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Jenna

“Why’d you bring me in here?” I ask, glancing around the visitor’s locker room. It’s completely empty, smelling of disinfectant from being freshly cleaned. Last week’s home game had been a triumphant one, which meant the home team was rowdier than usual afterwards. But now, the locker is silent and a bit chilly.

“Just needed to grab another towel and fill my water bottle. Thought you might need a short walk considering your dad had smoke coming out of his ears.”

I laugh as Oliver rifles through his locker, and while his back is turned, I take him in fully. He’s taller than me, taller than my five ten and a half. I’m used to looking down at men, but with Oliver, my eyes have to travel up to look into those deep brown eyes.

When he turns around and shuts his locker, there’s something familiar in his gaze, something that usually tells me to steer clear of a guy. But coming from Oliver, it makes my insides clench in a good way. That look of possessiveness is exactly why I’ve listened to my dad’s advice about staying away from professional athletes. I’ve evaded being romantically involved with these men for a reason, but I knew when Oliver stopped practice and made his way to me, that rule might be thrown out the window.

I knew that hungry look in his eyes, and yet I’d let him walk me right out of that gym despite knowing I’d hear about it from my dad later, and so would Oliver.

“Look,” I say, scuffing my shoe on the floor. “I’ve been around long enough to know how this goes, and I’m not interested in a hook up with one of my dad’s prodigies.”

Oliver freezes in place in front of me, his hand pauses in his hair. We stare at each other for a long minute before he blows out a breath. “Jesus, that’s not why I wanted to talk to you at all, Jenna.” Jenna. My name sounds so sweet on his lips. “I’m sorry if that’s how I came off.”

I squint my eyes at him despite the sincerity of his words touching something in my heart. “’Giving me pointers’ is the oldest pick-up line in the book.”

Oliver winces. “Yeah,” he sighs. “Maybe that wasn’t the smoothest. I wasn’t implying that you needed them. Hell, I’d probably learn a thing or two from you instead.”

Damn. I really like Oliver, so much so that I hate to crush his hopes and dreams. “Either way, it’s not going to work out. We can play a fun little game of ball, but after that, it’s probably best we keep our interactions on the court.”

Oliver grins, like he’s ready for a challenge. “How can you know it’s not going to work out?” He steps a few inches closer.

“I just do,” I reply, sounding much more convincing this time. “School, practice, my dad.”

Oliver chuckles. “Seems like you’ve given this as much thought as I have, and I haven’t even asked you on a date yet.”

Despite my best efforts, I can feel a blush creeping up my neck and cheeks, which Oliver notices immediately. Finally, Oliver closes the gap between us until our chests are nearly touching.

“You’re not going to ask me on a date because you know it’d be a waste of time.”

Oliver’s eyes drop to my mouth, and he inhales slowly, as if he’s regaining control. “Nothing with you would be a waste of time, I know that for a fact. Who knows, maybe after one day I decide I really can’t stand you.”

I huff out a laugh before drawing my eyes back to his. “My number one rule is not to date professional athletes,” I counter.

He smirks, bringing his hand up to tuck a loose red curl behind my ear. “Is that your rule, or Daddy’s?”

I bristle at what he’s said, but before I can argue, a part of it rings true. Have I been following a rule I don’t care about just to appease my dad?

“I–”

He cuts me up, taking my chin between his thumb and finger, forcing my gaze to lock with his. “You don’t have to listen to Daddy. Not that one anyway,” he says, nodding towards the locker room door before adding a wink that sends my stomach plummeting to the floor.

His words have me feeling lightheaded and weak in the knees. My mouth is dry, and I swallow hard. “Maybe I don’t want to date a professional athlete.”

“Are you sure?” Oliver asks, pulling me close until his lips are on my ear. “Because it doesn’t sound like you’re too sure about that.”

Fuck my shaky, lust filled voice.

Still, I lie and say, “I’m positive.”

He chuckles again, sending a shudder through my body. My eyes fall closed and my body drifts closer to him without permission. I should really push him away and leave this locker room before I…

“I think I can convince you,” Oliver murmurs in my ear, and within seconds, his mouth is on mine—and to my utter surprise, I’m kissing him back. I’ve kissed a man before, but not like this. Oliver is hungry, he wants me in a relentless way that has me folding myself into him. I wrap my arms around his neck, sighing into his mouth in content. When he runs his tongue along my bottom lip, I open up to him even further.

I move my mouth against his, doing my best to give back as good as I’m getting. A whine escapes me without my permission, and before I’m able to feel shame about it, Oliver’s kissing me even harder. He shifts his hands to the swell of my ass, pulling me flush against his front. His tongue pushes against mine.

I’m wet between my legs, unbelievably turned on by nothing more than a kiss. And, judging by the hardness that’s pressing against me, Oliver’s just as into this as I am. His hips twitch slightly, like he’s looking for more friction.

After a few seconds, he pulls away, and says, “That wasn’t the kiss of someone who’s convinced, little girl.”

My breath hitches at the nickname. It should upset me. I hate being treated like a child, yet when Oliver calls me little girl, my stomach does flip flops. It’s the same sensation I felt earlier when he said the word, “daddy.”

“I–” I swallow. “Um.”

Before I’m able to respond, the sound of Oliver’s teammates calling his name floats into the locker room. He chuckles, shaking his head as he leans down to press his lips against my neck. I shudder at the contact, aching for more.

“Come to my place after your practice,” he whispers into my ear, his proximity causing goosebumps to blossom down my arms. “We’ll talk more about this later.”

He gives me a once over, shaking his head as I try to collect myself. Oliver presses a kiss to my forehead as his teammates call his name again. My hands drop to my sides as I watch him disappears into the hallway. What the fuck just happened. My mind is trying to catch up to my reality. There’s no way I’m going to his house tonight, no way I’m going to indulge him in whatever fantasy is playing out in his head because I’ve seen guys like Oliver. I’ve known men who don’t respect their wives or girlfriends—so why does Oliver seem to exude the complete opposite of the trash I’ve dated before?