could befriend anyone , Kace had said.

Well, apparently not me.

A bitter coil of resentment tightened in my chest. The ghost of some emotion that had been in me since I was a kid. I was used to people like Emmett treating me like I didn't matter—like I was nothing, the same trailer trash nobody that I'd been when I was a kid.

But Emmett didn't just want to ignore me. He wanted to change how I acted. Who I was.

Nobody usually got under my skin for longer than a few minutes, but I couldn't stop thinking about him. What the hell was with me?

The next morning I woke up to the sound of my doorbell and, right afterward, Oreo going into a stage-five nuclear barkfest.

"I know, right, girl?" I said, my eyes still bleary from a heavy sleep. "That doorbell sound was so offensive."

I scooped her up and carried her down the creaky stairs toward the front door. I could see through the windows already that there was nobody there, but as I opened the door, I saw a telltale red Porsche heading off down the driveway.

There was a wrapped-up gift tray on my doorstep. Not just a simple wicker basket full of popcorn and candy, like a normal person would use for a gift basket, but something absolutely ridiculous. It was made of marble, as far as I could tell, and it contained about ten different things, all of which were fall-themed.

Fancy fall-spiced champagne. A cinnamon-clove cold brew kit. Apple candies. Other overpriced treats.

And in front of it all, a handwritten card, written in proper cursive.

Happy first day of autumn, the most beautiful time of year. And congratulations, Storm, on your win against Miami last night, and of course, your contract with the Fixer Brothers. Cheers to a beautiful partnership. My phone number's on the back of this card, if you ever need advice on anything. -E. Waycott

Something fizzled in my chest, and strangely, I felt a smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

"That motherfucker," I said out loud, under my breath.

What the hell was this feeling? Anger? Confusion? Intrigue? All three? He even left his phone number, clearly in hopes that I'd consult him before anything I said or posted publicly. Fat chance of me ever doing that.

All I knew was that I hadn't felt so… challenged , in a very long time.

I see how it is , I thought to myself as I reread the note. You couldn't prevent me from working with the Fixer Brothers, so now you're trying to butter me up, babe?

Emmett wasn't even just trying to butter me up.

He was trying to tame me.

Oh, it's on .

I knew exactly what I wanted to do.

Before I even thought through the process, I knew I was about to pull a stunt that was exactly what Emmett would hate: a spur-of-the-moment decision, made in haste, without giving a single fuck what anyone might think of me.

I headed back inside, hoisting up the stupidly heavy marble gift basket and putting it in my kitchen. I beelined for my backyard.

And I shoved off my shorts and stripped nude the moment I hit my lawn.

I lay back onto the picnic blanket I had out there, in the bright morning sunlight. I grabbed my phone, turned it to the camera setting, and put it on selfie mode.

I held the camera out as far as it would go, framing myself so that plenty of my cock was showing. It was thick even lying there against my thigh—I'd always been more of a show-er not a grow-er , and now it was my time to shine.

I snapped a few photos of my naked body. I was proud of how I looked naked. My body was one of the few things that I'd never, ever been ashamed of. I got a few really good shots, where my muscles were on display and my cock looked great in the morning light.

And then I opened up my social media, "accidentally" posting my private nudes online.

Satisfaction flooded through me the moment I hit post .

Pure, white-hot fucking thrill.

I basked in the sunlight, leaning back in the portion of my yard that was fully private, surrounded by tall banks of pine trees and Aspens.

About ten minutes later, I went back to my account and deleted all of the photos, so that it would look like a true accidental "leak."

But the internet had already caught on. The photos had been shared and copied thousands and thousands of times already, and I knew damn well that there were probably already a zillion gossip blogs writing up posts about my scandalous photos.

Oopsie.

I lay on my back again, letting the sun hit my skin. God, it felt good to think of Emmett seeing those photos.

I wished I could see his reaction. Would he gasp? Clutch at his chest? Be so very shocked at my naked body?

My cock throbbed at the thought.

Fuck, I was getting hard from this. Did I really like the idea of screwing with Emmett enough to get a boner?

It was undeniable, though. I reached down to grip my cock, which was hardening even more now, thinking of Emmett seeing my photos. It felt deviously good, thinking of him seeing me nude. I liked the idea of getting under his skin, but I also knew he was gay.

I liked the idea that he might also get turned on, all while being pissed off.

…Kind of like I was turned on right now, retaliating against his kiss-ass gift basket and its stupid fall theme.

Of course you made it fall-themed, you fucker , I thought to myself as I stroked my cock. Can't stand the thought that I'm not just like you, can you?

I pictured Emmett's eyes on me. Those calculating, shrewd eyes. The idea of all his attention being on me, even when he didn't want it to be. The idea of him having to spend time with me. Having to be around me, even if he hated it.

The idea of him watching me.

I'll show you exactly who I am , I thought.

I gripped my cock firmly and groaned as I came, way faster than usual, pushing my back deeper into the grass through the blanket.

" Fuck me," I muttered under my breath, looking down to see I'd painted myself in white streaks, all the way up my stomach.

That had come out of nowhere. Not that I was going to complain about a good orgasm, but… what the hell?

I wasn't usually that into revenge.

Maybe it really had been too long since I'd hooked up with a woman.

So maybe I'd do that tonight.

The Fixer Brothers had invited me out to some celebratory drinks at Jade Brewery, and I was certain I could find a fun woman to take home with me.

That was probably all I needed.