Page 8 of Cocky Player

Could I even claim to be a virgin now that he’d broken that thin membrane?

Dropping my hands from my face, I found a washcloth in my bathroom closet and cleaned up.Once dressed, I finally faced myself in the mirror.“You so totally screwed that up, Brenna.Way to go.”

Now what in the hell was I going to do?

Four

Connor

A virgin.A fucking virgin.

I threw back a swallow of scotch and hissed through my teeth, relishing the smooth burn as the alcohol slid down my throat.It’d taken me what felt like forever to have all the pieces click into place.She hadn’t seemed so damn innocent grinding against my crotch on the dance floor, only a hint of nerves leaving to go to the office with me, but that’d be understandable with any woman with a dose of common sense heading off somewhere with a strange man.

She was so tight when I pressed my first finger into her but so damn into it.Hell, still thinking about how tight she was had me fighting getting hard.

Instead, ruining her hymen and making her cry out in pain…fucking hurting her?That wasn’t something I wanted.And Jesus fuck…did she know who I was?Was she protected?Had she tried to trick me so I could knock her up?Sell her virgin rape story to a headline and get millions?No fucking way any woman in their right mind would go out looking for a screw with a stranger if she’d never done such a thing.

She had to know who I was, and as that realization had come to me, a slash of her virgin blood drying on my fingers, I was so fucking pissed it took me a while to get back to the VIP lounge.Beaux was long gone.Kolby took one look at my face and backed off.

Probably because I looked like I had last year after we’d lost in the playoffs.The refs made such shitty calls even the television announcers deemed them the worst in NFL history.

Two days later, I was still pissed.Pissed at the girl who tried to play me.Pissed at myself for falling for it when I was usually smarter and more aware.Pissed atBrennawhose name I grunted when I came, seething in anger and yet still got hard thinking of her.

Fucking infuriated that every time I jerked off, which had been way more than my normal amount, I did it because I was still thinking of Brenna and her curves and her slick lying smile and eyes so huge they seemed to swallow me whole.

My phone alarm buzzed, reminding me I had somewhere to be and needed to get my ass in gear.I was sluggish, not from the scotch but from the workouts I’d been doing all week, doubling up on everything in the gym to ease my frustrations.Not that it helped at all.And now I had to go to the boss’s house, shake hands with David and Kassy Kemper, owners of the Raleigh Rough Riders and play nice with their family and my teammates all while wanting to find that sexy strawberry blonde woman and throttle her until she told me what damn game she was playing.

Awesome.I was in a killing mood and that was always fun when I had to be around my coaches and the man who was in control of my paycheck.Even better, I needed to shower and get to his house, walk around his freaking mansion while acting like I had morals and manners, two things my grandpa never bothered to teach me outside of his consistent teachings on how to treat women.

Somehow, I’d gone and messed all those up, too.

“Shit.”I shoved off the couch, careful not to spill the rest of my drink, and headed upstairs to shower and dress.

An hour later, I pulled into the curved drive of the Kemper’s house.It wasn’t only enormous, but it was one of the oldest homes in Raleigh.I would have thought a man with his money and stature would move to the ‘burbs, gate his land so no one could enter unless invited, and hide away from all the attention he received.David and Kassy weren’t like that though.Admittedly, I admired the hell out of the man who had married his high school sweetheart right out of college, worked his ass off as a sports agent and then agency owner before purchasing the Rough Riders seven years ago to the tune of an amount I couldn’t comprehend having in my lifetime.They were decent folks, had a family with more kids and grandkids than I could remember, and they lived in the heart of the city, remodeling an old-time mansion that now sat on the historical society.

David had also redone the entire organization over the years, taking us from an “almost making it to the playoffs” team to a team who now had a Super Bowl win and then loss under their belts, plus last year’s fiasco of losing in the Division Championship before getting our shot at a second ring.

We were thirsty for it this year, intent and starved on proving our team wasn’t a one-hit-wonder.Thanks to drafting some excellent new rookies in the off-season plus our seasoned veterans thirsting for another championship ring before retirement came calling, it was our do or die season.

I tugged on the lapels of my suit coat and headed toward the house, ignoring the fact it was a ball-sweating one hundred degrees outside.As soon as I entered, a glass of scotch was in my hand courtesy of the roaming servers dressed in all white with silver trays and black cloth towels draped over their forearms.

Fancy fucking shit for what was supposed to be a kickoff party to our pre-season training that had already started.But we headed to training camp in three weeks and then straight into pre-season games.In just over one month, I’d be officially back on the turf, grinding it up with my cleats and my team, racing for touchdowns and dodging and diving over opponents.

The thrill of thinking about it made my blood race.Unfortunately, a sexy as sin strawberry blonde temptress popped into my mind, making my blood race for a totally different reason.

“Shit,” I grunted and drained my drink.One more glass and I’d cut myself off but this was good shit, even smoother than what I usually bought.

Kemper might be down-home people, but he knew where to throw his money, and he was definitely a scotch aficionado.

“Hey, man!Glad you could make it.”Oliver Powell, team captain and tight end superstar, slapped my shoulder as I walked through the house headed toward most of the noise near the back.

“I’m not late, right?”

The house was packed and the driveway filled with cars.I didn’t expect to be the last person to show.

“Not late at all.Just in time actually.David and Kassy are getting ready to do their annual cheer pep talk.”

Not what I needed, but as the murmurs of players and coaches and their families grew louder, so did the buzz in my adrenaline.We did this same song and dance every year, and it never failed.Despite the fact we were already practicing in the mornings and focusing on team and individualized workout plans, this bash was the season kick-off, and David was one hell of a motivator.

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