Looking to Score(22)

Her voice trailed off. If she thought I was about to admit that I was obsessively counting my calories, then she was losing her touch. I knew it would trigger a demand for me to come home. She wasn’t wrong, I had an excessive personality. And if I couldn’t have it all, then I wanted nothing. There was no happy medium.

“Look, I’m boarding the flight, so I gotta go,” I said. “Love you. Byeee.” I hung up the phone before she could complain anymore.

I had a football player to babysit.

Three hours later, I was sitting behind the wheel of my white rental car. Oklahoma University was just far enough that it made more sense for me to rent a car than to Uber. I punched the address to the Best Western into my maps and started the hour-long drive. I had never stayed in a Best Western, and if I weren’t such a dedicated publicist, I would have booked the nearby Hilton instead. But the team booked their rooms through their travel agency at a killer rate. I didn’t have to stay at the same hotel as the team; Coach Howard had told me I could stay wherever I liked and the university would reimburse me up to the same rate the team was paying for their rooms. However, staying at the Hilton wouldn’t allow me to keep a twenty-four-hour watch on Oakley. So Best Western it was.

I pulled into the parking lot, grabbed all my stuff, and started to head inside. I didn’t see the team bus, which meant I could grab a quick shower before having to see anybody I knew. I felt super gross from the two planes and a long car ride. The guy behind the counter was very tall, and his name tag said Brian. He looked disinterested in his job and kind of annoyed that I walked in and interrupted whatever he was doing on his phone. He was probably watching Daddy porn.

“Hi. I’m Amanda Matthews, checking in!” I said cheerfully. “I called earlier and requested to be across from Oakley Davis.”

“License and credit card,” Brian replied.

I handed them over and smiled, determined to kill him with kindness. I’ve learned from all of my traveling that the people at the front desk had a lot of power over how your stay was going to go. Brian handed my license and credit card back to me along with my key cards.

“I just want to confirm that my room is next to Oakley Davis’s.”

“Sorry, ma’am, I’m not allowed to give out that information,” Brian said lazily.

I was starting to get frustrated but didn’t want to be a Karen and ask for the manager. I smiled and tried one more time. “I totally get it. But I’m his publicist. I’m traveling with the team and need to have my room either adjoining or across from his. I’m sure you’ll see it in the notes if you look. His last name is Davis. First name Oakley.”

“Wow, Amanda,” I heard a familiar voice behind me say. “I knew you couldn’t bear to be apart from me, but now you’re bullying poor Brian here?” I turned around to see Oakley trying to stifle a laugh.

I held my breath and braced myself for his annoying push back. The moment I felt his heat at my side and breathed in his woodsy cologne, my second heartbeat reminded me that it had been a few months since I’d been laid. “Hello, Mr. Davis,” I replied, trying to keep a sense of professionalism.

“Sorry about her attitude, Brian. Sometimes she takes our little games a bit too far,” Oakley replied as he wrapped his arm around me. I almost shrugged him off, but I was curious to see where he was going with this and admittedly liked the feel of his muscular arm pulling me closer.

“My girl and I like to role play, and this weekend, she’s my...publicist,” Oakley explained with a wink and one-handed finger quotes. “The tension has been building up, ya know? I think after the big game, we will finally—”

“Continue that statement and I’ll give you a groin injury,” I interrupted.

“Fuckkk,” Oakley playfully rasped. Poor Brian just looked at us with a confused expression. “I love when you talk dirty to me, babe.”

He leaned in and chuckled against my neck. Fucking asshole. Just as I pulled away, Oakley addressed Brian once more. “No need to give us separate rooms. She really wants to keep an eye on me, and I think the best way to do that is to put us in the same room. Don’t you think, babe?”

Oakley winked at me, and I could have slapped that smirk off his face. I knew this was a challenge. He wanted to see if I’d call his bluff and disappear to another room. Fuck that. If he wanted to share a room, then by golly, we were gonna share.

“Sounds good, schnookums,” I replied, poking at his side and turning to Brian. “He loves that nickname. I can’t wait to wake up in your arms at five a.m. tomorrow.”





11





I was lying in a bed with Oakley Davis. I couldn’t sleep. My eyes refused to shut.

And I had to fart.

I peeked over the pillow barrier I had built between us and was fairly certain Oakley was asleep—like ninety-three percent sure. I was kicking myself for letting him goad me into sharing a room with him. On top of not being able to fart, walk around without makeup, or wear my ratty-ass, comfortable-as-hell, stained sweatpants, I could only imagine what the coach was going to say when he found out.

I was contemplating getting up to go to the bathroom to fart while running some water when Oakley let out a snore. I had forgotten that he snored. It was really soft, and I found it soothing. It reminded me of my childhood dog, a pug named Charlie. She slept with me until the day I left for college. Listening to Oakley snore and thinking about Charlie relaxed me enough to snuggle down into the bed and let out a, thankfully quiet, toot. A little air poof.