Losing the love of my life taught me that inactions have consequences. My new bookkeeping job teaches me that numbers don't lie, but people do.
Sharing yoga with others is my refuge from the darkness pulling me to stay home. A ginormous pro footbal...
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"Michael!" I plugged one finger into my ear and screamed at my idiot agent. "What the fuck is wrong with you!? This was a giant waste of my fucking time!"
He was insane. It was the only logical explanation.
I preferred that today continued as it started, me naked in bed with Candace sucking my dick. With a girlfriend as hot as mine, not fucking her was a criminal offense. After her surgery, then mine, we abstained for a painful, left-hand-tugged six weeks.
Worth the wait. The tits I bought her were phenomenal. Instead of motorboating the fuck out of Candy's new fun bags, I was...here. Bum fuck middle of nowhere. Rattlesnake county.
Right when Candace's tongue flicked over my slit, my cock-blocking agent called. He'd scheduled me to meet a company of accountants, not my accountant but the foundation. Other than kissing my ass, I had no clue what the fuck their presentation covered. None of their numbers made sense. Behind the adoring fan smiles, they skimmed their greedy share of my charity proceeds.
Candace's dirty, suggestive texts of where we picked up once I got home surged my irritation the longer that meeting dragged on. My dirty, dependable girl sent me enough spank bank material for next season's away games. For the first time since college, cracks appeared in our rock-solid relationship, but I'd make it up to her.
A laughable impression of a breeze cut through the wall of humidity outside. If my parents weren't so stubborn about staying in Dallas, I'd move us to a more pleasant off-season location. One that didn't make me sweat a shower just by standing outside. I dragged my hand across my sweaty forehead and flicked the drops off.
"Improving your image is never a waste of time," Mike's cool, even tone grated my ears. "Especially yours."
Why had he insisted I wore a full suit? Perspiration ringed my armpits and collar, and I palmed the top of my car, frowning behind my sunglasses. I removed my rings, another stupid Mike suggestion. "Can't resist, can you?" I gnashed my teeth at the pointless conversation he looped on repeat since the accident. My rings pressed indents in my palm. "Back-to-back Super Bowl rings brought to this big-market, bottom-feeding team wasn't enough. Putting the entire postseason performance on my shoulders, bringing respect to the franchise, record ticket and jersey sales–"
"And we both know that one MVP season doesn't mean shit at the start of the next one." My nostrils flared at Mike's correct response. "Which, for us, starts now."
I shook each leg to free the fabric stuck to my inner thighs. Fuck, I sweated my balls off. "Like my being here, is there a point, Mike?"
My only shred of entertainment during this pointless outing was pissing off some local, hot-ass chick. Behind her black sunglasses, she pretended to be disgusted at my oral insinuation. She squirmed during the meeting, eyeing me from under her lashes. Embarrassed by the heat in her cheeks, she kept her head down, showing her small, straight nose bridge. A few black strands fell across her forehead, which she ignored. Toned calf muscles in her beautiful, endless legs flexed and elongated with each flick of her black heels.
