Page 4 of The False Start (Off the Bench)

The lights flicker on, and we break apart, both breathing heavily. She glances at her watch and blanches. I check my own. 1:45 am. We’re closing down the club. Thank God we don’t have morning practice tomorrow.

“Come on, let’s get you home,” I say, taking her hand and guiding her through the throngs of people headed toward the door. We’re swimming upstream back to VIP, and it takes a few minutes, but she doesn’t let go of my hand.

Theo looks pointedly at our entwined fingers as we approach, and I drop it once we’re clear of the masses and roll my eyes at him.

“Cal, why don’t you and Lila share an Uber? You only live a few blocks from each other,” Katie coos from her perch on the leather couch. Lila shoots her a glare.

“Err, sure,” I mutter. “If you’re okay with that?”

She shrugs, which I take as a good sign.

“Right then.” I stand there awkwardly with my phone. “What’s your address?”

She yawns spectacularly but takes my phone, putting it in the app before handing it back.

“Oh, Katie’s right. You’re only just down the street from me.

” I hold out my hand, an offer, and she takes it with a mere second of hesitation and lets me lead her back through the crowd to the street to wait for the car.

After only a few minutes, passed in silence, the black Lexus pulls up. I check the plates quickly before opening the door for her. I’ve only just slid in beside her and shut the door when her head rolls forward onto my shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

She nods. “Just tired,” she says with a yawn.

“You both good?” asks the driver, a sharp look in his eyes.

“Yeah, we’re fine. She’s good.” I meet his gaze with one of my own and lift my arm along the back of the seat, letting Lila tuck herself into my side.

She falls asleep within seconds, and I’m left with the rest of the drive to watch her as she sleeps, to count the small breaths she takes and the little noises she makes.

The driver pulls over, and I shake her gently awake.

“Lila, I think this is you.” Her eyes snap open, but she blinks slowly as if she can’t focus. “Do you need help getting up to your apartment?”

“No, I’m fine.” She is most definitely not fine, but I’m not going to force my way into her building.

She must read the hesitation on my face, because she opens the door and hops out onto the street.

“Really, I’m fine. Thanks for the ride, and good to meet you, Cal.” She gives a small wave and shuts the door, walking up to her building, her hips swaying enticingly and entirely at odds with her assurances that she didn’t need me to accompany her to her apartment.

She walks into her building, disappearing around a corner in the lobby, and will myself to relax. I haven’t danced like that with someone in years, since before I was drafted.

A throat clears from the front seat. “Where to next, sir?” the driver asks expectantly.

“Corner of Randolph is fine. Thanks.”

The car drives a few blocks down the road and stops outside of my new home.

A buddy in Boston recommended it when I got traded.

The security is tight and the amenities top notch with the well-equipped gym, lap pool, and on-site grocery store.

I could’ve done a lot worse. I fish out a twenty from my wallet and drop it on the passenger seat as I get out of the car.

“Thanks for the ride.” The driver nods, and I head inside.

Charles is stationed at the front desk and nods to me.

I like Charles. He’s quiet, never prying into my life or even the team, but always pleasant to the residents.

To outsiders, he never takes any shit. No one’s gotten past Charles unless I invited them personally.

I wave to him before scanning my key fob at the double doors and heading through to the elevators. I punch the top button.

I bought the apartment three days after being traded.

I couldn’t stand the hotel any longer, and even if it took a decent chunk out of my inheritance, it was worth it for the peace and quiet.

Chicago is already so much better than the East Coast, quiet in more ways than one.

Away from my father’s thumb and the stuffy relatives who visited for a chance at the “American Experience” in New York City.

It always surprises people when they find out I’m from England since I’ve lost most of my accent, but the majority of my family still lives there.

My father brought me to the States with him when I was in primary school, and he opened a US branch of his consulting firm in New York, which is where I’d undoubtedly be working if I hadn’t gotten drafted by the Cosmos.

Ding!

The elevator slides open to reveal my home. I drop my keys and wallet into the bowl on the side table in the hall and head straight toward my master bath. The shower set to scalding, I step in, hissing at the sting of the water against my skin as it turns from pale to pink in the steam.

The water flows over my head and shoulders, and I take a few deep breaths, doing everything I can to avoid thinking of Lila Summers, how she slid up my body as we danced at the club. My breathing turns ragged, and I grip the marble shower wall with my left hand as my right fists around my cock.

I groan, rock hard already, and give into the fantasies running wild in my head.

How she felt pressed against my thigh, how she’d look riding it into oblivion, her body pressed against mine, my hand closing around her throat.

I quicken the thrusts into my hand, my breathing hard, even as my mind wanders to that Uber ride and how she felt tucked into me, how she leaned in and slept on my shoulder, trusting me to make sure she got home safe.

I cry out as I finish and rinse off, turning the water to cold.

God, did I really just finish to the thought of half-cuddling with a girl I just met?

Why does it matter so much that she got home safe?

It’s more than I feel when I get Katie home safely, just a chivalrous good deed.

What is wrong with me? Maybe it’s just been a while.

Tori hasn’t been over for at least a week, maybe two.

I step out of the now frigid shower and wrap a towel around my waist, heading to my bedroom.

I pull on a pair of grey joggers and grab my phone from the pocket of the jeans I tossed to the ground earlier.

It must be some new record. I haven’t checked it once since I got to the club, well since she got to the club, except to order our ride home.

I scroll through the notifications, disregarding the CNN updates and other notices, and see one missed call from my mother—I’ll call her in the morning—and three texts from Tori.

Tori

Hey, how’ve you been?

I have a show coming up next week. You game?

U up?

I checked the time stamp. The last text was only sent 15 minutes ago.

I sigh and ignore it. I don’t need her tonight, even if it’d be more fulfilling than just my own hand.

I like Tori, and we have an arrangement that works well for both of us: a relationship only in the most basic sense but nothing serious and nothing even remotely official.

Just casual, mutually beneficial sex and a date to any events we need to attend.

It doesn’t hurt to have a popular model on my arm, and she certainly never complains about how I look in a suit.

Staring at my phone, I realize I don’t have her number.

I never asked for it, or even implied I’d wanted it.

She’d definitely mentioned a guy though.

A boyfriend? An ex? Someone. I snort, tossing my phone onto the charger by the bed and lay back.

If that girl—no, woman— was mine, there’s no way in hell she’d be grinding on other men the way she’d danced with me tonight.

If she wanted to dance, I’d make myself available to dance with her, but she wouldn’t be grinding on strangers.

I roll over, trying not to dwell on that line of thought and pull the comforter over myself, falling asleep quickly, only to be plagued with dreams of challenging brown eyes and high heels wrapped around my head.