The man freezes when his eyes fall on me, and I feel like I’m going to melt into a puddle on the floor. I have no words for how hot this man is. He’s not just hung like a horse. He’s fucking gorgeous too. Shaggy blond hair hangs down over his forehead, with startling blue eyes that seem to glow from the inside and a face that would make artists drool. He’s staring at me, his mouth, with full, sexy lips, hanging slack, the towel dropping from his hand to the floor.
Neither of us says anything for what seems like an eternity but has to be just a few seconds before he recovers and grins, his eyes boring into me with an intensity that makes me weak at the knees. “Hi, I’m Gavin,” he says easily, as if he’s not standing in front of me with a monster-sized dick dangling between his legs.
He’s not doing anything to cover it up either. Given what he’s packing, I understand why. It’s like he’s proud of it as he stares at me with a confidence that borders on gross arrogance.
Heat rises in my chest as he steps forward, a cocky smirk turning the corner of his lips, and I take a half-step back, my pussy clenching around nothing. It’s an effort to keep my eyes on his face as my heart hammers in my chest and my cheeks burn with embarrassment.
“You all right?” he asks. Even his voice is sexy, a low baritone that causes my pussy to clench again.
I open my mouth to reply, but my eyes stray back to it, and my heart skips another beat. Shit. Shit. Shit. I can’t deal with this right now. I tear my gaze away from it, my eyes darting this way and that, looking for a way out as he closes in on me.
I want to run away. But I can’t move. It’s like my legs have filled with stone. Against my will, my eyes flicker back to it.
Sweet Jesus! It’s swaying with each step, swinging back and forth like a giant pendulum, almost putting me into a hypnotic trance.
When he gets close enough to touch me, I’m suddenly free of my paralysis. Heart pounding, I spring forward, nearly tripping on my way to the door. I’m only able to mumble, “Sorry,” as I run from the room with a flaming red face, trying my damnedest to not glance back for one last look.Gavin - 2 years ago…
“Anaconda! Anaconda!” the reporters yell in my face after a particularly rough game, jamming microphones and cameras at me. “Do you have anything to say about what happened?”
God, I hate that fucking nickname.
I blink several times as rapid flashes of lights go off in my eyes, fighting down the exasperation that flares inside me. They’re herding me like a fucking zoo animal, each one of them fighting one another to stick a mic in my face.
A fraudulent smile spreads across my chiseled jawline as I wink into the cameras and prepare to formulate an answer. I’m trying to appear unruffled by the question, though I want nothing more than to tell them all to get the fuck out of my way. I know how they’ll spin it if I do. And I can already see the headlines now.
Gavin Adams Flies into a Rage after a Bad Game Because of Scandal.
I know I should ignore the trolls, who are only looking for a rise out of me or a soundbite to try and get another five minutes of story out of what was a total mistake. But after dealing with the team, the league, and all the drama that ensued, I’m pissed off. Losing 20-0 against our biggest rival isn’t helping much either.
“Mr. Adams has nothing to say,” Miranda, my agent who doubles as my PR rep, says loudly over the ungodly clamor of shouting voices and clicking cameras, beating me to the punch. My eyes are drawn to her. She’s dressed sharply, as usual, in her red designer dress that fits her shapely frame like a glove, the epitome of a middle-aged professional woman who’s still getting some mileage out of her body as well as her brains. “So, if you all would just excuse us. He has more important things to attend to.”
“Hold up, Miranda,” I interrupt her, maintaining my fake smile. I figure I can use my charm to defuse this situation and be on my merry way. I raise my voice and politely say, “I’m sure everyone’s heard about my little incident, but I want to let you all know it was just an accident. And that’s it.”
“There was nothing little about it!” a female reporter shouts, and then giggles ensue. I ignore her and the rest.
“So, you don’t have anything to say about the footage of you circulating on the internet?” asks one of the other reporters.
I scowl at him. That will teach you to stop for a photo op and try to smooth things over. “What footage?” I ask flatly, knowing exactly what he’s talking about.
He smiles, his freckles spreading across the bridge of his nose. “The one of you dropping your towel in front of Sara Jameson on live TV.”
I hold in a groan, irritation flaring. These people are acting like I whipped it out and gave Ms. Jameson a lap dance. All I did was bump into her in the men’s locker room after a game. It wasn’t ‘live TV’, and she shouldn’t have been back there in first damn place. It wasn’t my fault the fucking towel fell off. But as soon as it did, I apologized to the wide-eyed Sara and put it back on.
I thought we were cool after that. She even told me the cameras hadn’t caught my mistake and I had nothing to worry about. Until the cameraman with
