TackledP: A Sports Romance(7)

And that means I look like ass.

I'm wearing tattered flannel pajama pants and a grey tank top that used to have a beer logo on it, but is now so faded it looks more like an imprint than a picture. And no bra. Of course.

I'll kill Sable. I will actually murder her with my bare hands.

"Clearly I wasn't expecting anyone," I hiss, crossing my arms over my chest. I can feel my nipples at attention underneath the cotton fabric of the tank top, something the football player probably thinks is hilarious. He's not smirking, though, so at least he hides it relatively well. "Why are you at my house? How did you get my address?"

Colton raises his eyebrows. "I assume the same way you got mine. From my coach."

Touché.

Warily, I eye the flowers he's holding.

"They're not going to explode or anything," he assures me, handing them over.

"You brought flowers," I note flatly. Flowers from a football player? What kind of warped parallel universe did I just enter?

He shrugs. "Chicks like flowers, don't they?"

"Your charm is overwhelming, only surpassed by your sexism."

"What? I'm not sexist," he protests. "Sexy, obviously, but not sexist."

I roll my eyes. "Did you come here to talk about how sexy you are? Because if that's the case, I have plenty of other things to do."

"Like take a shower?" he asks.

"Yes, like take a – you know what? Thanks for the flowers. And the peek into a football player's life. It was… fascinating. But now, you really should be going." I turn, putting my hand on the back of his arm to push him toward the door.

He looks down at me. "Are you trying to move me, little girl? Because I can tell you right now how ridiculous that is."

"Little girl??" I ask.

He turns to face me, inches away. Uncomfortably close. I can smell him, soap and aftershave and I totally want to touch his massive chest but –

"Look," he says, "I came here to apologize."

"Well, you're off to a great start," I spit back.

Don't think about the way he looked when he got out of the pool, all hot and muscled and wet and …

"Shit," he says. "I don't really – well, I've never done this before."

"Stalk a girl?"

"No. Apologize. Obviously I did something that offended you, since you huffed and stormed off from my place with your panties in a wad. I don't know, maybe it was the nudity or the whole stripper thing, but –"

"Is this your apology?" I interrupt. "If it is, you really suck at it."

"Fuck. You're kind of a pain in the –"

"Again, not really helping."

"Look," he groans in frustration. "I'm here with flowers. Obviously, I'm sorry that you got all pissy at my house."

I laugh. "Goodbye, Mr. King."

"Seriously," he says. "Most girls would be glad to see … well, you know.” He gestures toward his crotch.

I don’t bother to hide my laugh. "Little King?"

"Did you think it was little?" he asks. "Because I'll show you again if you –"

I hold up my hand. "Thanks, but no thanks. It's not like I've never seen a naked guy before, bucko."

Bucko? Where the hell did that come from? I'm just blurting out random words like I'm in a Western, suffering from Tourette's.

"Good," he says. "So the sight of my cock didn't run you off."

I shrug and laugh breezily, or how I think "breezily" should sound, except when I hear myself, I think it sounds more crazy than breezy. "Of course not," I huff. "I see enormous cocks all the time."

Oh God. Did I just say that? It sounds like this apartment is Grand Central Station for dicks.

Colton gives me a look.

I clear my throat to cover my embarrassment, but my face must be scarlet. "You know, I … um … have something I need to do?" The statement comes out like a question. “Would you excuse me for just a minute, please?"

I don't wait for him to answer. Instead, I dash to Sable's room, opening her door without knocking, and slamming it closed behind me.

Sable is sitting on her bed, her back against the wall and a laptop balanced on her legs. "Colton King is in our apartment," she whispers.

"Yes, he is," I hiss. "And it's too bad, because he's going to be the only witness to your imminent demise."

"Oh, don't get mad at me because I let the hottest guy to ever grace the doorway of our apartment inside to see you. He's even hotter than Brad," she says, naming the model she dated for three weeks last October. Brad wasn't really hot, though, just pretty and skinny.

Not like Colton King. There's nothing small about him, anywhere. And he certainly is hot.