Blitzed by the Brit: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (19 page)

T
wo people tried
to grab me on the way out of the party, but I shook them off with ease. Just because I was below average size and a woman didn’t mean I couldn’t look after myself. Dad had been a great teacher in that respect. He’d taught me some basic self-defense techniques, and he’d taught me how to drink. Both had come in handy. Guys tried to get me drunk sometimes, but they ended up wasted way before me.

I was nearly through the door when another hand grabbed my wrist. This one I couldn’t shake off.

“Wait a minute,” Barton called out behind me.

“What for?” I asked, without turning back to face him. I didn’t trust myself not to stare at his chest, and the last thing I needed right now was to make his ego even bigger.

“I still don’t understand why you’re here.”

I turned round to face him, making sure to keep my gaze up in the air. It was so far up I ended up staring a foot above his head. Talk about overcompensating. “I told you, Leona Goodson sent me here. I’m from Goodson, Mitchell, & Price.”

“That means nothing to me, sweetheart.”

“It’s a PR firm. Your agent hired us to make you look good in the media.”

“Are you saying I don’t already look good?” Barton took a step back and waved a hand over his chest. “I can show you the rest if you want, but that would start a frenzy with all the ladies here. It’d be like throwing raw meat to a pack of lions.”

He was right. With just his chest out, he still pulled women around with him as if he had a magnetic power over them. He’d even managed to draw me in. Either I’d stepped closer to him, or vice-versa, but suddenly we were standing just a foot from each other. I could feel the heat emanating from his muscles, and I found myself wondering what it would be like to touch them.

What am I doing? This is supposed to be a business meeting
.

A business meeting with half-naked women and men everywhere. At least the guy fingering the girl had disappeared, although I doubted they had gone all that far.

“Looking good in the media is not all about looks,” I explained. “Have you seen the photos of you that are doing the rounds on social media tonight?”

“I have far better things to look at than my Twitter feed,” Barton replied. I expected him to glance around at all the women desperate to get a piece of him, but instead he slowly looked me up and down, his eyes stopping uncomfortably long on my thighs and chest.

I quickly pulled my phone out of my purse before he noticed the heat spreading across my cheeks. “Look,” I said, holding the phone up after getting the pictures on the screen. “This is the earliest image. You still have your shirt on in this one and you look relatively sober.”

“It’s a good picture,” Barton replied.

“Look closer.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. She has her hand on your cock.”

“It’s over my pants,” Barton protested.

I flicked to the next image. “Here’s you without your shirt on.”

“I bet you’ve got this saved as your background.”

“You have your tongue in another woman’s mouth,” I said, exasperated.

“It’s just a kiss. PG-13 stuff really.”

“Look at your hand.”

“It’s on her cheek.”

“The other one.”

“Oh.”

“Please at least tell me you’ve washed your hands since this photo was taken?” I asked, remembering that he’d grabbed me with that same hand just a few moments ago.

“I used soap and everything.”

“Such a gentleman. The photos get worse. Do you want me to carry on?”

A flicker of what looked like embarrassment crossed his face, but disappeared just as quickly. “I think you’ve made your point. What you’re saying is that you're here to stop me having any fun?”

“No,” I snapped. “I’m here to stop you having your fun captured on camera.”

How will I even do that?
I’d have to be next to him every minute, watching him kiss and fondle other women, while making sure that no one whipped out a cell phone. Not exactly how I’d imagined spending my summer. A quick bolt of jealousy hit me in the chest as I pictured him with the women here. I imagined him disappearing into the bedroom and leaving me to stand guard outside, listening to her scream as he brought her to realms of pleasure that I’d never experienced without batteries.

“Okay, fine,” Barton relented. “Stay until the end of the night and keep me out of the press.”

“No, I’m leaving. I can’t work for a client who doesn’t want my help.”

Leona would kill me if she heard that. We worked for clients we didn’t like all the time. In fact, from my short time on the job, I’d gotten the distinct impression that we
only
worked for clients we didn’t like.

“I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“What exactly does your best behavior entail exactly? Switching condoms between women?”

“How about I promise to ignore all the women here for the rest of the night.”

“All the women?”

“All the women except one. Now, why don’t you relax and take that jacket off?”

I sighed loudly, and took a step back to get some space between us. “You’re beyond helping, Mr. Fenner. Goodbye.”

Either he didn’t believe or he didn’t care, because that stupid cocky grin stayed firmly in place until I couldn’t bear to look at it any longer. I turned and walked out the door without looking back. I didn’t need to. I had a clear mental image of his chest in my mind, and if I needed a reminder, there were plenty of pictures I could look at online.

I’d have to crop out the women though. I didn’t want to see him in any compromising positions. Largely because I wanted to be in those women’s shoes.

No, best to just walk out of this apartment and forget that meeting ever happened. I’d tell Leona that Barton was nowhere to be found. She’d probably yell at me, but I was an intern, so how much trouble could I really get into? Served her right for making me take this assignment on my own.

I wasn’t qualified to look after someone like Barton by myself. Women like me did not spend time with men like Barton, whether it be work-related or social. He was trouble, and there was only so much trouble that could be covered up.

It would take more than a PR firm to keep his dirty secrets safe, especially when he created new ones each time he opened his mouth.

I
walked
into my apartment to be confronted by yet another shirtless man. I’d usually look away embarrassed, but after what I’d seen tonight, this modest physique didn’t even have me batting an eye.

“Kristi,” Tasha yelled as she walked out of her room. “You’re back early.”

Tasha threw the mystery man his shirt, which he quickly slipped on after zipping up his jeans. At least one of us had had some fun tonight.

“I wish I’d never left the apartment,” I muttered.

“Oh dear.” Tasha turned to face the man who looked about ready to leave. “This is Kristi, my sister. Kristi, this is… ah, who cares, he’s just leaving.”

The guy left without saying a word, which was usually the way with my sister’s hookups. A few of the lucky ones made it to breakfast, but not many. That was just fine with me. My sister’s choice in men couldn’t be much more different from mine. I liked guys who could hold a conversation. She liked men who spent more time working out than working, and tended to see conversation as an impediment to sex. She would’ve had a great time at Barton’s party.

“What was he like?” I asked Tasha, as she headed to the kitchen for ice cream. Ice cream usually meant the sex had been good; apparently orgasms burned calories and therefore she could eat it guilt-free. Not that she ever put on weight anyway. Shouldn’t sisters have similar genes? Why could she eat whatever she wanted, while I had to have tiny portions and fight the constant urge to eat all the junk food Tasha had stashed around the apartment?

“Good,” she replied. “We’d both been sexting for hours before hand, so the main event didn’t last long, but it didn’t need to.”

“How did you meet?” I asked. I didn’t really care, but if I could keep the questions coming for long enough, Tasha might just forget to ask about my evening.

“Online. He’s a highly trained FBI agent who usually works abroad. Said he was just in town for a few days on shore leave.”

“Um, I don’t think FBI agents work abroad, and they don’t get shore leave.”

“Oh,” Tasha replied excitedly. “Do you think that means he’s a spy? I’ve always wanted to fuck a spy.”

“No, I think it means he was lying to get you into bed.”

“Ah.” She paused and then shrugged her shoulders. “Whatever. An orgasm’s an orgasm. I take it from that look on your face that you didn’t get any tonight?”

“What look?” I asked, turning to look in the mirror by the doorway. Was I still bright red? Nope, I looked about normal. “I always look like this.”

“Exactly. So, as usual, no dick for you.”

“I can assure you, I dealt with a rather large dick tonight.”

Tasha’s eyes lit up. “Tell me everything,” she said, patting the seat next to her on the sofa.

I told Tasha how my boss had stood me up and made me go and meet a client by myself. We were usually under pretty strict instructions not to reveal who our clients were, but Tasha and I shared everything. In my case, that meant talking about my studies and work. In her case, it meant telling me about the men she fucked. Occasionally, she talked about her writing if she got something published and happened to feel passionate about it, but that wasn’t often.

“The party was more like an orgy,” I explained. “One dude had his fingers in a girl in front of everyone.”

“Oh please, honey, that’s not an orgy. I’ve been to orgies, and that is not one.”

“When?” I asked in shock. I thought I knew everything about my sister’s sex life, but she still managed to spring surprises on me once in awhile.

“I dated an older guy at college who took me to one. Oh, and there was that time in Corfu.”

“I went to Corfu with you.”

“I snuck off while you were asleep. Anyway, who was this client with the rowdy party?”

“His name’s Barton Fenner. He’s a quarterback for—”

“Barton Fenner! Holy shit, you’re kidding me. You went to a Barton Fenner party and didn’t tell me?”

“It’s not like I had a lot of time to prepare. Besides, it was for work.”

“My God, I’ve been following that party on Twitter and Instagram. The more he drank the less he wore. I only stopped looking because my fuck came over. Better check for an update.”

Tasha pulled out her phone and frantically typed in search terms, but ended up disappointed.

“Nothing you like?” I asked.

“There are no new photos. I was hoping he’d end up taking out his cock. I’ve heard it’s fucking huge.”

No new photos? Had he actually listened to me?
At least Leona would be pleased.

“Wait a minute,” Tasha said slowly. “You said you dealt with a massive dick tonight. Does that mean you screwed Barton Fenner?”

Tasha looked so excited for me—and maybe even a touch jealous—that for a moment I was tempted to say yes. But she’d see through the lie in an instant. Tasha had been right before—I looked just like I always did on a Friday night; tired and unsatisfied. Barton might be an arrogant ass, but there wasn’t much chance he’d leave me unsatisfied.

“No, I had to deal with him, and he’s a massive dick. Seriously, he’s a piece of shit. So arrogant and full of himself. He was shirtless the entire time I was talking to him.”

“But there’s a bad side to him as well?”

“That
was
….” I trailed off as I remembered who I was speaking to. “Okay, well I guess he’s your type, but not mine.”

“When was the last time you had sex, little sis?”

“You know the answer to that question.”

“Yes, I do, but sometimes I wonder whether you’ve forgotten.”

“Two years ago,” I replied. “I haven’t had sex for two years. Happy now?”

“No, I’m far from happy. Kristi, you’re young and beautiful. Go out there and get some dick. At the moment, I’m fucking enough for the both of us and it’s exhausting. You promised to handle your share of the household responsibilities.”

I laughed. “I promise to get back in the saddle soon, but not with a guy like Barton.”

“Why not?”

“I just told you, he’s arrogant, and a complete prick.”

“And I told you he has a huge cock. Plus, I can always tell when a man is good in bed, and I guarantee you that Barton Fenner is a beast in the sack.”

That I could believe. He acted on instinct and didn’t seem to have any control over what he did. ‘Beast’ was probably a good word for him.

“This conversation is pointless. He didn’t want me to work for him, and he didn’t want me to do anything else with him either. I’m not his type.”

‘All the women except one.’

I wasn’t his type, so why had he tried that line on me? He probably just saw me as a challenge. Or maybe that friend of his put him up to it? A dare to see if he could fuck the stuck-up little princess.

“Stop putting yourself down,” Tasha said firmly. “I wasn’t lying when I said you were beautiful. Now, you said you saw Barton without his shirt on.”

I nodded. “I tried not to stare at it.”