Page 10 of Mr. Irrelevant
“Stop overthinking and look at it,” I tell her. She exhales a shuddered breath, slowly melting back into me as she pulls up her photo album and reveals the image. Her entire face is in the frame, but with the way she’s turned into me, there’s a perfect shadow being cast across my features, rendering them too dark to make out. But that’s not even what’s catching my eye right now—and I know she sees it, too.
“Look at you,” I say. “Look how fucking turned on you are. That, right there, is enough to make him regret letting you go. He’s going to lose sleep thinking about how some other man gets to touch you. I know I would.”
“I’m…pretty,” she replies, sounding completely shocked as if she doesn’t realize she’s a fucking knockout. Did this guy really fuck her over so badly that she can’t see how stunning she is? I want to drive my ass to Cincy right now, pound on his door, and knock his ass out for making Livvy doubt her own beauty.
“You’re gorgeous,” I tell her. “Let’s take another one. This time, I’m going to touch you with my own hand, if that’s okay. We’ll record it as a video, then you can takestills and crop. That way, you don’t have to worry about getting the perfect shot.”
“Alright.” Her response is barely audible as she extends the phone again, but I take it from her hand, pressing the record button before leaning over and propping it up on the table beside the couch.
“Do you feel comfortable straddling me?”
TEN
LIVVY
Nerves washover me at his question, although I don’t know why, since this is just for show.That’s a lie. I do know why.Because the last time we were this close, I almost came in my pants at the barely-there brush of his fingertips between my thighs. Now he wants me to settle my very untrustworthy vagina on top of him? This has a zero percent chance of ending well. Less than zero, actually.
He can obviously feel my unease—either that or my butt cheeks are sweating—as he sits us up so we can see each other better. His expression is soft, and a feeling of warmth washes over me as a ghost of a smile pulls at one corner of his lips. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Dimes. If you just want to redo what we did before with my fingers touching you, we can. Or if you want to stop altogether, that’s cool too. I just don’t like seeing you like this. I want him to regret making you feel like anything less than the queen you are. It doesn’t have to be more than that.”
I swallow, letting his words roll around in my head. Idothink it would be fun to show Deacon that I’m thriving without him, despite the way he told me that men find confident women, especially those who aren’t afraid to be the loudest ones in the room when they feel strongly about something, unattractive. Because that’s who I am, and I’d rather be alone than water myself down for some six-foot-two baby with an inferiority complex. I was raised better than that.
I was also raised better than to use one of my dad’s players to make it look like I’m getting dick on the regular, but here we are.
“Fuck it,” I say on a forced exhale, climbing off his lap and turning to settle one leg on each side of his hips. I’m an adult, and this isn’t a big deal. I can hover so I’m not pressed right against him, and hopefully it’ll be over before my body betrays me again.
“Atta girl,” he says, a boyish grin blooming across his face as he reaches out and wraps his big hands around my waist. I ignore the sparks that prickle my skin at the contact, chalking it up to the fact that I haven’t been touched in a long fucking time. This isn’t exclusive to Maddox. I’m just attention starved. I’m sure my body would respond this way to anyone right now.
“The camera,” I say, avoiding his eyes and looking around for the device. My mind is racing, and my heart is pounding in my chest, but time stands still as a finger hooks under my chin, turning my head so I have no choice but to fall into his captivating gray pools.
“Has been recording the whole time,” he finishes thesentiment softly, jogging my memory. The phone on the table captures everything as he silently waits for consent to start the show. I exhale a shuddered breath, giving him a barely-there nod as a green light, right before he yanks his hood up and returns his hands to the heated skin of my waist. Sandalwood invades my senses as his cologne wafts toward me, and I tense for a moment becausefuck, I hate that it feels nice to be held. He obviously notices, because he digs in, tickling me as I giggle and instinctively curl my body into him. A deep laugh rumbles up his chest, the sound making me go lightheaded as he ends his assault so we’re just sitting there—me straddling him while his fingers ghost along my sides slowly.
“Good girl,” he says in what has to be the sexiest rasp this world has ever heard, and just like that, I’m a fucking goner. A low moan falls from my lips, and my hips involuntarily thrust forward as if they have a mind of their own. I’m grateful that I didn’t put my full weight on him, because my body’s response to his praise is humiliating enough as it is without me grinding over his lap. But I know he feels it anyway, with the way his movements go still, both of us breathing much heavier than we should be, considering we haven’t even done anything.
I stand quickly, clearing my throat as I look around the room in an attempt to avoid eye contact. “Thanks,” I say, swiping my phone from the table and stopping the recording before jerking a thumb toward the entryway. “I think we’re good for tonight. I should probably go.” He doesn’t reply at first, causing me to finally lookdown, finding a nervous expression similar to mine plastered across his face. It’s a stark contrast to the confidence he was exuding when he told me to straddle him, and now I’m even more embarrassed because I clearly made him uncomfortable.
After what seems like a full minute, he finally meets my gaze with his, bringing his hand up to rub at the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he replies, and I swear I see a tinge of disappointment on his face as he reaches over, taking the remote control and switching the input from my tablet that we were using to watch tape to his live streaming service. Highlights from this week fill the screen while two commentators go back and forth in discussion. We’re both pulled from whatever awkward stupor we’re under when the subject turns to something we’re both familiar with.
“The Rock City Renegades continue to disappoint the city of Cleveland, blowing the game in the final minutes when it looked like they had it locked down,” one man says.
“Well,” his co-host replies, “there’s controversy surrounding the penalty that resulted in a turnover on the following play—the one that handed the win to the Copperheads. Fans are calling for the league to take action against the officiating crew for the blown call, saying the contact was completely legal. I have to say, I agree. Had they not thrown the flag, that game would’ve had a much different outcome. Maddox Dane had a rough start in the first few games, but he had some great momentum going, and having the touchdown taken off the board definitely rattled him.”
“That’s how you know he’ll be a career backup,” the other man adds. “A good quarterback isn’t going to fold under pressure like that. Dane doesn’t have the same type of moxie guys like Austin Baker have. The Renegades need to do something about their QB room, because I don’t see them winning a single game as they are. The confidence and talent are severely lacking, and those are things that can’t be taught.”
The camera pans back. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see, Mitch. That’s all the time we have for tonight. Tune in tomorrow where we catch up with Blaze Beckham, who’s already on track for another record-breaking season.” I hear the click of the TV as it powers off, and I turn to see Maddox leaning back into the couch cushions. His shoulders are pulled inward, and his chin is lowered to his chest, showing how affected he is by the negativity we just heard. The unease from a few minutes ago is long gone because all I want to do is remind him that he’s so much more than those idiot has-beens think he is. He may be a fish out of water on the field right now, but that’s only temporary. I know what he’s capable of—I just need him to see it too.
“Don’t listen to them,” I say, sitting down beside him. “They get paid to be miserable fucks, when they wouldn’t last a minute in today’s league. Mitch Darnell only has a Super Bowl ring because the entire conference was trash that year, and I’m pretty sure the other guy was cut when he was a freshman in college. They couldn’t take one hit from some of these linemen.”
He lifts his head, giving me a half-hearted smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. I wish he could see what I seewhen he’s hyping up the team before practices and games. He may not realize it because it’s just who he’s always been, but Maddox is a born leader, and as soon as we can perfect his technique, he’ll step out of that tunnel every week knowing he’s exactly where he belongs.
Taking a deep breath through his nose, he holds it before exhaling slowly. He opens his mouth to speak, but stops before any words come out. I can tell he’s got a war going on inside his mind, and even though I haven’t really gotten a chance to earn his trust, I want him to know I’m here.
Turning my body, I place a reassuring hand on his knee. It’s an innocent touch—meant to comfort him while he sorts through his thoughts. “Talk to me, Mad Dog,” I coax, smiling softly. “Tell me why you can’t let stuff like that roll off your back?” He shakes his head, his brows pulling tightly before his eyes meet mine. They’re full of heartbreak, and it makes me want to reach out and hug him, because I hate seeing him without the playful grin he always wears.
“All my life, I’ve been the underdog. I was the smallest kid throughout elementary and middle school, but I worked my ass off no matter how much I got picked on. Some days, I’d practice until I collapsed so I could share the field with kids who were bigger and stronger than I was. By the time I hit my growth spurt in the tenth grade, I had started gaining the respect of my coaches and teammates. I did my best to lead them, and we bulldozed right through our entire division two years in a row. I thought for sure that my resulting offerfrom Iowa State meant that people would be done counting me out. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
“When I got there, I was named their third-string quarterback. I knew I’d have to prove myself, but no matter what I did, it was like I was just there to take up space on the bench. I probably could’ve slept through practices and nobody would’ve noticed, but I didn’t. I showed up and treated every day like it was another opportunity to reach my goals, until the coaches finally saw what I brought to the team and gave me a shot. I broke school records that year, and even though I barely made it, I got drafted—and everything started all over again. No matter how much work I put in, or what kind of player I am, I’m starting to think nobody will ever see me as anything more than Mr. Irrelevant.”
I give him an understanding nod. Sadly, I know the feeling of being overlooked all too well. That’s something we can relate to each other on, and it’s all the more reason to keep pushing forward with what we’re doing. Tomorrow, we’ll continue working on his technique and speed, and I’ll get him where he needs to be so he can feel the rush of leading his team to victory. But right now…I just want to make him feel better.
