Looking to Score(26)
To Oakley’s credit, he flashed Mike a winning smile and gave the most perfect answer I could have asked for. “I have been working extra hard at practices, squeezing in extra workouts, and picking Coach Howard’s brain for feedback. I think it really paid off in my performance tonight.”
Yes! I was mentally fist bumping myself. I am such an amazing publicist. I didn’t even have to steal the microphone from Mike’s boney fingers. “Really? So the rumors about you sleeping with the university president’s daughter?”
Oakley smirked. “You mean Becky Smith? I would rather have my left nut slammed in a car door—that’s off the record, of course. I’m sure she’s a nice gal, but I’m too focused on my football and scholastic career to have time for anyone else. And she’s too territorial for me.”
I cringed. Not the best thing to say about the university president’s daughter, but it was too late now. I spoke up. “Don’t forget your volunteer hours.”
Mike turned to me and pressed the microphone against my lips. Again, there was no concern for personal space. Disgusting. I pressed it away with the tips of my fingers. “And who are you?”
“I’m Oakley’s publicist. And he doesn’t have time to date because, when he’s not studying or practicing, he’s volunteering at a local nursing home. Oakley is extremely dedicated to giving back to the community.”
Mike looked back at Oakley with an expression laced with surprise.
“I’m hurt that you look so shocked, Mike,” Oakley said playfully. “It just so happens that I got to know Cassandra Kitchen really well.”
I cringed at his mention of that shit show but then reminded myself that absolutely nobody outside of the seven people who were there knew about us getting to know Mrs. Kitchen that day.
Mike followed up with, “One last question for you before I let you go. What is your favorite part about volunteering?”
“Aside from the great publicity and not being murdered by my publicist?” Oakley joked. “I really enjoyed just being able to connect with the residents. They all have such fantastic stories about their kids and grandkids. Getting to be a part of their family for even just an afternoon was actually really special.”
He did it. Oakley had a good interview. “Thank you for your time, Oakley. I’ll be sure to do a good write-up.”
“You always do, buddy,” Oakley replied, patting him on the back. The minute Mike was out of earshot, Oakley mumbled under his breath, “That guy annoys the hell out of me.”
“You did good,” I replied. Oakley was like a puppy; I just had to reward his good behavior.
“Well, you kind of terrify me…” he confessed, wiping his face with a towel. “I didn’t want you to pinch my nipples if I said anything wrong.”
“Pinch your nipples?”
“You look like the nipple-pinching type,” Oakley teased while covering his pecs.
“I don’t even know what that means, but if it’s a punishment that keeps you in line, then yes, I’ll pinch your nipples clear off.”
A few other reporters wanted an interview, and Oakley navigated their questions with ease. Unlike Mike, most of them were professional and kept to questions about his skills on the field.
After the last interviewer finished up, Oakley told me he was going to hit the showers and sauntered off, taking a moment to call over his shoulder, “Don’t think about me in the shower,” and then blew me a kiss.
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” I replied and stuck my tongue out. Just kidding, I was totally going to be thinking about him in the shower. I was already envisioning the water and soap running down his chiseled abs and further down to the happiest of trails.
I walked over to a set of benches in front of the lockers and used my foot to move a jock strap that was lying a little too close for comfort on the floor. I pulled out my phone to catch up on Oakley’s social media, and I was pleased to find that there wasn’t a single picture of a bleached blonde wearing eyeliner and a crop top with #iwokeuplikethis on his news stream. I heard the shower turn on, and Oakley started belting “Milkshake” by Kelis. I giggled and went back to my phone, secretly loving his confidence, not that I would ever admit that.
I was checking up on the dumpster fire of the internet—Twitter—when he stepped out of the showers with what was quite possibly the world’s tiniest towel wrapped around his waist. There were a few other players casually loitering, but my eyes were stuck on him. “Get dressed,” I ordered, dragging my reluctant eyes back to my phone.
“I packed my party clothes!” he hollered, making the other dweebs dancing around the locker room hoot in agreement. Party clothes? Uh. No.
I snapped my eyes back up just in time to see Oakley Davis drop his towel. Sweet mother of our lord and savior, Meryl Streep. Seeing Oakley’s cock online versus seeing it in person was a completely different thing. It was a spiritual experience. It was like I left my body and was looking down upon the world with my lady garage open and ready for his bus of a dick to park itself right up in there.
I was so engrossed in thinking about how I was going to sleep next to Oakley that night, knowing exactly what he was packing on his side of the bed, that I practically jumped out of my skin when he came up beside me and put his hand on my shoulder. “Hey there, Solver. You looked pretty deep in thought. Everything ok?”