Page 3 of Hot Route
I sit on the bed, scooting my way up to the pillow before grabbing the remote and turning on the television. I decide to set an alarm on my phone to alert me when I need to get dressed so I don’t get carried away watching TV or accidentally fall asleep. Sitting back against the headboard, I flip to BSN just in time to see an interview with some of the star players of the Blizzard, the city’s pro football team.
Standing to the right of Tanner Lake, their starting quarterback, is wide receiver Blaze Beckham. This will be his third year in the NFL, and he’s already broken a slew of season records. Last year, he had 1,970 receiving yards. Everyone had the Blizzard winning the whole thing, but they lost the AFC championship game in overtime after a blown pass interference call. Vegas still has them as a clear favorite to win the championship this year.
The interview continues, cutting to highlights of Lake and Beckham working their magic on the field. It’s almost like they share a brain with how seamlessly they play together. As soon as the ball is snapped, Tanner goes through his progressions, finding an open Blaze almost every time. It’s not that defenders don’t try to cover him. He’s justthat fast.
The camera cuts back to the interviewer as he continues peppering the players with questions about the team as well as their personal lives. Tanner gives virtually zero information, which isn’t surprising. He’s notoriously private. But Blaze seems to be an open book. He’s all over the gossip blogs with a new woman on his arm every weekend.
“Blaze, you were recently seen leaving a Beavers hockey game with the team owner’s daughter, Jessie Young. Is there something going on between the two of you that you’d like to tell us about? Perhaps an inter-sport love connection?”
The interviewer flashes a hopeful smile while he waits for Blaze to give him the scoop.
“I know my love life is often a topic of discussion around here, but I'm sad to say that I have no tea for you, Brad. Jessie is a great friend and that’s all.”
The interview ends and it moves on to top highlights from last night's hockey and baseball games. But I am left daydreaming about how unbelievably attractive both Tanner and Blaze are. I swear, being fine as fuck is a prerequisite for making the Blizzard roster. I’ve snuck a peek at Tanner’s issue of ESPN magazine, where he bared it all for the camera on several pages, more times than I should probably be comfortable admitting.
Whatever. I am a red-blooded American woman who can appreciate a good set of abs and a firm butt. Don’t make it a thing.
My mind wanders to what Blaze would look like under all that padding. I’ve seen him in photos wearing street clothes, but I think this might be the first time I’ve really considered that he probably has the most amazing body. He’s done interviews where he has talked about his strict eating habits and private personal chef. He obviously takes good care of himself, and I’m sure that shows when he’s naked.
Unable to help myself, my fingers start flying across the phone keyboard, typingshirtless photos of Blaze Beckhaminto the search bar.The moment the results begin filling the page, my jaw drops. I had no idea that he was the face of so many ad campaigns. Most of which have him in very little clothing. One is from a popular underwear company. The photo is of him standing in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs, thumb tucked into the waistband, pulling it down slightly. His other hand is gripping the back of his neck, and he’s looking into the camera with intense brown eyes. His dark brown hair has thatfreshly fucked look. He probably rolls out of bed looking like this every day.
My mouth instantly becomes dry, and my breathing goes shallow. I’m still sitting here wrapped only in a towel, but my body feels like it’s on fire. Looking around as if the room is full of other people instead of completely empty, I cautiously undo the towel where it’s tucked into itself above my breasts. I pull it apart and coast my fingers downward, past my belly button, stopping at the shaved mound of my pussy. I gently rub soft circles over my clit and moan at the contact.
Continuing to look at the photo of Blaze, I imagine he is standing in front of me, that thumb ready to pull his briefs down so I can finally see his mouthwatering length. I lower my fingers to find that I’m soaking wet. They easily slide inside as I breach my entrance, my breath hitching as I curl my fingers forward, brushing my g-spot.
It’s been over two months since I’ve been able to orgasm. I’ve tried my full arsenal of toys multiple times, none of which have gotten me to the finish line. I was starting to think my preferences and past experiences in the bedroom had desensitized me tonormalstuff. But here I am, with just my fingers and a shirtless photo of Blaze Beckham, ready to fall over the edge. I just needone. More. Min?—
The loud screeching of my phone alarm has me ripping my fingers from my body like they’re on fire. The screen is black, asking me if I’d like toStoporSnoozewhile I jackknife up into a sitting position, breathing like I just ran a marathon. I stop the alarm and toss my phone aside, throwing myself back onto the pillow with an arm covering my eyes.
“Holy fuck,” I say to myself, still breathless and reeling from how quickly I was writhing on a hotel bed while looking at a not-even-fully-naked man. I mentally high-five myself becauseprogress.
Now that I’ve been cockblocked by my own phone, I peel myself from the bed and get dressed for the meeting. The throbbing ache between my legs subsides slightly but doesn’t fully go away. It never does. But now isn’t the time to focus on that. I have a contract to sign.
THREE
MADS
My knee bouncesup and down rapidly as I sit in the cold, hard chair outside Jacob Shane’s office. I already have the internship, so I have no idea where the nerves are coming from, but I feel like a rubber band about to snap at any second. My palms are sweating, and my teeth are abusing my lower lip as I wait impatiently. What if they hate me? What if I can’t hack it in the real world of sports journalism?
“Mr. Shane is ready for you,” the receptionist says, snapping me from my preemptive self-loathing. “You can head right in.” She smiles before returning to her work.
My mask of confidence quickly slips back onto my face as I stand, smoothing my black pencil skirt and heading through the door into Jacob’s office. The walls are covered in framed jerseys, all autographed. Behind the desk is a collage of photos of the man himself with various athletes and other high-profile celebrities.
This is the big time.
“You must be Madison,” Jacob says, standing.
“It’s very nice to finally meet you, Mr. Shane. Thank you so much for the opportunity,” I say before reaching out to shakehis hand. He’s different than I thought he would be. First, he’s wearing jeans and an old Boston College t-shirt. Not what I expected from the owner of a company that’s worth a cool four-hundred million. He waves a hand, gesturing for me to sit before he mirrors me. But where I’m stiff as a board with my back straight and legs crossed at the ankles, he has his socked feet propped up on the desk between us while he leans back in his chair. Grabbing a ball from a miniature Stanley Cup replica in front of him, he begins tossing it in the air while I silently wonder if this is a normal occurrence around here.
“So,” he begins, “there have been a few changes to the terms of the internship, and I just want to run them by you before you sign anything.”
I uncross my ankles because my anxiety is giving me two choices. I can either allow my knee to resume its bouncing or I can climb up the fucking walls right here.
“Okay,” I answer, confused as to what could’ve possibly changed since the last time we spoke.
Jacob leans forward slightly, pushing a folder my way. “We recently had to part ways with one of our full-time reporters. Without getting into the dirty details, she was caught in a compromising position with someone who worked under her. That’s against our policy. So, we have an opening in the media department and would love to make it a competition between our new interns. But we need to move fast. The timetable for hiring is one-hundred and twenty days, which means you won’t have the full year to intern here. We will need to make a decision in the next four months on which of you would be the best fit for a full-time position here at Tailgate Media. Is this something you’d want?”
I stare at him, dumbfounded for a second before quickly recovering. This is huge. My dream job is so close. All I have todo is block out any distractions and put my heart and soul into the next few months.
