Hearts in Overtime: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (30 page)

Moments later, he reached down to guide his cock into my pussy. I shifted my position, angling up to accommodate him better, and he slowly slid his thick, long cock inside of me. It took a moment for me to adjust as he stretched me to my limits, but once I got used to it, it was the best feeling ever.

“God, Ian, you have the most amazing cock,” I said as he plunged deep into me.

He only smiled in response, but then he leaned forward to plant a kiss on my lips.

After he got a good rhythm going, he started adding all these fun little twists. It was almost like one of his songs—a nice, steady foundation with all sorts of layers like bursts of feedback or kickass guitar solos. Like how he started out by pumping me missionary style, but then he grabbed me by the waist, flipped me over and had me riding his lap.

And after that, he flipped us over again and propped my ankles up on his shoulders for some amazingly deep penetration that had both of us moaning like animals.

Moaning and giggling and flipping from position to position—I’d never had such a fun and frisky time in the sack before! Ian obviously was a master of self-control because he managed to stay hard through a whole series of positions.

Still, he is only human, so things naturally had to come to an end. It happened when we were back in that position with him on top of me and my ankles propped up on his shoulders.

Ian’s face—Ian fucking Hixon’s face—gazed down at me with that beautiful gap-toothed smile as all the images of my teenage obsession flashed through my mind—staring at the television when MTV’s
120 Minutes
aired Soar’s low-budget videos, hurrying to the newsstand to check out the latest copies of
NME
and
Melody Maker
to see if they had any news of Soar, the absolute thrill of purchasing one of their CDs on the very day it was released in the US, the inside of my locker freshman year, which was an elaborate collage of pictures of Ian and Soar that I’d cut out of my magazines.

“Oh, fuck!” I cried out, in shock as much as in pleasure.

I had never had an orgasm that didn’t involve clitoral stimulation, but it seemed like that was about to change. As Ian pumped faster and faster, the little spark of pleasure in my pussy started to radiate throughout my entire body. I threw my head back and let out a moan of ecstasy as my body trembled and pulsated with pleasure. Moments later, my insides were coated with hot, wet fluids as Ian shot his load into me. I had never felt so amazing before in my entire life, ever.

“That,” Ian said, unhooking one of my ankles from his shoulder and lowering it to the bed, followed by the other, “was absolutely fucking phenomenal.”

“I’ll say,” I said, feeling like I’d just been run over by a Mack truck—in the best possible way.

With Ian still inside of me, I wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned up to kiss his cheek.

“But you know what?” I said, “I always knew it would be.”

“Looks like we’ve got a live one,” Jen said, nodding towards the front door of the dining hall.

When I turned, I saw a tall, muscular man stooping down to speak to Ruth, the founder of Sunday Dinners and the lady in charge. Even from that distance, I could see the guy was a hottie with his shaggy hairstyle and long, lean limbs that were beautifully encased in his form-fitting tee shirt, boot-cut jeans and motorcycle boots. It was always a cause for celebration when one of our volunteers turned out to be so easy on the eyes; hence, Jen’s use of the term “live one.”

“Very nice,” I said. “What do you think? PhD candidate?”

“Could be. He’s definitely got that intellectual looking thing going on. Or maybe it’s more artistic. He could be a graphic designer,” she replied.

“Maybe…” I watched as he threw his head back and laughed at something Ruth said. “I don’t know. I’ve kind of got the feeling that he’s transitional. Do you know what I mean?”

“I do.” Jen nodded. “And I could see that.”

We’d been volunteering for Sunday Dinners since Ruth started the charitable organization over five years ago, and we were pretty good at figuring out the professional personas of the all the volunteers who came and went.

“I’ll bet he’s a former lawyer who now works for a nonprofit,” I suggested.

“Or a former stockbroker who’s now a stay at home dad,” said Jen.

“God, I hope not,” I said with a giggle. “Or if he is, I hope he’s a
single
, stay at home dad.”

“Preach it, girl,” she said.

We bumped fists and tried keep our giggles at a low volume. Aside from Ruth, of course, Jen and I were the top two Sunday Dinners volunteers. After all these years with the organization, we had a bit of clout, so it would be wise for us not to be seen acting like a couple of silly schoolgirls by the new volunteer.

“So, the ‘who’ is undecided, but we’re leaning toward some kind of transitional situation,” Jen said, summing things up. “Now, how about the ‘why’?”

Good question. Why people volunteered at Sunday Dinners usually boiled down to one of the following three reasons. Either the volunteer was new in town, newly divorced/separated or had recently gone through some sort of life changing experience. Even though we were usually right about the “who,” the “why” was always much harder to pin down, but it was fun to speculate.

“I’m going with new in town. He looks like he’s from the West Coast,” Jen said with determination.

“Hmm. I’m not so sure,” I replied. “I’m leaning more toward a life changing experience. I’m going to say that he crashed his motorcycle. He was badly injured but he miraculously recovered, and now he appreciates life more and wants to give something back.”

“Ooh, you think he rides a motorcycle?” she asked, her eyes sparkling. Jen always did have a thing for bad boys.

I shrugged. “He’s got the boots for it.”

“Nice.”

Just then, the door opened and Maria Elena, one of the regular volunteers, came in. After speaking briefly with Ruth and the mystery man, she made a beeline for Jen and me.

“Hello, ladies. Good to see you again. How’s everything been?”

“Fine, fine,” Jen said, “but enough about that. Give us the scoop on the new volunteer talking to Ruth.”

Maria Elena laughed. “You two… There’s not much to tell. Ruth introduced us but that was pretty much it. The guy’s name is Will. I will say that he has just about the most beautiful green eyes that I’ve ever seen before. They’re very striking.”

“Aww,” Jen and I said in unison.

“What’s going on?” asked Jackson, another one of our regular volunteers as he came back from the kitchen with a paper cup filled with tea.

“These two,” Maria Elena said, motioning toward Jen and me. “They’re very excited about the new volunteer Ruth’s talking to.”

Jackson craned his neck to check out the man in question, and then turned back to us with a chuckle. “I guess he’s okay if you like tall, built guys with a full head of hair.”

Jackson himself was short, skinny and bald, but that didn’t seem to hurt him at all when it came to the ladies. He was always very popular, which was really no surprise. He was a great guy, and such a charmer.

“We should really get started soon,” I said, glancing at my watch. “I wonder what’s taking Ruth so long. I mean it doesn’t usually take her more than five minutes or so to welcome the new volunteers and tell them what to expect.”

“Maybe she’s trying to bewitch the guy with her charms,” Jackson suggested.

We all laughed. Apart from being happily married, Ruth was nearly seventy years old.

“Shush, here they come,” said Jen, elbowing me in the ribs.

Up close, Will was even more handsome than I’d imagined. He had sharp cheekbones, a jutting jaw, gorgeous, thick, chestnut brown hair, and was Maria Elena ever right about his eyes! They were the color of the silvery green needles of a cedar tree. Absolutely mesmerizing.

“Will, this is Maria Elena, Christina, Jen and Jackson,” Ruth said, motioning to each of us in turn. “Folks, this is Will.

We all welcomed him and exchanged greetings, and I couldn’t help but notice what a great smile he had.

“I’d like to start you off today in prep,” Ruth said to Will. “Washing and chopping vegetables, trimming fat, stuff like that. Christina, would you show him the ropes?”

“Absolutely,” I said.

I caught Jen’s eye, and the look she gave me screamed, “You lucky cow!” I concentrated on not looking giddy, or worse, triumphant.

“Great,” Ruth continued. “And then once our friends arrive, I’d like you to help with bussing. Just weave your way through the tables and keep an eye out for any plates they’re finished with. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.” He smiled.

“All right then.” Ruth clapped her hands once and held them together in front of her chest. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

* * * *

Turning the skillet on its side, I scraped all of my sautéed red peppers into the large metal bowl on the counter. After setting the skillet back down on the stove, I crossed over to the other side of the kitchen to get my bowl of chopped yellow peppers. Or that was the plan, anyway.

Will’s yellow peppers were chopped into beautiful, uniform strips. This which was great, but the problem was I needed eight chopped yellow peppers, and it looked like he was currently working on #4.

“Oh, damn,” he said when he noticed me standing next to him. “You need these now, don’t you?”

“Well…yeah, but no worries.” I smiled. “You’re doing a great job chopping the peppers, Will, but there’s really no need for you to be so precise here. With nearly two hundred mouths to feed tonight, the focus is on quantity, not quality. Quality of presentation, I mean. The quality of the ingredients is top notch,” I clarified.

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to speed things up. I always have been really OCD when it comes to cooking,” he said.

“It’s all good. How about this: I’ll give you a hand and I’ll show you my tried and tested methods for speedy vegetable chopping. I’ve been volunteering here for ages, so I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve,” I suggested.

“That would be great.” He smiled, and it was all I could do no to swoon. The guy was just so handsome.

Determined to focus on the task at hand, I grabbed a knife and a bell pepper, and I claimed a space on one end of the large cutting board Will was working on. First I sliced a thin sliver off the top, and then another one off the bottom. Standing the pepper up on its end, I started cutting away the good parts and within a minute or two, my yellow pepper had been reconfigured into a stack of thin strips, which were pretty close to being as uniform as Will’s were.

“Wow,” he said, his ribs shaking with silent laughter. “That was impressive. You’re not a professional chef, are you, Christina?”

“Definitely not. In fact, the only time I really cook is when I come here. I’m the Queen of Takeout, I’m afraid. But you said you’re OCD in the kitchen? Do you cook a lot, Will?” I asked, grabbing another pepper and getting ready to sink the knife into it.

“Not nearly as much as I’d like to,” he said, going back to his chopping. “I’m with you when it comes to takeout. It’s just way too easy to grab something already prepared on your way home from work. But every once in a while, I get inspired and invite a bunch of friends over for a dinner party.” He paused to laugh. “And because of my OCD cooking tendencies, it usually takes me a whole day to prepare the meal.”

“The whole day?” I laughed along with him. “That’s hilarious.”

I found it encouraging, to say the least, that he mentioned having
friends
over for a dinner party. If he had a girlfriend or a wife, wouldn’t that be the moment to mention her? Actually, I was fairly certain he didn’t have a wife. No wedding ring.

“Yeah, but I don’t mind it at all. Spending the whole day cooking, I mean,” he said. “Most of my life is spent rushing around, doing a million things at once. It’s really kind of refreshing to spend the day chopping up ingredients into tiny pieces and stirring something on the stove constantly until it starts to thicken. It’s kind of relaxing.”

“I hear you,” I said.

“But I will definitely work on my speed whenever I come here,” he pointed out as he reached for a new pepper and turned it on its side to test the method I showed him.

“I’m sure you will.” I smiled, very pleased to hear that he planned to come back and volunteer again. I was falling for this guy at breakneck speed, but I couldn’t help myself. On top of being a total hottie, he was kind and friendly, and perhaps most importantly, I felt completely relaxed and at ease around him.

“So, what do you do, Will?” I asked. “What is it that keeps you running around, doing a million things at once?”

“I run a startup cloud computing company.”

Oh, wow. Were Jen and I ever wrong about “who” this guy actually was. A tech startup guy? I never would have guessed that.

“No wonder you’re busy,” I said, shaking my head. “I can’t even believe you were able to find the time to come here tonight.”

Actually…I probably wouldn’t be able to find a more perfect moment to figure out “why” Will had decided to volunteer at Sunday Dinners. Sure Jen and I had been wrong about “who” he was, but maybe we got the “why” right.

“Well, you’ve got to have balance in your life,” he said.

This wasn’t particularly helpful in answering the question in my mind. I decided to just ask outright.

“What was it that made you decide to volunteer?”

He tilted his head in thought, although he didn’t take his eyes off the bell pepper on his cutting board—which, I have to say, he was chopping much faster using my methods.

After a pause, he said, “My company has gone through some major changes lately, and they’ve all been really positive. Really,
really
positive. I feel so fortunate, and I just really wanted to give something back to the community. And I guess I thought it would be more meaningful if I actually got involved rather than just wrote a check.”

“That’s so nice,” I said, trying not to sound like a lovesick fool. Was this guy perfect or what?

“Well, I try.” He shrugged, reaching for the last yellow pepper waiting to be chopped.

“Check you out,” I said, inwardly groaning at my lame attempt at flirting. “You chopped up that last pepper in no time at all.”

He laughed. “Well, I’ve got to give credit where credit’s due. Thanks for showing me your method, Christina.”

“My pleasure.”

The smile we exchanged lingered for just a little longer than normal, it felt like. And I thought maybe I detected a spark between us, but I wasn’t sure. I also suspected it might have been wishful thinking on my part.

I finished up with my pepper, so after Will had sliced off both the top and the bottom of that last one, he handed me half of it to chop up. We stood side by side in companionable silence, slicing up that final yellow pepper. After we finished, we slid all the strips into a bowl, which I reluctantly picked up so I could take them back to the skillet and start sautéing them.

“Onions next,” Will said, arching an eyebrow at me. “I’ll try to be quick about it, I promise.”

“Just remember, they don’t all have to be the same size,” I said.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He grinned and started peeling off the skin of a big white onion.

I turned and headed back to the stove, thinking that I wouldn’t mind too much if Will wasn’t finished chopping onions by the time I needed them. In fact, I wouldn’t mind at all if he needed me again to do some chopping alongside him.

Jen was just a few feet down, standing at the counter, mixing together the ingredients for the sheet cake she was making when I returned to my station at the stove. She gave me a pointed look, and shook her shoulders in a sassy sort of way.

I felt the blood rushing to the surface of my cheeks, and I had to avert my eyes so I didn’t start cracking up. After dumping all the yellow pepper strips into the skillet and adding a bit more olive oil, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Jen wasn’t yet finished poking fun at me.