Fair Game: A Football Romance (25 page)

Chapter Six

Violet

One-Morning-Stand

The relief of my orgasm is so great that I collapse in the Major’s arms. If it weren’t for his quick reflexes, I’d be on the ground right now, melting into a puddle of post-orgasmic glop. This man is talented, as in
majorly
talented—pun absolutely intended.

“I’ve never seen anything so erotic. You are indeed a tribute to the flower you’re named for,” he says in a low, gravelly tone that makes my toes curl.

I wilt against the wall, and he slides his hand out from between us and under my ass to support me more comfortably.

“No one’s ever said that to me before.”

His blue eyes burn with desire when he responds. “Maybe no one has ever brought it out in you properly. Actually, I like that, being the first to see Violet bloom. You’re a wildflower, violet—free, open, abandoned, liberated. When you came, I saw every emotion on your face as if you were communicating on some other level. It was beautiful. So beautiful, I’d like to see it again. Come home with me.”

I release my legs from his waist and attempt to stand on my own but initially fail. He supports me like he would never let me fall under any circumstances. It takes me a few seconds, but when I have my strength back, I stand and look past him over his shoulder.

I’m not one to keep things bottled up. I’m a good communicator, and I suspect the Major is as well, or he wouldn’t have shared his feelings so openly just now. I want nothing more than to go home with this man, but I need to be smart about this.

I really don’t know a thing about him. He says he’s a Marine, but what proof do I have? He seems normal enough, and I was totally looking for a one-night stand this week, but whatever’s going on between us doesn’t feel one-night stand-ish. It feels like the base of a lasting relationship, and I’m done with those—or at least I thought I was.

He moves his head into my line of sight. “You’re hesitating. Why?”

I blink and wonder that myself. “I don’t know. I want to say something, but I don’t want to freak you out or upset you.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m a United States Marine, Violet. It’s not easy to freak me out or upset me. Say what you need to say, always.”

I’m still hesitating, and I can’t place my finger on why.

“Okay, I’ll go first. Maybe that will help. I know we have only known each other for a few hours, but I like you. I would be honored if you agreed to come home with me tonight.”

Honored. Wow, you don’t hear that every day. Hell, I’ve
never
been told that. Maybe I should go with my instincts on this one. Could my jerk magnet be demagnetized? Anything’s possible, right? Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Vie, and you’ll end up with a pulverized heart and a bucket of tears.

“Your turn,” he says, gently taking ahold of my chin and tipping my face up to his.

“I’m scared.” I blurt it out like word vomit. Hey, it’s communicating at least.

“What are you afraid of?”

“I don’t know you. Not really, anyway. And this feels . . . different.”

“Different how?”

“Like . . . like it could be
something
.”

He chuckles. “Is that all?”

“Yes, that’s all. Well, it’s not. I quit having relationships. I suck at them, so I stick to one-night stands.”

His left eyebrow arches high and his half-smile fades.

“I have to agree with your assessment. I too feel like this is more than just fucking, but if it’s a one-night stand you want, let’s start with that, shall we?”

“How do I know you’re not the next David Berkowitz or Jeffery Dahmer?”

As insulting as my question is, it still makes him laugh.

“You would have very bad instincts, then, I guess. I suppose you want to see my military ID to prove I’m really Marine too, huh?”

He’s joking, but I don’t laugh and his face falls.

“Really? You want to see it?” he asks. I nod and bite my lip, suddenly feeling guilty for needing proof.

He doesn’t balk, though. He slides his wallet from his back pocket and produces his ID. I should just glance at it and leave it at that, but I can’t. I feel dumb. I mean, I let this man put his mouth on mine and his hand in my panties, but I’m looking at his ID to be sure he is who he says he is.

I tilt it back and forth, looking for the little details I know an authentic ID should have. My father, brother and many of his friends are Marines, so I know what I’m looking for. While I’m looking at the card, he brushes a loose curl from my cheek behind my ear and I lift my eyes to his. Marines are typically difficult to read. If they don’t want you to know what they are thinking, you won’t know. So when I see disappointment in his eyes, I can be assured he is disappointed in my lack of trust.

I slowly hand him back the ID, and he replaces it in his wallet.

“Now that we have determined that I am indeed
not
Jeffery Dahmer and that I
am
indeed a United States Marine, can we go?”

“Yeah, we can go . . . wait, where are we going?”

“My house. I live close by.”

“Sorry about the ID thing.”

“Don’t be. I’m glad you’re a smart girl. It’s not safe to let a stranger touch you in an alley outside a restaurant, of course, but this once, I’m glad you did. And I don’t expect you to do anything like that ever again. Unless it’s with me, and in that case, I won’t be a stranger, because we’re friends now.”

“We are?”

“Yes, we are. Now come on. My car’s down the street.”

He takes ahold my hand and tugs me off the wall. He leads me out of the alley onto the sidewalk. There are more people strolling up and down the street now that it’s past the dinner hour. I’m glad we weren’t caught messing around in the alley by an innocent person passing by. I like the possibility of being caught making out in public. Just the thought, though, not the actual getting caught part.

I was so wrapped up in the moment that I didn’t get to experience the thrill, but I have a feeling there will be a next time. At least, I hope there will be.

We stop next to his white Lexus SUV and he points his key fob at the door and opens it like a perfect gentleman—or a perfect Marine. They are interchangeable, in my opinion.

My experiences with Marines have all been good ones. My dad set the bar so high that I think that’s why I’m a jerk magnet. There has never been anyone who even remotely came close to living up to my dad’s expectations, so I lowered mine exponentially. Major Steele is the first man to come close to proving his worth, and he’s done it in less than twenty-four hours. Impressive.

The drive isn’t far, only twenty-five minutes or so, but the alcohol in my system is beginning to wane and I’m having trouble keeping my eyes open. Major is quiet—too quiet—and the music is turned down low, making me even sleepier.

“Can I turn this up?” I ask.

“Yeah, sure.”

I turn it up, and it’s set to an old school country station playing a twangy, sleepy song. I switch the channel to a more upbeat, pop channel to keep me awake. Selena Gomez starts to sing about keeping her hands to herself. I chuckle and hum along.

“So you’re here for a wedding?” he asks, striking up a casual conversation.

“Yes, my brother, Taye’s, best friend, Mattie, is getting married. We grew up together, so he’s like family.”

“And they’re both Marines?”

“Yea, my dad too.”

“Did he retire?”

“He was seventy years old, twenty years older than my mom. He died three years ago, but yes, he retired a long time ago. He was a Major General,” I say with pride.

“Major General, huh? What was his name?”

“Lamar Washington.”

His brows shoot up, and I’m not surprised. My dad was well known and respected. He may have retired a long time ago, but he was always involved in the Corps.

“Your father was Major General Lamar Washington?”

“Yep, the one and only.”

He murmurs under his breath, and I barely make out what he says, but I’m pretty sure it was something like
good thing he’s not around or I wouldn’t be taking you home.

“Did you just say you wouldn’t take me home if he weren’t dead?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“Yes. Yes, I did. Your father wasn’t a man to cross. I’m pretty sure he’d have a few million things to say about me dating his daughter.”

“You knew him?”

“I met him once, but for the most part, I only knew
of
him. He was a great Marine, but great Marines are protective of their daughters—very protective. I’m not saying I’m glad your father is dead, just that I’m grateful I don’t have to pass his inspection.”

“I think he would have approved.”

“That’s quite a compliment.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So do you live near Oceanside?” he asks.

“San Diego.”

His expression changes microscopically when he learns that I’m not from Oceanside, but only for a moment. It was such a quick transition that I can’t tell if that was good or bad news to him.

“How do you feel about that?” I ask, forgetting that not everyone is as forward and blunt as I am.

“How do I feel?” he says, glancing in my direction.

“Yes, are you glad I’m forty-five minutes away or disappointed?”

“You’re pretty forward, aren’t you?”

“This coming from the man who took my blouse off without asking first?”

“It needed washing.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.”

“Well it did, and for the record, I’m disappointed you’re not local.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re friends now, and I like to spend time with my friends.”

“Oh yes, that’s right. I almost forgot. So, friend, what do you do for fun?”

“I don’t have much time for fun, but I play golf.”

“You do? So do I. My dad taught me to play. Do you play on the base?”

“Mostly yes, but like I said, I don’t have much spare time.”

“But you’ll find time to come to my brother’s best friend’s wedding?”

“I will so I can see you again.”

I smile at his honesty. He doesn’t play games either. That’s good.

“What do you do in San Diego?”

“I’m a computer software developer for Facebook.”

“A computer geek, huh? I would have never guessed. Do you have an ID? You know, to prove you’re really a computer designer for Facebook?” He never looks directly at me, and I’m pretty sure he’s holding back a smile.

“Touché, Major.”

“No, I’m serious. Hand it over. I need to see some form of identification so I know you’re not some black widow looking for her next victim.”

I roll my eyes and sigh when I slip my work ID card and my driver’s license out of my phone case. He tilts and turns them carefully, the way I did his earlier, until I snatch them away.

“Point taken, smarty pants,” I say.

He laughs, and I notice tiny wrinkles on the corners of his eyes. Men age well. I don’t think I look too young for him, though, but I’m asking.

“How old are you, Major?”

“How old do you think I am?”

“Well, you have to have been in the marines ten to fifteen years to reach your rank, so I’d say thirty-five.”

“Oh, I’m wounded,” he yells, holding his hand over his chest.

“Okay, thirty-two. Is that closer?”

“Ding, ding, ding, give the lady a prize.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me how old I am?”

“Nope, saw it on your license. You’re twenty-seven.”

He turns off the main road onto a residential street and pulls into the driveway of a moderate-sized Mediterranean house. He presses the garage door opener and I watch the door rise, revealing the cleanest, most organized garage I’ve ever seen.

He pulls inside and closes the door behind us.

“Wow.”

He cuts the engine and looks at me with a question on his rugged, handsome face.

“Wow, what?”

I look out the window of the car at the garden and lawn tools that are perfectly aligned on hooks. Everything in his garage looks brand new. A workbench in the corner with a long pegboard holds what looks to be every tool ever invented, but it’s so . . . sterile.

“You’re just super tidy,” I say, downplaying the perfection of his garage.

“I like things a certain way.”

“I see that.”

“Stay. I’ll come around,” he says, opening his door. I watch him walk around the front of the vehicle. He is damn near perfect himself. He’s physically fit, intelligent—or so I assume, since he’s a Major in the Marines. He couldn’t have gotten that rank with an empty head. He’s successful, so he doesn’t lack motivation or drive. He’s educated, and so far, he’s kind. I could do a lot worse on a one-night-stand, that’s for sure . . . and I have.

He opens my door, and I slide down out of my seat. He takes my hand to steady me. It’s a big step, even in heels.