Pink Shades of Words: Walk 2016 (21 page)

Good God. One million dollars after taxes would wipe out my medical school loans with money left over to buy my own damn penthouse. But was I up for sale? I felt a twist in my stomach, probably my conscious. 

Coach paused his little speech and the room’s air became heavy. I glanced from Marcus to Coach and knew something sticky was next. The kind of sticky that doesn’t wash off easily, like flypaper on a hot summer night.

I began to sweat. My father was an attorney and drilled into me one thing. Never sign anything without legal counsel. But who the hell could I even call?

Sticky. It’s a very, very, sticky situation for sure.

“Now, the sex part,” Coach coughed these words out and Marcus went back to rubbing his palms over his jeans. I was sitting on the edge of my seat, waiting to see how my panties were going to drop. My bet was on hard and fast. Sexy Marcus wasn’t going to be denied, especially not by me.

“You don’t have to have sex with him.” I raised my eyebrows at him in disbelief.

“How will he know I’m his cure then?” It seemed like a logical question.

“Smart woman,” Coach said.

“I’m not sure how smart I am. My attorney father would tell me to hightail it out of this room.” I wanted to show them I wasn’t totally in their camp yet. They needed to work to get me to join their damn team. I wished I had some war paint on my face to make me more of a badass.

“Off the record here,” Coach asked and Marcus looked at me with sad, pleading eyes. Damn him and his sexy pout that made me want to kiss him back to happiness. I was majorly fucked and will likely be majorly fucked by him often if I signed this contract. I squirmed in the chair as I thought of that ten-inch piece of him taking me where I longed. This could be worse. Yeah, that would be my new mantra.

“Sure, off the record,” I agreed.

“You need to have sex with him and often. Like tonight. The poor man has been beside himself. Can’t remember a thing he learned over the last eight years in the NFL. His future belongs in your hands.” My hands? I would say my vagina.

“Marcus?” I had to ask one question before I signed this paper. “Do you even find me remotely attractive?”

Marcus rose from his seat on the leather sectional and kneeled in front of me. He enclosed my hands with his and looked me square in the eye. Those hypnotizing eyes of blue that made me think of cloudless skies. He tightened his jaw as he posed before me with a hard determination.

“How could you even ask that?” He scanned over my body and left a heat wave over my skin. “You have it all. You’re the total package.”

One of his hands found my knee and began to stroke over the top of it. His hands were so massive that his fingertips reached the middle of my thigh. A scant few inches away from the promised land.

“Your petite, curvy body.  A D-cup, right?” I nodded as his eyes laser focused on my chest. If I ever doubted he was one cocky bastard, I don’t anymore. “Your mouth makes me insane. Silky hair I want to see covering every part of me. And these legs.” He brought his other hand to my neglected knee and caressed it too. I parted my legs without even thinking and he followed my lead as he continued higher and skimmed the laced-edge of my panties. Teasing me, he immediately drew back lower to a safer zone. After all, Coach was there only a few feet away.

“I would be attracted to you even if you weren’t the only woman able to get me hard. But as luck would have it, you’re the only woman that has me worked up.”

Speaking of worked up, my hormones shot through my body at the speed of light. My insides were on fire.

I knew what I was going to do before I said it, but hell, I loved football and used to love sex from what I remember of it back in my pre-med days. Since med school, I had one boyfriend and he ran on batteries....

“Hand me the damn pen,” I said in defeat though I was pretty sure I would win a lot from this deal. Sure it would be hard to explain to my family and friends, since I couldn’t talk about it under the damn NDA, but being hitched to the biggest, sexiest football player in Chicago would have to be enough.

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N
ote to reader:

The rest of Marcus and Cali’s story comes out later this year in an expanded and lengthier version. Be watching for the rest of HARD LUCK.

Marcus Flynn had Chicago and the sports world under his thumb as the star quarterback for the Bears. Women loved him. Hell, men loved him too. No one could deny the sexy player what he wanted.

Marcus lived life fast and “hard” with his choice of hookups until one night in New Orleans when he picked out the wrong woman, a voodoo priestess. She put a sexual curse on Marcus after feeling scorned by him that night.

Poor manwhore Marcus was thrown completely off his game and the Bears season looked doomed as he couldn’t “get it up in the air” both on the field and in the bedroom. Then Marcus mets an erectile dysfunction doctor, Dr. Cali Jones, who happened to be the one woman with the power to break the supposed voodoo curse. Now Marcus has to convince her to marry him...

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Also by Liv Morris

Coming Spring 2016:

MARRY SCREW KILL

See
MARRY SCREW KILL
,

The standalone you need to read sitting down here on
GOODREADS

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About Live Morris

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R
aised in the Ozark Mountains of Missouri, Liv Morris now resides on St. Croix, USVI with her first and hopefully last husband. After relocating twelve times during his corporate career, she qualifies as a professional mover. Learning to bloom where she's planted, Liv brings her moving and life experience to her writing.

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C
HAPTER ONE

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M
y phone chimed at the worst possible time.

“Dammit! I thought you turned that thing off when you went to bed,” Roan complained as he pounded against my ass. “Way to ruin the moment.”

As I grabbed my cell and put it on vibrate, my eyes narrowed, not that my expression mattered since I was facing the headboard. The text was from Denzi, my roommate.

Denzi: Are we riding to work together or taking separate cars?

For a moment, I considered her request. Sometimes we did. Since I wanted a reason to get out of here, after twenty minutes of this torture, it gave me the perfect excuse.

me: Hell yeah! Be home soon.

Then I moved the phone back to the nightstand where it slipped out of my hand and clattered as it hit it the wood. Behind me, Roan sighed loudly. Mostly, I didn’t care. After all, he woke me up to have sex and it was meh sex at best.

“Really, babe?” He growled as he gave up and flopped on the bed beside me, landing on his back. His bent arm covered much of his face, but from the way he bit his lower lip, I could tell he was frustrated.

Rolling over, I let my feet hit the floor and immediately set to work finding my pile of clothes. The skirt and shoes were easy enough, since I dropped them beside the bed, but then Roan had decided to get involved and tossed the rest of my clothes around with little care, which would explain why my bra was draped over the lampshade and my sweater dangled from the footboard. The location of my panties was a mystery for a moment until I glanced at Roan and found them dangling from his forefinger. “Thanks,” I muttered as I started to shut myself in the bathroom.

“What? No apology?” He glared at me from the bed where he lay propped on his side.

Taking a deep breath, I considered for a moment precisely what he wanted me to say. Nope. I had nothing. “And what am I supposed to be sorry for this time?” I didn’t even try to hide the annoyance in my voice.

“We didn’t finish.” He gestured to his semi, like I was supposed to stop and handle it for him. Judging from the pile of Hustlers I’d stumbled upon not so long ago in his closet, he didn’t need my help.

Come to think of it, if it weren’t for my vibrator, I wouldn’t have had an orgasm in freaking forever and he never apologized to me. Fuming, I reached into the bathroom drawer, pulled out what I sought, and tossed him the KY Warming Lube. “Handle it.” Then I slammed the door.

Relationships weren’t supposed to be like this. We were never supposed to be dating anyway. Roan had been bartending one night and I stayed to hang out after my assignment. I may have done a few too many shots and he took me home. His home. This very apartment. The sex had been amazing, spontaneous, fun, sexy, and perfect. I almost never had one-night stands, except for like four times, and when he wanted to see me again, I agreed.

While I showered, I remembered how everything had worked between us for a while. The first six months had been great, but lately we were in rut city. We never had fun. We always argued over stupid stuff. And I had started feeling used because I couldn’t remember the last time I had an orgasm during sex. Seriously, even now as the steaming hot water washed over me, the particulars of that momentous occasion escaped me. Hell, the sex had been meh long before I stopped having orgasms apparently.

As I turned the water off, Roan passed me a towel. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to start a fight, babe.”

While I dried my face, I gritted my teeth. ‘Babe’ had been a cute nickname at first, but now I wanted him to call me by my name or find a new term of endearment. It felt so...basic...and I was anything but basic, according to that Facebook quiz. “Do you even remember my name?”

“Of course, I do.” Roan shifted uncomfortably against the vanity.

I wrapped the towel around me and tucked in one corner near my boob to hold it in place. Then I crossed my arms over my chest and smiled sweetly at him. “So what is it?”

“What do you mean?” He rubbed the back of his neck and I could see him struggling to deflect my question. “Wanna meet up after work tonight?”

“Answer the question, please.” I took two steps towards him and leaned against his chest. He had a nice body. Honestly, his looks were my favorite thing about him, which made me feel terribly superficial.

Instantly his arms were around me and he leaned down to kiss me, but I pulled out of reach. “Delilah,” he groaned.

“Now the rest of it,” I urged.

“What does it matter? If I have my way, you’ll quit your job, marry me, and take my name!” Roan frowned deeply.

You know, when a guy you’ve been dating for a while suggests marriage is in the future, most girls squeal in delight. My reaction was more of a full body shudder. Luckily, he took it as me being cold or we’d have had a bigger fight on our hands.

“Babe, get dressed. You’re freezing.” He ran his hands up and down my arms.

See, if he had paid any attention to my skin temperature, he’d have noticed I was actually toasty warm, still pink from the nearly scalding hot shower I’d just enjoyed in an effort to wash the stress out of me. I could’ve commented on it, but instead, decided to tackle the one most relevant issue. “I’m not quitting my job.” I spoke quietly and my eyes never met his. Then I turned, picked up my clothes and trudged out to the bedroom to get dressed.

There were clean panties in my purse. I’d put those on for now and change my clothes at home when I returned in seven minutes or less, if I had my way. Ah, but Roan had followed me out and flopped on the bed angrily.

“Why do you insist on keeping that job?” He glared at me while propped on his side facing my direction.

“I quit college five years ago for this job. I have no real skills. I’m sticking with it until I figure what to do with my life. I’ve told you this. Tons of times. Why is this so hard for you to understand?” I stood in only panties, my hands on my hips, my jaw set. If this douche kept causing frown lines, I’d be out of work in no time whether I liked it or not. Carter liked his decoys young and flawless. Let’s face it, I was already hanging on by a thread.

Roan sat up suddenly. “It’s a job, not a career. It can be replaced.”

At first I ignored him and tugged my bra into place before pulling on my skirt and shirt, then I realized he was in no position to lecture me. Straightening, I leaned toward him and enunciated my words. “You’re a damn bartender. Why don’t you get a career, then you can talk?”  I could actually see the hairs on his neck bristling, but I rather than hear him out, I grabbed my purse and stormed out of the room.

He followed me as far as the front door, but since he was still in boxers, he wouldn’t chase me farther. Yanking on the lever, I started to walk into the too bright sun when I realized my hand was stuck. To my horror, Roan started to walk over to me and help, but I wanted nothing to do with him at the moment. “Leave me alone!” I shrieked as I struggled to free my hand. It hurt like hell and I could already feel it swelling. Still, I somehow managed to rush from the apartment, holding my palm to my chest as warm tears stung my eyes.

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C
HAPTER TWO

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“R
eady?” Denzi asked an hour and a half later as we walked from the parking lot to the office for our usual afternoon meeting.  

Sighing, I fished in my purse for my phone.  This was the fourth time it had rang since we left our apartment. I groaned, then I showed her my cell screen.  It was Roan.  Again.  Still.  Once more, I sent him to voicemail.  “I can’t even right now,” I muttered.

Before I could drop my cell back into the deep abyss that was my purse, she grabbed my hand and looked at me wide eyed.  “Um, what happened here?”

Chuckling, I glanced at the back of my hand.  It was swollen and had a purple bruise.  Shaking my head, I explained using as few words as possible.  “You know the expression about never going to bed angry?” I smirked as Denzi nodded. “Apparently I should never leave angry either.”