Looking to Score(25)

“So what position does he play?” I asked, derailing that train of thought. I did not want to hear how well my client ate ass. Nope. Not happening.

She looked at the sky with her pretty face twisted up in confusion. “I don’t know. Running man? Run run run… Okay, so maybe I don’t know much about football…”

You think? I wanted to say. I didn’t know this chick, but for some reason I couldn’t get the image of Oakley sticking his tongue up her asshole out of my head. I bet she bleached it. She probably had a pearly white speckled starfish of an ass. I didn’t even know what mine looked like, nor did I want to.

“I just know he excels in every position,” she giggled and then began jumping up and down.

“Every position?” I asked. Why I was goading her was beyond me. Color me curious.

She looked me dead in the eye and said, “He does this thing with his tongue that I had never even heard of. Like not even in porn!”

That was super descriptive. What! What does he do with his tongue?! I was dying to ask. But I also knew that I didn’t want to be a part of this conversation anymore, especially if I ever wanted to be able to talk to Oakley again without picturing his tongue doing things to places that they don’t even show on Pornhub. My mind wandered back to the hotel room and Oakley licking the melted chocolate off my neck.

I cleared my throat and stood up. “I, uh...I have to go to the bathroom. See ya!” I told her as I started walking away. I took one final look at her, then headed up the stairs and saw her flicking her tongue at me between her fingers. I felt a weird pang of jealousy, and my petty-ass self thought, “I bet she has fluffy pepperoni nipples,” while I walked off.

Oh my lanta.

My first game was definitely interesting.





I was waiting outside the locker room with the press and fangirls when the game ended. We won. Yada yada. I think Oakley scored the winning touchdown, or at least that’s what I overheard from one of the reporters. I wasn’t the type to pretend to like a sport for the sake of a guy or even my career. This wasn’t in my vein of expertise.

The locker room door opened, and a guard stood at the door, checking press badges and his clipboard for letting people inside. I wasn’t really wanting to go into a locker room that probably smelled like the seventh layer of body odor hell, but I also didn’t want Oakley fucking up any interviews, and with the way the reporters were circling, I bet they had a few questions to ask.

“Name,” the burly guard-dog-looking man asked. This dude looked like his spirit animal was a cross between a German shepherd and a sloth. His movements were slow, but his teeth looked impossibly sharp.

“Amanda Matthews, I’m Oakley Davis’s publicist.”

He didn’t even look down at his clipboard. “Not on the list.”

I knew for a fucking fact that Coach Howard put me on the list. “Check again,” I said, annoyed, feeling my inner Karen dying to come out and ask for the manager.

He looked at me like my spirit animal was a shrew. “I don’t have to. Oakley Davis doesn’t have a publicist,” he emphasized.

It took all of my self-control to not roll my eyes at Sid the Sloth, and I forced my face into a smile. I started to explain that I had been hired a few weeks earlier and that Coach Howard had asked me to come along to keep Oakley squeaky clean. Oakley’s ears must have been burning or he just heard me trying not to screech, because he walked up and put his arm around my shoulders.

“It’s okay, she’s with me,” he told Sid. He squeezed my shoulder and started to guide me into the locker room as Sid scowled at me.

I looked over my shoulder and smiled sweetly at the guard while calling out in a sing-song voice, “Thanks so much for your help!” Something told me I would not be seeing Sid pop up as a friend request later.

“Making friends?” Oakley asked with a grin.

“Winning games?” I replied with a wink. I absolutely refused to acknowledge the fact that he was shirtless and only wearing his football pants. I couldn’t tell if it was the strategically placed padding beneath the spandex or just his overall physique that had his ass looking the way it did, but either way, it was distracting.

“I scored the winning touchdown!” he said, poking me in the side.

“Yay!” I replied enthusiastically. As his publicist, I was excited. As a girl that seriously needed to learn more about the game, I was barely enthusiastic.

Around the locker room, half-naked guys were chatting excitedly and talking to reporters. It smelled like sweaty socks and middle school body spray. “Oakley, can I ask you a few questions?” a reporter called. I turned to look at the man and the microphone he held in Oakley’s face. Damn, dude. Personal space much?

Oakley smiled and nodded. “Sure, Mike. You know I always have time for the school newspaper.”

Mike beamed at him. He was a tall dude with long black hair that curled at the ends.

“I haven’t heard much about your extracurricular activities these days, Oakley,” Mike said with an exaggerated wink. “What have you been up to?”

I rolled my eyes so hard I think I hurt myself. Oh good, Mike wasn’t wasting any time getting into the things I really didn’t want Oakley talking about or the media focusing on. I shot Oakley a stern look that I hoped said, if you mention anything unsavory, I will fucking kill you in your sleep...in the bed we just so happen to be sharing for now.