Page 34 of The Worst Pucking Deal

I curse under my breath, hating the reminder that I have to wear my suit again while parading around and shaking the hands of sponsors. “I guess,” I reply. Looking around, I notice the other teammates aren’t close enough to overhear our conversation. “Tom mentioned it earlier. But we have an interview tomorrow, so I guess it’ll look weird if she isn’t there with me this weekend.”

“Speaking of,” Mickey says. “What deal did you make with her?”

I swallow harshly. “She wanted more time than just the season.” They open their mouths, probably to assault me with more questions. “She made a compelling argument, so when she made me come in less than two minutes, I agreed to recommend her to Tom and to extend the arrangement to thirteen months.”

“What the fuck?” Mickey asks, incredulous. “Are you telling me she played you with a blowjob?”

“It was one hell of a blowjob,” I clarify. “Mind blowing, really.”

Soren grins. “Must be if you agreed to almost double the time together with her.”

Running my hand through my wet hair, I gather it into a bun and wrap my elastic band around it. “Here’s the thing. I only agreed because I wanted to see how far she was willing to go at first. But the more I think about it, the better it sounds.”

“She is hot,” Mickey agrees like that’s all it takes.

I shake my head and punch his shoulder. “That’s not why. She was right in saying that marking our imminent breakup by a memorable date like the season ending seems sus as fuck.”

The guys exchange glances that make it clear they think I’m losing my damn mind, and maybe I am. Because the logic makes sense to me, and it gives me even more wiggle room once the season is over. I can spend that time hooking better endorsements, and…

“So basically you’re going to be celibate for over a year?” Mickey asks, shuddering like it’s the worst possible thing that could happen.

“Not exactly,” I smirk. Taking my time, I pull my hoodie on and tie my boots before answering them. “She offered up her body and promised me free access if I gave her the extra time.”

Should I feel bad for talking about her this way? Probably. Am I feeling bad? Fuck no. Lucia is a grown-ass-woman and she ran her own negotiation. Yet, even as I think that I do feel a twinge of guilt. Especially after her panic whatever-the-hell that was.

“No fucking way,” Mickey gasps. “Well damn. I’d sign away thirteen months of my life to fuck her.”

Soren laughs. “I’m not so sure. Lucia’s nice looking and all, but she’s so fucking cold I wouldn’t be surprised if her pussy gave me frostbite.”

I throw my head back and laugh. “Unlike you, you big coward, I’m not scared of her pussy.” As much as I hate admitting it, I am intrigued by her. Whatever happened last night it wasn’t her working an angle, it was real. And now that I’ve seen a glimpse of what’s going on beneath her polished exterior, I want to know more.

Before either of them can retort, my phone vibrates with an incoming text.

Lucia: We only have one more day to get ready for the interview.

Me: I know.

Lucia: So what’s your big plan?

Me: Are you still at the arena?

Lucia: Just about to leave.

Me: Meet me at my car in ten.

Holding up my phone, I look at my friends, speaking louder than I need to. But I want to make sure everyone hears me. “Gotta go. The little missus wants me.”

Mickey grins. “Pussy whipped already.”

“Don’t pout, Mickey boy. One day, a woman will want your pickle as well,” I say with a wink.

“Have fun,” Soren calls at my retreating back. “And don’t forget to rubber up. No one wants mini ‘yous’ running around.”

I flip them off as I leave, heading out to meet with Lucia. It doesn’t matter that I don’t want to, I can’t postpone it much longer. We do need to have our stories straight with how we met, which I assume will be easy. The first date is tougher since no one will have seen us together.

The cool air hits me as I step out of the arena and make my way toward my car. As I approach, I notice Lucia already waiting there, her posture rigid, and her expression guarded. She’s dressed in one of her signature office skirts, a blouse, her long coat hanging open. Her hair is pulled into a tight ponytail, and she’s wearing more makeup than usual. There’s an air of coldness around her, like she’s putting on an act.

As I take in the frostiness exuding from her, I decide not to ask about last night’s abrupt end to our call. It’s not like it would make a difference, anyway. Instead, I bark, “Get in,” motioning to the passenger seat.

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