Page 4 of Virgin Pass

Chapter Two

Austin

Of all thetimes to call, to insist on seeing me. I should have told my agent to go to hell and hung up. Instead, I’m on my way into the city to see him and tell him to his face. I haven’t even been here a week and he’s already summoning me to his office now that I’m back in New Mexico. He knows I like to blow off a little steam after practice, especially ones that have me warming the bench more than running plays, even on the practice squad. Are they kidding me? I may have only been with the Warriors for a week, but I’ve been in the league for over a decade. They know better than to fuck with me.

So I dropped a few snaps, missed a few passes, and was sacked so many times I lost count. So what? I still have a lot to offer. That’s probably what my agent wants to talk about. He’s as pissed as I am, and he should be. I’ve made him and his agency a hell of a lot of money with all the endorsements.

Endorsements that seem to be drying up faster than a raindrop on an Arizona sidewalk in the heat of summer, but let’s not open that wound.

My mind drifts to Lori, all grown up and teasing my dick with her playful smile. She snagged my attention that first day in the locker room. I’ve been hard ever since. Then she went and caught my eye—and my mouth—at practice. Little Miss Football, the coach’s daughter. Talk about not on the menu.

But damn if she didn’t prove good enough to eat. Her hair’s still the color of white embers glowing in the center of the hottest fire. The sight of that glossy blonde hair definitely had me feeling the heat, my muscles warm and humming with energy, my cock thickening in my practice uniform.

And those eyes! They’re even bluer now, the color of the Arizona sky on a bright winter morning, so blue I want to swim in them, those deep pools of endless, crystal blue. Jesus and Christ. I’ve never had a more overwhelming, mind-numbing, dick-swelling reaction to a woman my entire life—and I’ve been around a lot of beautiful women in my line of work.

I want to take mental inventory of her other assets that still have me panting for a taste, but my phone rings through the Bluetooth and I answer it as I whip around a minivan in the fast lane. “You’ve got the Lucky Strike.”

“At least one of us does,” grumbles Eddy, my agent at Elite Sports since my rookie year. He signed me before the draft, when I still lived here, before anyone even heard of me. “Listen, about the meeting—”

“I know I’m running late,” I cut him off and cross several lanes to make the exit, earning a half-dozen horn honks and a few gestures telling me I’m number one. “I’m five minutes out.”

“No rush,” he says quickly. “In fact, let’s—let’s not meet.”

“What?” I take a corner fast, chirping the tires and cutting off a cab. “No way, Eddy. You got me into the city. You know how much I hate driving in the city. We haven’t had a meeting in person in a longtime. Besides, I’m already here.”

“Look, Austin—it’s just—we had a meeting here earlier—and, uh—it’s just—”

“Oh, for the love of Christ, man. Spit it out.” Why the hell is he stammering? That’s not like Eddy. He’s a fast talker. Hell, he can talk a polar bear into buying a tanning machine. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s procrastinating, like he has bad news and doesn’t want to be the one to tell me. I’m not worried. I mean, it’s not like—

“We’re dropping you.”

I slam on the brakes, squealing the tires as I skid into a parking stall in front of the building. There’s no way I heard that right. Grabbing my phone, I bring it to my ear and jump out of the car. The heat of the day hits me and I squint against the assault. “There must be a bad connection.”

“I can hear you just fine.”

“No.” I storm through the lobby, not slowing until I take a ninety and hurry down the hall toward my agency’s office. I haven’t stepped foot in this building in over three years, haven’t needed to with me living in another state. Everything business-wise we needed to conduct, we did over the phone. That used to work for Eddy. Now? Now he’s making me come to him, which only sharpens my already cutting irritation. First the trade, then immediate assignment to the practice squad, now this? “It’s a bad connection. There’s no way I heard you right.”

“We’re dropping you,” he repeats, like I need to hear it again.

My guts twist. I don’t need this right now. I really don’t. I’m being dumped by my agent? Opening the door to the firm, I’m greeted by two men in security uniforms, blocking my way from entering the office. “What the fu—”

“Mr. Striker,” the larger guard greets and steps forward. “We’re here to escort you from the building.”

“Blow me,” I bark and try to push past the wall of muscle, like I’ve not gone up against men twice their size—and won. When they reach for me, I fake right and roll left. By the time they realize they’re no longer between me and the receptionist, I’m already across the room. I win, fuckers.

Then I freeze at the sight, my brain instantly scrambling. What the hell is Little Miss Football doing standing in the doorway looking soft and sexy and all made up nice? Her bright blonde hair—it’s her fault I have a weakness for blondes now—is twisted up off her creamy neck and I’m at a loss for words. She stands and I get a good long look at the way her skirt doesn’t hug her curves the way I’d hug her curves. Her silky shirt doesn’t know how to hang just right and show off her high, round breasts. I’d make them a star attraction.

By the time I swallow to wet my throat, it’s too late. My imagination has taken off on me. And now, so has my dick, growing and making my jeans uncomfortably tight. The urge to sweep Lori off her feet, to finish our kiss from the corridor, is so strong I grab the top of the desk to stop myself from doing exactly that.

Before I can make sense over any of the bullshit that’s happened the past five minutes, however, the two security guards are on me, dragging me back toward the exit. “Get your hands off me,” I growl. “Do you know who I am?”

“I know who you were,” the big one muses. Fucker.

“Stop.” Lori steps out from the doorway. When she flashes a look at the guards, they both stand at attention, pulling me with them. I jerk out of their grips and straighten my clothes, grinning smugly. Then she says, “Let’s have a chat, Mr. Striker. We can use Eddy’s old office.”

I lose my smile as I whip my attention to her. “Old office? What happened to Eddy?”

“He moved to another office last year. His office is now a conference room. We…we can talk there.”

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