Gambling For The Virgin:A Dark Billionaire Romance(174)

"Oh, I think it's all been a bit exaggerated, you know? Danny is his own  man, and his success belongs only to him. That said, I do my best to  keep him in good spirits before a game."

"What kind of things do you talk about before a game?" The guy  continues, and the other journalists just fall in line, soaking in every  word coming out of Fiona's mouth. She's the fucking star here, not me,  that's for sure. These guys would crown her Queen of the United States  if they could.

"I remind him of how hard he works, of course, and I might give him a  little incentive if he pulls a win, which he always does," she chuckles,  her voice as bright as blue skies. She then does a little wink, and you  can tell that they're loving it. Some are just jotting down everything  she says in small yellow notepads, others are clicking away with their  cameras, and one seems on the verge of asking for a selfie with her.

I've never seen the media fall in love so quickly with one person, and  that has me worried: when that love starts dying down, Fiona's going to  be in for a rude awakening. I just hope whatever happens doesn't come  between us …  because that's usually how things go.

But, fuck, as far as I know that might not even happen. "Let's get out  of here, babe," I whisper, leaning into her and flashing a wide smile at  the cameras. Somehow, they all part to let us through and, by the time  we get inside the Aston, there's only one thing I'm thinking about:  getting her naked.





136





Fiona





Two months.

That's how much time has passed since I've met Danny. It's been a wild  ride too. It's funny how much your life can change in such a short  amount of time. I went from being a complete unknown to becoming the  constant focus of the all-watching eye of the American media.

But forget about that; these two months have been the best of my life,  and that has nothing to do with the way the media has been treating me.  Do you know how amazing it is to have a man like Danny by my side? And  no, I'm not talking about the fact that he's a famous, rich athlete. As  far as I'm concerned he could be a rugged farmer from a rural town in  the middle of America and I would've fallen for him all the same. How  could I not? He's the perfect blend of bad boy and prince charming. And  he has a gigantic cock, which helps too, of course.

Yeah, let's not get started on the sex; words pale when describing how  good he is. I thought that marathon sex sessions were a thing out of  steamy books but, oh, was I wrong! It's a miracle I've been managing to  get any sleep and stay on top of everything going on in my life. It's  not easy clearing three hours on your schedule (and that's daily!) for  sex when you're trying to prove your worth as an intern at such a  competitive firm such as Price Coopers. Not that I'm complaining, far  from that.



Eight.

That's how many games Danny has won since we've started dating. And when  I say ‘won', what I really mean is that he blew everyone out of the  water. Do you want to know how many touchdown passes he managed during  the regular season? 49-which, for the non-football fans among you, means  that he's close to breaking the record for most touchdown passes during  a season. There are just two games to go until the playoffs start, and  the Nailers have already secured their place there. The hype around the  team grew so much that I figured the league was already engraving the  Nailers' name on the trophy.



Seventeen.

That's the amount of times I've been invited for an interview on live  TV. You've probably seen me already on one of those talk shows. Why the  media took such an interest in me, I have no idea, but I rode that wave  as hard as I could. The Princess of the League, some newspapers started  calling me. It was weird at first, seeing my face plastered on the cover  of a bunch of magazines, but I grew accustomed to all that.

My Instagram account blew up from a measly 150 subscribers to more than a  million in just a few weeks. Yeah, one million; how crazy is that? I  never thought people would be that interested in seeing what I had for  breakfast, especially taking into account that it's usually just cereal  and a piece of toast. I never thought I'd have so many notifications on  my cellphone that it would crash. I actually had to buy a new one so  that I could use Facebook and Instagram without it going batshit crazy  every time I posted a new photo.

I also got some proposals to do a few modeling gigs, but so far I've  turned them all down. I don't want to get distracted with all the fame  and blow the opportunity I fought so hard for at Price Coopers. I might  be turning into some kind of celebrity, but I will never let that get to  my head, or has that already happened? Because, I admit, I might've  been somewhat unprepared to deal with all this. Why? Well …



One.

Danny lost just one game and the dark side of the media reared its ugly  head. That happened two days ago; we were spotted leaving a restaurant a  bit late (not scandalously late, mind you), and when Danny had a  terrible game the next day, everyone started piling up on me. I went  from savior to being the devil's spawn in a matter of hours.

Right now I'm holed up in his apartment, my eyes puffy and swollen from  all the crying I've done. Danny left a few hours ago for his morning  workout and, since it's Saturday, I sat down on his couch and propped my  laptop up; I was in for a surprise.

I'm still reading through all the articles and thousands of Facebook  posts made about me. Do you want to know how many times I've been called  a gold digger? Too many to count. Not to mention that people got in  their heads that there's a problem in our relationship, which translated  as Danny's weak performance two days ago.

It's not like he played that badly, anyway. It was just an average  performance, nothing to write home about, and since every single team is  thirsty for blood, they did their best to steamroll the Nailers-and  steamroll them is exactly what they did.         

     



 

Trouble in paradise? One article reads, stating all the reasons why  Danny wasn't his heroic self during that last game, all of them,  spoiler, concerning me.

"Fiona has to go", some bald overweight pundit is blabbering on TV right  now, telling his viewers that, instead of helping Danny, I'm hampering  his performance. Seriously?

You know what I need to do? Tune all this out. I close my laptop, shut  down the TV and stretch; maybe I'll do some yoga to clear my head. I'm  sure that in a few days nobody's going to care about this. Danny will be  back to winning, and no one will care about the game he lost. Besides,  the media loves me so much that I doubt they'll completely turn against  me.

Yeah, that's it. In a day or two things will go back to normal, and then I'll be back to being America's darling once more.

Or so I hope.





137





Danny





"Hey, what's wrong?" I've just got home and I can already tell that  something's not quite right. She's usually on me before I take two steps  inside of the apartment, and by the time I take off my shoes I usually  have already made her cum twice. But now she's sitting on the couch,  wearing yoga pants with a blanket over her head and a giant bowl of ice  cream on her lap. Sigh, this again.

"Look at that," she points at the television without even looking at me,  waving the spoon she has in her fingers at the guy on the TV. "He's  saying that I'm a bad role model for young girls."

Without saying a word I just go around the couch, grab the remote, and  turn off the TV. "Hey!" she protests, but I'm not even listening now.

"Why are you watching that crap, Fiona?" I ask her, sitting down by her  side and taking the bowl of ice cream out of her lap. She's gorgeous  even in her old yoga pants, so I pull her into me, propping her up on my  knees and pressing my mouth on hers.

Her face lightens up with a smile and she turns around, opening her legs and straddling me.

"I missed you," she whispers, pressing her forehead against mine. She's  happy to see me, that much I can tell, but there's a sadness in her  voice that I'm not really into.

"Don't tell me you've been watching that bullshit on TV since you got  here," I say, and the look on her face gives away the answer. I gave her  my spare key, and told the doorman she could come up anytime because I  wanted her around, not because I wanted her to be gorging on the news.

"What was it today?" I ask her, vaguely aware that the media has been  raising a shit storm since that last game. That's all I know, though, I  don't give a fuck about what some asshole on the TV says about me. As  far as I'm concerned they could be saying I'm a fucking alien from Mars  hell bent on dominating the human race, and I wouldn't care any more  than I do right now.

Of course, now that I'm with Fiona, maybe I should start caring. This  bullshit has started to take a toll on her. Even though she's a natural  in front of the camera, she's too green to handle the ugly media beast.  And I guess she's slowly starting to realize it.