Page 1 of Let it Breathe
1
Donovan
"Donovan."
The seductive voice woke me from my dream. I reached out and pulled her close to me, but she felt all wrong.
In my dream, she had curves, and her body was smooth but soft.
I ran my hand up her side. Instead of my hand taking a voyage over a curvy landscape, it slid straight up.
She giggled as my fingers palmed her breast.
Breasts are supposed to move, right?
I opened one eye and peeked at her mounds. They sat high and hard like two softballs on her chest. No, I could palm a softball or even a football; these were more like basketballs.
The breast should not look like a basketball, especially not on her size zero frame.
I rolled away from her and sat on the edge of my bed. My brain bounced around in my skull. Last night's activities flooded into my brain. It came back all at once, and I groaned. A strip club called Coral or Carriage flashed in neon signs behind my eyes. I forced my eyes open despite the harsh sunlight assaulting my brain.
What time is it?
She crawled up behind me. I arched away as her breast poked me in the back.
Or maybe her name was Coral? Yeah, that was it. Coral was her stripper name. That was how she had introduced me, too.
Last night, she had slinked up to me and whispered in my ear, "Hi, Donovan, my stripper name is Coral, but if you fuck me, you can all me anything you want."
I shook the image out of my head.
I used some of those moves I was famous for and slipped out of her grasp. I didn't even look back as I escaped into the bathroom.
I'm hiding from this woman in my own home?
I grabbed two aspirin from the medicine cabinet and downed it with water from the faucet. I turned on the shower and let the hot water steam up the huge shower stall. It could fit six people or twelve naked women.
"Donovan, you want me to join you?"
I locked the door with some force.
When I stepped into the shower, I grunted and moaned as the hot spray washed over my bald head. It hurt like hell, but I needed to sweat and wash last night out of my system.
I didn't often party like a rookie, but last night was out of control. It started innocent enough with dinner with Calvin and a couple of teammates before they headed back home for the off-season. One of my childhood buddies had been passing through town and joined us. It never failed, as soon as one of them suggested a strip club, I knew the night would be forgettable, and I'd end up with a Crystal or a Tammy or, as it turned out, a Coral.
I squeezed my eyes shut but had to hold the side of the shower as a bout of nausea hit me. I used to party like this all the time, but as I get older, it gets harder to recover.
Plus, it was not fun anymore. Last night was a continuation of my personal pity party. A few days ago, we lost a close game—twenty-eight to thirty-one in overtime. It was my first playoff game, and I scored the tying touchdown, but our defense couldn't hold them. We were heavily favored in the game. Losing in the first round was not supposed to happen, but as the saying goes,I guess that's why they play the game.
Coral banged on the bathroom door. Couldn't she take a hint?
I turned off the shower, and the banging grew louder.
"Donovan," she yelled.
"I'll be out in a minute." I wrapped a towel around my waist.
"Someone’s in your apartment."
