Page 42 of Roughing the Player
Chapter 11
Brock
A WEEKOF LIVING WITH ELLIE is a special kind of hell. How could I have thought I could handle this arrangement? When I spotted her at O’Hare she’d knocked me for a loop, and at the Hilton, she’d taken my breath away. But when I bared my soul in my hotel room, she’d run away. And, of course, now she thinks I was playing her. Mainly because I practically told her, even though that’s the farthest from the truth. So I can’t blame her for keeping her distance.
I told myself I could deal with it. After all, it would only be for a couple of weeks. But seeing her, smelling her, hearing her hum some tune while she drifts around the kitchen is driving me insane. I should have nixed the plan, but, damn it, my future’s riding on it. So, whether I like it or not I’m stuck here, slowly going insane.
She has no clue how hot she is. Which is pretty much par for the course. She was pretty oblivious in high school as well. Not that I noticed at first. After all, we ran with different crowds. Me with the jocks; her with the nerds. But when she became my tutor, everything changed. Everything about her turned me on. The dark-rimmed glasses that shaded her luminous eyes. The long mahogany hair that fell across her face. The soft, pink lips that made me want to kiss her until she begged me to stop.
Somehow, I’d managed to hide my attraction, until that stormy night when I couldn’t stop myself from putting my hands on her. And now years later, she’s turned me inside out again. I thought I could deal with it. But I just can’t. I may be older, but not wiser, at least as far as my raging hunger for her is concerned.
Hopefully, I won’t have to live in this torture chamber much longer. Ellie’s realtor has lined up a couple of ready-to-move-in houses for me to check out on my day off. With any luck, I can do a quick close and move in within a couple of weeks. In the meantime, Butch is happily chasing squirrels up the tree in Ellie’s backyard. So everything’s under control. Except when I’m around her and sporting a permanent hard-on.
Last night, I’d gotten a reprieve when she hadn’t come home. But, of course, I kept wondering where she’d gone. Who she’d been with. Hell. I can’t win. Damned if she’s here. Damned if she’s not.
I open the front door to find her in the kitchen making dinner. She doesn’t appear her usual cheerful self. Maybe this crazy arrangement is wearing her down too. Or maybe, just maybe she misses her boyfriend. She never said she had a man in her life. But I can’t believe a woman as gorgeous as her doesn’t have a lover. Even with a young daughter, she should find time to date.
“You’re here,” I say.
“Where else would I be?”
“You didn’t come home last night.”
Her mouth goes tight-lipped. “I had somewhere else to be. And this is not my home.”
Don’t ask. You’re not her keeper. “Where were you?”
She turns off the fire on the stove and glares at me. “None of your business, Brock.”
“None of my business?”
“Yes. My life is my life. And you have nothing to do with it.”
“Fine. I’ll be in my room.”
All I get back is silence. Not even a “Good Night.”
Just as well she stopped talking to me. With only two days before the Detroit game, I need to study their defense strategy. If I can get Ellie off my mind, that is. She’s looking downright fuckable in a t-shirt and a pair of shorts that come down mid-thigh and toenails painted fire-engine red. God, how pathetic am I to be turned on by her damned toes?
As soon as I reach my room, I strip and toss my clothes in the hamper before heading for the shower. I don’t need to get clean. I’d done that at the compound. But to make it through the night, I’m going to need a hand job. Otherwise, I’ll spend the night tossing and turning with a serious case of blue balls. But the quick release does nothing for me. Frustrated, I yank my hair, almost tearing off chunks by the roots. I need to find a new place to live. Fast.
Butt naked, I slip into bed and grab my iPad to focus on the game tapes. Detroit’s tackle is the fucking size of a mountain, and a mean son of a bitch. Not only that, he’s fast and he’ll be rushing from my left side. Since I don’t want my head torn off anytime soon, he’ll need to be double teamed. I’m making notes on tactics when a faint sound reaches me. Someone’s rapping on the condo’s front door. Who the hell could it be? Except for Marty, no one knows where we live. I crack open my bedroom door and listen in.
“Hi there.”
I’ve heard that voice before. The turd.
“Hello, Mr. Sheffield.” Why did she go and answer the knock? She could have ignored the idiot.
“It’s Friday.”
“I know. It comes around every week.”
Laughter. “Did you forget my invite?”
“No. I didn’t forget.”
“We have a sex swing.” He says it sing-songy, like that’s supposed to tempt her.
