Gambling For The Virgin:A Dark Billionaire Romance(162)

"Look!" Christine punches my shoulder without even bothering to look  down at me. She's standing up now, pointing frantically at one of the  men standing close to us in one of those wonky formations right on the  50-yard line. That's right, we're this close to the action, right behind  the platoon of photographers snapping photos of these hot pieces  of-ahem, of the players. Ashley hooked us up with tickets, just one of  the perks of having a man who's a billionaire.

"Oh, I see him!" I squeal, finally realizing who Christine is pointing  to-Danny Manning, the New York Nailers quarterback. You've heard of him,  right? He was the Nailers' first pick two years ago, and now he's on  the fast track to earning his team its first Super Bowl ring in like ten  years, which totally makes sense considering he's the hottest piece of  ass in the league.

"God, just look at that … " Christine trails off, finally sitting down.  Her mouth is hanging slightly opening, and I don't even want to think  about the kind of stuff she's probably imagining right now. Not that I  can blame her. There's a lot of indecency going on inside my mind as  well. But, hey, I'm single.

"Uh-uh, Chris, stop it. You already have Professor Hung just for yourself, leave a few men on the table, will you?"

"Looking isn't sinning, that's what my mom always said," she simply  shrugs, and I know she means it. She turned into a hopeless romantic  after she started dating Anders Trask, her former college professor.  He's hot as hell and, according to the ‘rumors' (well, we egg Christine  on to tell us all the dirty details), he's also huge; I don't have to  explain that last one, do I?

"I don't know about your mom, Chris, but I'd be down for some sinning  with Danny … " I mutter, unblinking as I watch him position himself behind  the offensive line. He has just instructed his team on some play, and  now he's trotted to his position, his hands on his knees as he bends  over.

When the ball flies into his hands, he's on the move. He takes two steps  back, sidesteps a linebacker with a graceful movement of his hips, and  then cocks his arm back. The whole stadium seems to drown in silence as  the ball leaves his hands and flies in an arch. There's a roar as the  ball finds its way straight into the hands of the Nailers' wide receiver  on the other end of the field, and the whole crowd goes insane as he  dives into the end zone.

I know this happened because of the gigantic screen right in front of  me, but in reality, my eyes have never left Danny Manning. Sweet Jesus,  just watching him is enough to make my insides clench. He moves with a  powerful dexterity, the muscles in his body working in perfect symmetry.  And it's quite a thing to witness; unlike some of the other players,  Manning is all built on lean muscle, his skin stretched tight over his  hard muscles. And I'm only talking about the parts that I can see …  Just  imagine how he must look under all that gear.

That's when I notice it; Danny Manning's looking straight at me. His  whole team is celebrating a much-needed touchdown, and he's just  standing in the middle of the field, one hand on his hip and staring  straight at me. Right now, I don't know if my blood is flowing straight  to my face or to between my thighs. I just stare back at him, completely  dumbfounded, and only when he looks away do I realize that I was  holding my breath.

"Oh. My. GOD!" Christine yelps, grabbing my arm and shaking me. "He was looking at you! Danny Manning was looking at you!"

"He was," I smile, suddenly feeling light headed. My eyes follow him as  he sets up another play. "Look at him, Chris. He looks so …  So …  So  fuckable!" I cry out, that warmness between my thighs turning into an  uncomfortable wet feeling.

"Totally," Christine agrees as Danny runs close to the sidelines, just a few feet away from us. "How big do you think he is?"         

     



 

"I don't know …  But I wouldn't mind finding out." He runs past us again,  and I turn my neck, following after him and devouring him with my eyes.  By now, I completely forgot about the game. I don't even know who's  winning-and who cares, really?

"You know, Chris," I say, turning to her and looking away from Danny for  the first time in a long while. "I'd totally fuck him if I had the  chan--" The words get lost in my throat as I hear a few of the  photographers close to us crying out. I turn to see what all the  commotion is about, and I do it just in time to see a tall Nailers  player crashing through the line of photographers and stumbling toward  us, the ball clutched tight to his chest.

It's Danny Manning, and I'm right in his way.





123





Danny





Three passing touchdowns in fewer than thirty minutes. I'm on fire, baby.

"Alright, guys," I tell the team as they form a circle around me. "We're  gonna go with a flag play. Get me the ball and I'll throw it far and  wide. Just make sure you catch it," I tell Anderson, the wide receiver,  rapping my knuckles against his helmet. He grunts in response and then  we're back in formation.

By the time the balls gets to my hands, I'm ready to go. I take two  steps back and, watching one of the Miami MILFs' linebackers rush toward  me, I sidestep him. I scan the field quickly and, the moment I see  Anderson closing in on the end zone, I draw my arm back and just shoot  the ball in an arch. I can feel everyone's eyes in this stadium  following the ball's trajectory, but a fraction of a second before it  left my hands I already knew where it was going to land: right where  Anderson is now. I smile as he grabs the ball and makes a run for it.  There's nothing the MILFs' defense can do now; by the time Anderson is a  few feet away from the end zone, he jumps forward and crashes after the  line.

Touchdown! And now that makes it four passing touchdowns in fewer than  thirty minutes. Yeah, this year I'm going to smash every single team on  my road to victory, and I won't stop until I'm carrying this year's  Super Bowl trophy in my arms. What? I'm not being cocky; I just live to  win, babe, whether you like it or not.

I start to run toward the end zone, ready to join in as my whole team  celebrates another six points, when I notice something out of the corner  of my eye. There are two girls sitting by the 50-yard line, close to  the reporters, and the blonde one is looking straight at me. Has she  even seen the touchdown? She's probably the only person in the whole  stadium paying zero attention to the game.

Her eyes find mine and, in a fraction of a second, her whole face turns  comically red. She looks cute, actually-bright eyes and an easy smile,  not a trace of those faux high-maintenance qualities I'm so tired of.  She looks like the perfect girl next door.

Okay, fuck. Enough of this. I have a game to win, I can't be thinking of  women right now. I turn my attention away from her and head down the  field, mentally gearing up for the next play as our kicker snags one  more point by kicking the ball between the uprights. But when I walk  past the girls I can't help but overhear a few snippets of their  conversation, and they're sure as hell not talking about football. Did I  hear the word fuckable?

I try to keep my head in the game for the next plays, but that girl has  made a home out of my mind and I can't focus right now. I've already  made a fumble, and that's my first one in the entire season. Fuck. And  these two girls keep on talking about everything except the game. Now  that my brain has been tuned to their voices, it seems that I can't stop  myself from hearing what they're saying.

"How big do you think he is?" I hear the blonde girl's friend ask, and  I'm pretty sure they're talking about me. Momentarily forgetting where I  am, I turn my eyes toward the girls and that's when someone screams my  name; I turn just in time to see the ball flying toward me, and I  somehow manage to catch it. Except it's too late now; two of the MILFs'  linebackers are already coming toward me, one coming from the right and  the other from the left, and they're more than ready to steamroll me.  Lucky for me, my body acts on muscle memory alone, and I take a fast  step back; then I make a quick turn to the right, and the linebackers  crash against each other.

There's a loud ooh and then a relieved aah coming from the crowd, and I  jump back into action. It's time to finish off these pussies for good. I  start running down the field as fast as I can, trying to see a clear  line of pass while trying to survive a whole team that wants to stomp me  down. I'm running past the 50-yard-line, just a few feet away from the  sidelines, when I notice that Anderson's open on the far end of the  field. I cock my arm, ready to make another glorious winning pass, when a  bright voice shoots a hole in my concentration.

"I'd totally fuck him if I had the chance," I hear her say, and I  instinctively know it's that blonde girl from before. Fuck, I lost the  moment and Anderson is down on the ground now. And to top it all,  there's a lineman headed straight for me, and another two blocking my  path to the right. When I hear one of the MILFs' players coming from the  right, completely blindsiding me, I try and pivot to the left to avoid a  sack.