(c) Copyright 2018 by Akayla Furrows. All Rights Reserved.

I’ve watched the whole season… these large, cut, dark, light, brown, bald, men strip off their uniforms to shower. Men, they don’t have a shy bone in them, when it comes to showing women their ass or cock.

Yes, I’ve seen these professional athletes, stroke themselves in the shower, inviting me to join them. How stupid do they think I am? If I haven’t rolled my eyes once, I’ve rolled them a thousand times this season. I’ve been with most of the guys for three years. Not one time have I taken the bone. You’d think by now they’d have given up. But that thing that dangles between their legs insists that no woman can resist their meat.

The outcome of the game determines the energy in the locker rooms. And the trajectory of their third leg.  The winner’s locker room is high on testosterone while the loser’s room makes menstrual cramps seem like a happy place. And each game the energy switches. I always hope to get the losers. They tent to be so aggravated and pissy, they don’t even notice I’m a gorgeous tall blonde bombshell.

Please, I’m not being conceited, I hear it all the time. I know how and when to use it.  Yes, I’m one of those bitches. How do you think I got this job, my looks alone? A little, but no, a little manipulating goes a long way.

Finally, the room is clearing, the hormones lessening and I see all the ‘let’s get it on’ eyes, hips and tongue gestures as they leave. It hits me finally, I’m getting dizzy from my constant eye rolling. Faster and faster the noise level dims, I’m waiting for my partner, Mike, to finish up interviewing with the coach.

I’ve been on my feet for the past hour and my calves are burning from wearing five-inch heels. I take a seat on the long wooden bench and sit quietly thinking about a warm bath, wine, candles and alone time. My ears perk at whispering around the corner from me. I pulled a long strand of blonde hair over my ear to hear better.

“Take it. Just find a girl that will fuck his brains out.” a raspy voice demanded.

“You know he won’t do that.  He won’t even shower with the guys.” a younger guy protested.

“Get his ass drunk, have the girl work him and find out what the hell he is hiding.” the old man grumbled, “It must be small or non-existent.” He coughs hard while trying to laugh.

“All right Mr. Carmen, but this is a waste of money.”

I hear a shuffle of feet, “I need that boy in my back pocket. Do. You. Understand?” the gravel-voiced man said punctuating each word. “You won’t want me to have a talk with your wife now, would you?”

“Hey, okay. No, just, please don’t tell her nothing. I’ll do it” the younger voice answered desperately.

“I thought so.” Soon I the locker room doors open then shut and a set of footprints pad back in my direction.  I quietly and but quickly rose and made my way to the coaches door leaning against it looking bored.

Around the corner, a young man, tall, lean, wearing a white t-shirt and well-fitting jeans stop suddenly when he saw me. He looked me up and down then gave me a cocked crooked smile, “Waiting for the coach?”

“No, my partner,” I answered. “Who are you? I’ve been covering these games for few years, I don’t recall seeing you?”

“Just recruited, but not ‘technically, yet.’ You know what I mean.”

I nodded, “Jill Boulder,” I said extending my hand.

He looked at my extended hand then took it, “Charlie Maser, good to meet you.” He paused then asked, “You wouldn’t be by any chance available tonight. The guys are having a celebration party. You’re welcome to come.”

I laughed more to myself. That line was not going to work on me. “I don’t date the ballplayers.”

“Whoa, I wasn’t asking you to be my date. Anyway, I’m married.” Charlie explained. “I have someone I want you to meet.”

“My mistake.” The jet tub, the bubbles, the wine, and candles danced out of my head. I wanted to see what this guy was up to. And I wanted to know which player he was going to screw over. I mentally patted myself on the back, this could be a very interesting story.

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