Page 28 of Falling for My Son's Best Friend

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Trent

I looked out the bus window. Normally the lights of the city would have had me excited, I’m a wanderer by heart, I fucking love traveling, the intensity, never having much but the clothes on my back. But this time it was different. We’d finished a game in Baltimore, and fuck, it’d been a blow-out, my performance stand-out.

“You got a check with your name on it comin’,” drawled Sandy, our first base coach, clapping me on the shoulder.

“Nice work man,” grunted Marquise, our pitcher, and I nodded in return. Must have meant something, that mofo never compliments anyone, he’s a surly motherfucker.

But coming off a career-defining game, I don’t know, I just felt moody and pissed. I should have been hyped, excited as all get-out, ready to go to the strip club with my buddies, but instead I was headed up to my room to sulk.

“You sure dude?” asked Leon, our left outfielder. I don’t have many friends, it’s too tough given that we’re all in competition with one another, that any of us could be cut at any hour of any day. But Leon was okay, he was an easygoing guy despite the grind, and I chatted with him sometimes.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” I grunted. “You guys go, I’m gonna have some drinks in my room.” More like I was going to masturbate like crazy thinking about Marie, sniffing the lace panties I’d stolen from her laundry hamper, wrapping them around my dick as I blasted off. Oh fuck, even the thought of the silk nothing, its crotch aromatic with her cream made my cock hard, weeping, lusting for the beautiful woman.

But Leon cocked an eyebrow at me, nodding knowingly.

“Shit buddy, don’t drink on your own, there ain’t that much in the mini-bar anyways,” he drawled. “Use the hotel bar, that’s what it’s there for.”

And I grunted, silent and dour, taking the elevator up to my room. But yeah, Leon was right. Upon opening the mini-bar, there were only tiny bottles of liquor, like what you got on the plane, probably three shots total in this fucking fridge. It’d take shit ton to knock me out, to take my mind off the woman, so I stomped my way down to the hotel bar, seating myself like a fucking angry bull, huge, looming on the bar stool.

And a couple drinks made things better, high-end bourbon will do that to you, that shit’s potent. The lights started dimming, the atmosphere hazy as I looked around. Hmm, very nice. Huge portraits of ancient guys in suits hung on the wall with eyes that watched you, plus a giant sculpture of a cow in one corner. This place was modern and trendy, with a touch of old school elegance, the chairs purple velvet, the bar a huge piece of lumber, varnished until it was a glossy black.

And sure enough, a woman appeared out of the woodwork, sliding onto the bar stool next to mine. Knowing I was watching, she leaned forwards and ordered a drink, her big boobies pressing against the wood, like two huge sacks of cream, sitting there begging to be touched. I felt my dick twitch slightly. The resemblance to Marie was astonishing, her hair a curly brown, the small mouth, the curvy figure.

But when she turned to me, it was all wrong. Because instead of wide, innocent brown, this woman’s eyes were filled with calculating greed, gleaming with hunger for money. Shit, even her eyes were green, the color of money.

“Hey big guy,” she purred. “I hear a team’s in town, you part of that?”

I snorted. Another groupie. Another woman who’d give her body for the opportunity to say she slept with a ballplayer. Shit, what was it with these hos? Did they really think I was a notch of their bedpost, bragging to their friends, saying, “Oh, I got Number Nineteen’s dick in me last night, it was so good because he hit a triple?”

So I shook my head, disgusted at myself more than anything else. Because yeah, I’ve indulged in the past, I love good pussy, I love feeling hot cunt wrapped around my dick, shooting my sperm into strange multiple times, but it’d lost its appeal. Because how good could it be? For the first time, it repulsed me. Meaningless sex, I didn’t care about the ho and they sure as hell didn’t care about me. All these women cared about was the uniform, it could have been any dick inside, any random male cock ready to ream.

So I smiled back coldly.

“Yeah, I’m here with the team,” I said, clipping my words. “You looking for action?”

And the woman’s eyes gleamed brighter then, narrowing like a cat. How had I ever thought she looked like Marie? I could see now that the tits were fake, the huge monsters rubbery and perfectly circular, like overblown water balloons. And shit, as the light glanced over her face, her skin looked cakey and powdery at once, loaded with layer after layer make-up, none of the glowing freshness that I associated with my best girl.

But she pressed on, her tits almost falling out of her dress.

“I am looking for action,” she purred, trailing a long red fingernail up my arm, almost to my elbow. My skin crawled although I remained perfectly still, letting her do her thing. “Where you staying?”

And I snorted then. Shit, groupies really weren’t in it for the banter, for the foreplay, for everything that made loving loving. They were in it for the sex, pure, hard, and cold, and what the hell, they’d find it, there were plenty of guys who’d eat that shit up. Just not me. Not tonight. I couldn’t stomach the thought, wasn’t even sure I’d be able to finish with a woman like this, her cunt was wet for all the wrong reasons, dripping with some rancid liquid, nasty and fishy, totally unlike the brunette I’d just left. So I shook my head curtly.

“Sorry, no go,” I drawled. “Not tonight honey.”

And the woman pouted, still caressing my arm with that red fingernail, her other hand now dropping to my thigh.

“Mister,” she breathed, the hot gust of her breath like spoiled garbage on my face. “I can do things no other woman can, just try me,” she purred again, winking. “Just try it and see.”

And now, despite the fact that we were in public, a bar with plenty of other people, her hand literally slid up my thigh until she was cupping my crotch, running a nail over the curve of my dick, lightly tickling the bottom through the canvas fabric of my pants. The old me would have been on it. The old me would have groped a breast right there, maybe even twisted a nipple, reaching into her dress to feel that rubbery hardness. But fuck, it wasn’t the old Trent anymore. I didn’t want it, the thought of another woman was fucking disgusting, like I’d be bathing myself in a cesspool, some decayed shit that I’d never get clean from.

So instead, I stood up abruptly.

“Sorry, married,” I ground out, pulling some bills from my wallet and tossing them on the bar. Never mind that I didn’t have a wedding band on my finger. “No can do.”

The hoochie wasn’t deterred at all.

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