Page 39 of Hot Route
He looks at me nervously. “You first.”
I turn my phone to him. He takes it from me, spending some time reading down the line of kinks. I wasn't surprised by any of it, and by the looks of it, neither is he. “Rope bunny, huh?” he says, a sly grin blooming on his lips. “Looks like we are a good match. I’m ninety-one percent rigger.” I can't help the throb between my thighs at the thought of him tying me up and usingme for his pleasure. “Fuck, I can’t wait to try that out,” he says, as if his mind is exactly where mine is.
I stand behind him, looking over his shoulder at the results of his quiz. I knew we’d be compatible, but I had no idea that we would complement each other so well. Where I am submissive, he is dominant. Where I am a brat, he is a tamer. He even has my degradation kink covered.
“Looks like we’re a perfect match,” I say, looking down at him. The words, as simple as they are in this situation, hold so much meaning. When I first met Blaze, I did feel an instant physical attraction between the two of us. But after pushing it down for so long, when I finally allowed myself to face the way I felt about him, I was shocked that the initial attraction had grown into something much deeper. There have been so many nights where we’ve just talked about life, or sometimes nothing at all. The silences are never awkward, but I also feel like we could talk all day and never run out of things to say to each other. I don't think I’ve ever met another person besides Dia that understands me the way Blaze does. He’s the calm in the crazy storm of my life right now. It could all come crashing down and I know I’d be safe with him.
Holy shit.I love him.
I wait for the feelings of panic to set in. That lump in my throat that comes whenever I make a decision that I’ll immediately regret. But there’snothing.Only peace. That, in and of itself, should scare me. And in a way, it does. But not in the way I expect. I’m no longer afraid to give Blaze my heart. If I’m being honest with myself, it’s been his since the moment he saved me from having to leave my internship by opening his home to me. Maybe even before then.
Everything that used to worry me about being with Blaze has changed. I think my main fear now is that I won’t be enough for him. He’s dated actresses, supermodels, and some of the mostbeautiful women in the world. He’s rich, famous, and successful. I’m just out of college, desperately trying to get hired at Tailgate so I can start my career in a field where women are disrespected and told they don’t belong. I may never make it. I could end up back in Chicago, working at the local newspaper, not even making a livable wage. Then what? I make Blaze Beckham the laughingstock of the NFL as his loser girlfriend? Getting upset every time I scroll through Instagram comments calling me a “gold digger” and telling him he can do better? How long could we endure that before he’d start to believe it?That’smy fear.
I’m brought back to reality when Blaze stands, his hands cradling my face. “Where’d you go?”
I shake my head, bringing my focus back to the here and now. “Nowhere. Just thinking,” I say, hoping he’ll let it go. Thankfully, he does by pulling my face to his and kissing me slowly.
He pulls away, leaving me breathless. “Whatever you’re thinking, quit it. We said we’d take it one day at a time and have fun exploring with each other. Wherever it goes, we let it. Right?” he reassures me. And it really does make me feel better.
“Right,” I whisper.
“That’s my girl,” he replies. “Let’s go shower so I can get you dirty all over again.”
THIRTY-ONE
MADS
“Holy shit,”I say in amazement as I descend the steps leading to the first row. Blaze talked me into taking a little vacation this weekend since the Blizzard are playing in Tampa Bay. It wasn’t like he had to do too much convincing. We haven’t seen the first snowfall in Boston just yet, but the air has been so chilly. It wouldn't be football season without thick hoodies and beanies, but a getaway to a warm location was definitely a much-needed break for me.
I don’t know how he managed to score these tickets, but I guess when you're playing in the game and you have a boatload of money to offer, you can buy anything you want. I am on the fifty-yard line, right behind the Blizzard’s bench. The home team is still in the locker room, but our guys are on the field doing warmups. I watch Blaze as he leisurely stretches his quads before doing a few sprints up the sideline. I've been to a few home games to watch him, but it’s always been in a suite. I’ve never been this close to him while he played. And fuck, he looks good.
I watch him as he continues warming up, lining up next to Tanner to go through plays. I’ll never get over how they play likethey share a brain. As soon as Tanner rolls back, Blaze is off the line, ready with open hands for the throw. They’re effortless.
I’m pulled back to reality when a woman in a white blouse tucked into a burgundy skirt walks in front of me. She stops near the bench, getting herself settled in front of a cameraman who has obviously been awaiting her arrival. It takes me a moment, but when I realize who she is, my jaw hits the ground in front of me.
Molly McMahon.
The journalist I saw at that very first game with my dad. The woman I aspired to be when I was eight years old. My hero.
I’m shocked as she turns, motioning toward Blaze to come over. He tosses the ball in his hands back to Tanner before jogging her way with a dimpled smile. He gives her a quick side-hug and they fall into a friendly conversation. I’d like to say I’m jealous of her, getting to be so close to him right now. But honestly, I’m more jealous of him. He has no idea he’s doing an interview with the woman who made me want to be a sports reporter all those years ago. Blaze doesn’t know who she is to me, but I’ll definitely be filling him in on that fun fact later when I grill him for information on what she’s like in real life.
I watch intently as they put on their game faces and turn to the camera for the interview. Unfortunately, I can’t hear them, but I can see how comfortable they are talking about the game.
They finish up and go back to their friendly conversation. I watch with rapt attention as Blaze turns and points to me, saying something to her while she nods her head in approval. Next thing I know, Blaze has taken off toward the tunnel while Molly heads my way, smiling.
On instinct, I look around, making sure she’s actually coming over here for me, but the seats around me are still empty. I turn back to see her standing right in front of me. I try desperately tolook normal, like I’m not having a full-on fangirl moment on the inside, when she extends her hand toward me.
“Hello, Madison,” she says. “I’m Molly. Blaze mentioned you were on your way to becoming a reporter and I wanted to come introduce myself.”
I lean over the railing, stretching my arm to shake her hand. “Ms. McMahon,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. “You’ve been my idol since I was a little girl. I saw you interview Jonathan Walters when I was eight years old and decided I wanted to be you when I grew up.”
She throws her head back in a laugh. “Wow! I’m so flattered. Things weren’t always easy for me back then, being a woman in this industry. I’m so glad to hear I inspired you.”
I give her a warm smile. I know how it is for us today. I can’t even imagine the pushback she got over a decade ago. Although we’ve come a long way, there’s still so many changes that need to be made. In sports journalism, not only do women have to worry about wage gaps, discrimination, and sexual harassment, but we also have to fight that much harder to be taken seriously. Molly paved the way for girls like me to have a chance at doing what we love.
She interrupts my thoughts by speaking again. “If Blaze Beckham is endorsing your talent, I look forward to seeing you on the sidelines soon.”
I hardly know what to say. But I do know that meeting her has given me even more of a drive to succeed. So that, maybe one day, I can inspire other little girls to follow their dreams the way I did mine. “Thank you, Molly. It was so nice meeting you.”
