Bleacher Report (2) (The Rookie Hawkeyes Series)

It’s been a week since our second interview went semi-viral, and I jumped into Hunter’s lap in front of Bethany.

Maybe I was a little jealous, or maybe I was just holding up my end of the deal. It’s hard to say.

Now, with five weeks left on our fake dating agreement, and my subs list now at eighty-six thousand, I’m so close I can taste it. The Daily Sports podcast is still in the lead at ninety-three thousand subs and the Mobile Mayhem podcast had a great interview as well. I’m not home free—not even close.

Stepping into Serendipity’s, the familiar warmth of the cozy café instantly puts me at ease. I spot Penelope, Cammy, Kendall, and Isla already gathered at their usual table, mugs in hand and laughter filling the air.

I head for the barista, put in my order, and then head for them.

Penelope catches my eye and waves me over.

I take a seat in between Isla and Kendall as they discuss Trey’s nanny situation.

“Couldn’t you ask Vivi if she has someone in her office who could help Trey out?” Kendall asks.

Isla nods. “I could, but the thing is, he still technically has a nanny, and Adeline is attached to her from what I understand. Trey hasn’t asked for my help yet, and the last thing I want to do is take someone from Adeline. She’s honestly the sweetest girl, and she’s been through so much.”

“Vivi owns a nanny service, right?” I ask, only having heard something like that weeks ago when I first met her.

“She started out as a nanny service, but as her clients have needed more help, she’s brought on a lot more. Now her business is a full range of household services: nannies, private chefs, chauffeurs, personal assistants…you name it. Half of her clients are pro athlete families, the other half are CEOs.”

“That’s impressive. She really has that many professional athlete clients? Do you think she would be interested in being on my podcast?”

“She’s not an athlete. And besides the occasional yoga class, she’s not all that athletic. Are you sure you want her on your show?”

I don’t have to consider it. I think it’s a great idea.

Fans of the show are always interested in the inner workings of the day-to-day life of celebrities and athletes, but not many of them want to discuss their private chefs, tutors for their kids…the things that run in the background of their lives because they like to shield their personal lives from the media. But Vivi could give an inside that not many fans get to see without an athlete having to speak into it.

I think my listeners would love to get a better idea of the infrastructure that keeps these high-producing athletes able to focus on their craft instead of concerns like grocery shopping and laundry…that sort of thing.

“I think people would love to hear her point of view on what it’s like to support a professional athlete’s family.”

Penelope turns from her conversation with Cammy. “Speaking of interviewing athletes, how are things going with Hunter? You two look cozy, sitting in his lap and making out in the middle of the bar.”

“You saw that?” I ask, my cheeks warming.

“Are you kidding? Everyone saw it,” Kendall barks out with a laugh, as if it were the most shocking thing she had ever seen.

The moment I saw Bethany head for Hunter, I didn’t think about much else except to make sure she knew that I’m still in the picture, even if it is fake. I hadn’t thought about who else witnessed it, besides Trey.

“You should have seen the look on Bethany’s face,” Cammy interjects. “Like she ate something sour when she saw you sucking face with the player she’s after.”

“Something sour?” I joke.

“Like she sucked really hard on a lemon,” Isla says back.

All the girls laugh.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to find a message from Rebecca, the executive producer at the network.

“Excuse me for a second. I need to take this,” I tell them and stand from my chair, heading for the front exit of the coffee shop.

Large snowflakes start to drift down, and it has me wondering if we’ll get a white Christmas. Though, Christmas is still a couple of weeks away.

“Hi, Rebecca,” I answer.

“Peyton. So good to hear your voice. How’s it going with the podcast? I’m seeing a lot of movement on the subs list, and that interview from last week hit big views.”

“Thanks. I think it went really well, and the viewers seem to love Hunter.”

“Who wouldn’t? He’s very charismatic on audio…and that voice of his… Well, I don’t have to tell you. You’re dating him.” She laughs. “He’s never opened up in an interview like that before. That was podcast gold, and I can tell you that you swayed the other execs in your favor just a little more with that interview. Great work.”

“Thanks. I think I also have a really good lead on a unique take on the behind the scenes of how these athletes run their day-to-day lives with private chefs and—”

“Does she work for a big name? Like the quarterback for the Seattle Sentinels, or a starter on the Seattle Rainiers baseball team?”

“Technically, yes, those are some of her clients, but she’s the CEO. She places personal assistants and chefs with them, but she doesn’t handle the day-to-day.”

She stalls for a second.

“Yeah, sure, let’s revisit that after you win over the other execs and you have the syndication deal firmly in place,” she says quickly, putting the idea off.

I get it’s not the clickbait she’s hoping for, but I think it would be interesting.

“Okay…right,” I say, not masking the tone of disappointment in my voice.

“Listen, I know you can do this, Peyton. I’ve already mentioned that I’m not supposed to have favorites, but I just see how big you’re going to be, and I know the network is going to be disappointed if they pass on you. Right now, you’re the only female podcaster on the list, and it was a fight to get you here. I don’t have to remind you that this is a male-dominated industry, and it took everything I had—late hours, failed relationships because I worked too many hours—to get me here. But your podcast is proving that there is an untapped demographic of sports fans that want a female podcaster’s perspective on it.”

She’s right, she’s been cheerleading for me this entire time, and I need to remember that she’s trying to push me to the end. With the other two podcasters being male, I know that I’m not the instant favorite for the network. I have to prove that I’m the best podcast for the network harder than ever before. And with such little time left, I need to follow her suggestion here, though I still think Vivi would be an interesting guest. Who knows what kind of stories she could tell of past players, even if she kept the names anonymous. I bet she has juicy stuff.

“So what do you suggest I do next?”

“The other two on the board want to see more between you and Hunter. They want to see how much more you can get him to open up. This will be a good indicator of what you can do with other guests on your show in the future. And we want to see you two discuss the WAG lifestyle a little. Like how you two are navigating this attention on your relationship when he is so private about his serious relationships from the past.”

“You’re right, he’s really private, and our relationship is still new. Discussing how we’re handling our relationship in public is probably something I can get him to talk about. I’ll see what I can do.” I say, though, dreading the idea of it.

“The social media team is going wild with the photos from the last home game with you in his jersey. Let’s work on getting you and Hunter out there more as a couple.”

I feel my stomach twist with a familiar mix of excitement and trepidation. The network is finally taking notice, but at what cost? I know Hunter won’t be thrilled about the increased public scrutiny, even if it’s part of our agreement.

Chewing my lip, I consider how I’m going to sell this to him for our next interview…and the last one he agreed to.

“Of course. I can do that.”

“Great. I’m really looking forward to hearing what you put together, and also, seeing more public photos of you will get your subscriber list where we need it. You’re so close, Peyton.”

I tell her I’ll keep her posted on the interview, and then we say our goodbyes.

I pocket my phone, dreading the conversation I know I need to have. Somehow, the lines between fake and real have become even more blurred, and I’m not sure how much more I want to push him. Could I stand him storming out on me now if I pushed him past what he’s comfortable with?

I head back inside, my coffee sitting there waiting for me, and I spend the next hour listening to the conversation around me. Though I barely hear a word because I can’t stop thinking about how I’m going to get Hunter to warm up even more than he has. And what will he think if I ask him if we can be photographed together more often? Will I feel more like Bethany to him—using him to get something else I want?

I suppose that both of us are using the other person at some level. Only now, I’m starting to wonder what that means for us. This is only supposed to last for a couple more weeks.

When I pull into the driveway, the sight of Hunter wearing camo Crocs in the front yard, with a bucket of soapy water at his feet, and a sponge in hand instantly brings a smile to my face as he’s washing down his own truck. The image is both ridiculous and strangely endearing—especially since he’s wearing nothing but a tiny Speedo, his broad shoulders, muscular frame, and tattoos on full display. I never noticed the one on his calf before now.

Not to mention that it’s less than thirty degrees outside and the bulge in his speedo is still impressive, even in this frigid weather.

‘What are you doing?’ I call out, unable to hide the amusement in my voice.

Hunter turns, a crooked grin spreading across his face. ‘Car wash, of course. It’s Sunday, and I’ve missed the last three. I was cleaning my truck while I was waiting for you to get home to wash yours.’ He gestures to my car, which still has some snow on it from when I was parked outside of Serendipity’s Coffee Shop. ‘Figured I’d better make up for it.’

I shake my head, a smile tugging at my lips as I approach him. ‘In this weather? And in a Speedo?’

He shrugs, the movement drawing my gaze to the way his muscles shift beneath his skin. ‘What can I say? I’m a man of my word.’

He turns to show me his ass, and I just about swallow my own tongue when I notice that it’s a thong. Dear God, this man has the best ass I’ve ever seen, even though it’s hairier than in my dreams.

I must look like I’ve frozen solid in the December weather because I stop blinking.

Hunter grins, wide and wicked. “Stop looking at me like a piece of meat. Unless you plan to eat me later.”

“I think you just turned me into a vegetarian.”

He chuckles and then lobs a sponge at me. It hits me square in the chest, a slap of icy suds soaking through my coat.

I gasp, stumbling back a step, my mouth hanging open. ‘Hunter Reed, you did not just—’

He cuts me off with a cocky shrug, already reaching for the bucket. “You just wounded me. An eye for an eye.”

I narrow my eyes, a spark of mischief catching fire. “You’re going to regret that.”

Before he can react, I snatch the other sponge from the ground and hurl it at him. It nails him right in the thigh, water exploding in all directions.

“Oh, it’s on, Collins,” he growls, laughter rumbling in his chest.

I turn and run in the opposite direction, squealing as he chases me around his truck.

What follows is pure chaos.

We chase each other around the yard like two overgrown kids, slipping on patches of frozen grass, shouting ridiculous threats. Hunter ducks behind the truck just as I whip a half-full sponge at him, but it bounces off the side mirror and smacks him in the shoulder anyway.

“Nice aim,” he calls. “Maybe you should try out for the team.”

“Maybe I should replace you,” I shout back, scooping a handful of snow for the smallest snowball in history and flinging it in his direction.

He yelps when I make contact with his skin, though it was barely enough to cause any damage.

“Oh, that’s low, Collins!” He grabs a second bucket—where the hell did that come from?—and launches a wave of sudsy water at me. It soaks my leggings down to my socks.

I squeal, slipping as I try to dodge, arms flailing like a drunk baby deer.

Hunter’s laughing so hard he can barely stand.

“Truce, truce!” I gasp, holding my arms up like I’m surrendering.

“No chance. If you think you can replace me, let’s see how well you block,” he says, kicking off his Crocs, and then charges at me.

He catches me around the waist and lifts me off the ground like I weigh nothing. I squeal again, laughing so hard it hurts as he spins me in a circle. Then he pulls me into the cover of the garage and drops us both onto my old queen mattress still living in here from where the movers put it.

We collapse together in a heap, breathless and soaked, our laughter fading into something heavier.

Hunter’s body presses against mine, pinning me gently to the cold mattress. But I don’t feel the cold. All I feel is him. His hard cock rubbing between my thighs, sending sparks to my clit. Thank God I wore leggings today.

The space between us shrinks until there’s barely a breath of air left.

His lips find mine, his hand trailing down along the curve of my jaw, his touch featherlight, sending shivers racing down my spine.

His voice is rough against my lips. ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he murmurs. ‘Sometimes it fucking hurts to look straight at you…like you’re the goddamn sun.’

My heart thumps against my chest so hard it almost hurts.

‘How do you do that?’ I whisper, dizzy from the heat building between us.

“Do what?”

My hands glide up his chest, feeling the hard lines of him, his skin burning hot even after being bare to the freezing air. “Say all the right things.”

‘Because I mean them,’ he mutters. ‘You’re shivering. I need to get you inside.’

He leans in, pressing his forehead gently to mine. For a second, we just breathe each other in, the world narrowing down to his hands gripping my waist.

Before I can reply, he scoops me into his arms and strides toward the mudroom door. The house is dim and quiet around us, the cold left behind with the slam of the door.

Inside the laundry room, it all unravels.

A flurry of movement begins as Hunter helps me out of my damp, freezing clothes, hands caressing and exploring—until I’m down to my bra and panties, and he’s stripped bare—no thong left in sight. His hands move over me, rough and reverent all at once, and then he lifts me again, setting me down atop the rattling dryer.

The vibrations instantly jolt through me, a shocking, delicious thrum that makes me gasp and arch into him.

His lips trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of my throat.

I tilt my head back, giving him more, my fingers tangling in his hair as a shaky moan slips free.

Hunter’s hands find my hips, and with a low growl, he bends me forward, pressing me into the rumbling dryer.

The steady vibration throbs against my clit, pulling a gasp from my lips as heat floods my core.

My eyes flutter closed, my body arching instinctively into the sensation, every nerve ending coming alive under his touch.

His lips curve against my skin. “How good does that feel, Peyton?”

I shudder against him, pressing closer. “It’s driving me crazy…I need more.”

His hands tighten around my hips, anchoring me as the dryer hum buzzes against my core, each vibration making my pulse race harder.

“How much more?” he asks, his voice a low, rough rasp against my ear.

I slide one hand down between us, cupping the hard length of him that’s settled heavy and hot against my lace panties. His entire body jerks at the contact.

“What if we forget rule number one?” I whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Just for tonight. I want all of you, Hunter. Right now.”

“I told you Collins, I’m yours for whatever you want until this deal is over. If you want me, you can have me. All of me.”

His fingers slide around my hips, slow and sure, before he lifts me off the dryer and into his arms like I’m something fragile he can’t afford to drop.

I melt against him, my heart hammering as he carries me toward the hallway without breaking eye contact.

‘Where are we going?’ I ask, feigning disappointment. ‘I liked the dryer.’

He smirks, brushing a kiss against my mouth before pulling back just enough to lock me in place with a look that’s pure sin.

‘Now that I’ve got a one-night hall pass on our rules…’ he says, his hands flexing against my ass, sending a pulse straight to my core, ‘I’m taking you to the shower, Collins—because you and I are about to make a fucking mess out of this little body you just handed over to me.’

His eyes drag over the soaked fabric of my bra clinging to my skin, and a heated flush spreads across my chest. He licks his lips.

My body.

His to touch, to ruin, just for tonight.

I swear my whole body vibrates harder than the damn dryer we just left behind.

But I lift my chin anyway, meeting his dark, hungry gaze with a slow, wicked smile. ‘Then what are you waiting for, Reed?’ I whisper. ‘Make a mess.’

He carries me to the hallway shower and closes the door. In the bathroom, he backs me against the tile wall, his hands slipping beneath the last scraps of my clothing. The water splashes cold when he reaches in to turn the shower on, and he grimaces when the icy spray hits him—but he doesn’t stop.

He’s too busy stripping off my bra and panties like he’s starving for the feel of me.

His mouth crashes back onto mine, stealing the words from my lips. His tongue dips inside, deep and hungry, just as he spins me under the warm spray as the water finally heats.noveldrama

I gasp against him, my frozen body coming alive under the dual assault of the hot water and his scorching kiss.

My hand slides down, finding him—hard, hot, and ready—and I wrap my fingers around his cock, giving a teasing squeeze.

He groans into my mouth, bucking against my hand.

“Slow down, Peyton,” he warns, his voice tight with strain. “Or I’ll come all over your hand.”

I smirk against his lips, feeling a rush of power that’s heady and electric.

‘Then take me already,’ I whisper, my voice raw with need.

The steam rises thick around us, turning the world soft and hazy as Hunter lifts me again, pinning me against the tile, his mouth trailing down my throat, my collarbone, lower still.

The vibrations of the dryer are a ghost of a memory now—nothing compared to the pulse building low in my belly, the throbbing need only he can ease.

His hands roam every inch of my body with slow passes—mapping me, worshiping me, like I’m the only thing that’s ever mattered.

“Hunter…” I breathe, nails scraping lightly down his back, my entire body quivering for him.

He groans, hips rocking between my thighs as he holds me up, his hardness sliding between us, pressing low against my belly.

“God, Peyton…you feel so fucking good.”

The water rushes over us, the heat from the spray mixing with the furnace of our bodies. Our kisses turn desperate again, needy, like we’re both chasing the same inevitable crash.

Hunter curses softly under his breath, tearing his mouth from mine. ‘Don’t move,’ he growls, voice wrecked. ‘Condom.’

I shiver from the loss of his heat, wrapping my arms around myself even with the hot water pounding down around me. He jumps out of the shower, searching the bathroom for a condom, the sound of a zipper, and then the sound of a foil being ripped open.

The sight of him—water dripping off his hair, muscles flexing as he rolls the condom down his thick length, the sheer focus in his eyes—nearly undoes me.

Before I can even think, he’s crowding back into my space.

He lifts me again, pressing me up against the cold tile, and this time there’s no hesitation.

Our mouths crash together, hot and clumsy and hungry.

One strong arm bands around my lower back, holding me up with almost no effort, while the other grips the back of my thigh, hitching my leg higher around his hip.

I wrap myself around him, desperate for more friction, more pressure, more him.

Then I feel him—hot, hard, perfect—nudging at my entrance.

He pulls back just enough to catch my gaze, his forehead resting against mine, breathing ragged.

‘Last chance, Peyton,’ he rasps, his voice breaking around my name. ‘Tell me to stop if you want me to.’

I shake my head wildly, digging my fingers into his wet hair.

‘I don’t want you to stop,’ I whisper. ‘I need you.’

That’s all he needs.

Hunter thrusts forward in one long, hard stroke, sinking into me inch by inch until he’s seated fully inside.

I cry out, the stretch almost too much, almost too good, my head falling back against the tile with a soft thud.

He groans low and brutal, like he’s barely holding himself together.

‘Fuck…you’re so tight.’

The first few thrusts are slow, deep, like he’s savoring every second, every pulse and squeeze of my body around his. Each push drives me higher, winding me tighter, until I’m panting against his mouth, clawing at his shoulders.

“Hunter—please—”

Whatever control he had snaps.

He braces one hand beside my head, the other gripping my thigh to hold me open for him, and starts moving faster—harder—his hips slamming into mine with desperate, relentless rhythm.

The sound of skin-on-skin echoes under the spray of the water, the wet slap of our bodies colliding filling the steamy, fogged-up shower.

Every time he thrusts, it knocks a ragged moan out of me, my nails dragging down his back as I cling to him.

The pressure builds fast, almost unbearable, my entire body tightening, spiraling, trembling against him.

Hunter’s hand slides between us, his thumb circling my clit in fast, devastating little strokes that send shockwaves through my entire system.

‘Come for me, Peyton,’ he demands, his voice breaking against my ear. ‘I want to feel you fall apart around me.’

One more thrust, one more rough swirl of his thumb—and I shatter.

Pleasure detonates through me, white-hot and overwhelming, my entire body locking up around him.

I cry out his name, my thighs clenching around his hips as my climax rips through me, violent and unstoppable.

Hunter follows a second later with a guttural curse, driving into me one last time as he buries himself deep, spilling into the condom as his body shudders against mine.

For a long, breathless moment, we stay tangled together, hearts hammering, the spray of the water washing over us like a blessing.

His forehead drops to my shoulder, his hands still gripping me like he’s afraid to let go.

Slowly, Hunter pulls back just enough to press a kiss to my collarbone, then my jaw, then finally my lips—this one slow, tender.

When he finally sets me down on shaky legs, his arms stay wrapped around me, steadying me, like he knows I’m still trying to remember how to stand.

He leans in, his voice rough but laced with something suspiciously close to wonder. ‘When does my hall pass expire?’ he asks, his breath warm against my ear.

‘By sunrise. Tomorrow morning,’ I tell him, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Hunter grins and reaches out past the shower curtain, grabbing a towel off the rack. He wraps it around me and then slings one low around his hips.

‘Really? I get you for the rest of the day and all night?’

I nod, but hearing it said out loud has me nibbling my lip, suddenly second-guessing how wide open I left the invitation.

He claps his hands once, rubbing them together with a gleam in his eye.

‘Damn, do I have plans for you.’

Before I can ask, he turns and strides out the bathroom door, leaving me blinking after him.

‘Where are you going?’ I call out, still clutching the towel tight around me.

‘To get my phone,’ he yells back casually. ‘I’m ordering food and snacks. Neither of us is leaving this house until sunrise, Collins. Thai or pizza?’

I follow the sound of his voice into the hallway, peeking around the corner toward the kitchen.

‘Pizza, I guess? But, you’re worried about food?’

He pops his head out from behind the fridge, phone already in hand, looking like the hottest, most dangerous distraction ever with just a towel barely hanging on.

‘This is going to be a sex marathon, Peyton. We’re going to need sustenance. And a chick flick. Find something good on TV while I order.’

‘We’re watching a movie now?’ I tease, grinning despite myself.

‘You’re getting the full Reed experience,’ he says, grinning back like he knows exactly how much trouble I’m in. ‘Romancing and all. Hope you’re prepared, Collins.’

And that’s when it hits me.

I’m not prepared.

Not even a little bit.