Groupie (Juked Book 2) Read online

  Mack picks up Santos’s white undershirt off the floor and wipes the cum off his chest. “I needed it too. You know I want to see that smoking hot bod when I jack off. I can’t see it if your naked ass is covering it.”

  Santos chuckles as he pulls out of me and disposes of the condom. “Yeah. Because I was so worried about your orgasm when I came in here. Hey! That’s my shirt, asshole.”

  They continue to rib each other while getting dressed. I, however, roll over and tug the sheets up over my chest. Events like these aren’t common, but I’ve had teammates watch before. Sometimes more than one. Sometimes it becomes a threesome. Sometimes a threesome with an audience. Whatever. Sex is a part of life, and being friends with the players means I get the good kind whenever I want it.

  “Thanks, Tiffany,” Santos says, tying his shoes. “That was fucking fantastic. Just what I needed to relax after tonight’s game.” He kisses me on the forehead affectionately. “Are you gonna come back out or hide in here a while?”

  “I think I might stay put for a few minutes,” I say, rolling onto my side and leaning my head on a hand. “You two wore me out.”

  Santos smiles. “I’m gonna go get a beer. I’ll see you out there.”

  “You up for any more company?” Mack asks as Santos leaves.

  I raise an eyebrow. “Looking wasn’t enough? You need to touch now?”

  He laughs. “Not me. I have someone in mind who might need to relax a little. And I think your brand of relaxation might be right up his alley.”

  I shrug. “We’ll see. I might not be interested.”

  He smacks me on the ass and heads toward the door. “I’ll send him this way. He needs to open up more. I think you’ll help him out nicely.” Mack doesn’t look back as he leaves.

  I listen to the sounds of the party in the living room. Christian laughs loudly, and there’s a squeal from one of the girls. The faint sound of quarters bouncing off a table is in there, too.

  This is what we do after almost every home game. The Texas Mutiny plays from March through November. It’s a long, rough season. There’s lots of travel. Lots of sore muscles from intense scrimmages. So they like to party, and they like to invite me and my girls.

  Most people call us groupies or cleat chasers. We don’t date the players. We just party with them. We like to have a good time together, and no one judges anyone’s proclivities. It’s fun.

  “Next!” I hear Mack yell, and I roll my eyes. He has no shame whatsoever.

  The door swings open, and I hear him talking to someone. “Your turn, Rookie.” He shoves someone into the room and slams the door behind him.

  I sit up. “Rowen?”

  His eyes get wide, and a blush runs up his neck as he takes in my appearance. I smile at him. “You decided to come. I was wondering if you’d show up. I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I… um….” He’s having a hard time figuring out what he’s trying to say. “I’m sorry. I should leave you alone to get dressed.”

  He turns, but I call to him. “Wait!” He stops. “It’s ok, Rowen. I’m not embarrassed or anything.”

  “No, but I kind of am.”

  It never occurred to me he would be so modest. Most of the players see a naked girl at a party and go for it. I mean, that’s kind of why we’re here. It stumps me. And confuses me. And I find it kind of sweet.

  “I didn’t realize this would make you uncomfortable.” I stand. “Give me a second.” I throw on my jeans and red Mutiny jersey forgoing any undergarments. “You can turn around now.”

  He turns slowly to look at me. “Thanks,” he says. “I wasn’t expecting you to be, um.., you to be….”

  “Naked?” I ask with a smile.

  “Yeah,” he says in a rush and shoves his hands in his pockets.

  “Wanna sit?” I walk to the small table and sit on one of the chairs. He takes a second to think about it but finally follows my lead. His movements are stilted and slow, like he’s still not quite comfortable with the situation. “You can relax,” I say. “Just because we’re in here doesn’t mean we have to have sex. We can talk, too.”

  He nods and bites his lip. He looks around the room, observing like he did at the bar. I’ve never met anyone who enjoys seeing things most people don’t pay attention to “So you’re a groupie.”

  I blink in surprise. It’s not as simple as answering yes or no. “That’s what some people call me.”

  “What do you call yourself?”

  “A fan.”

  “A fan,” he deadpans.

  I shrug. “A super-fan?”

  “That’s probably more accurate.”

  “Because I have sex with some of the players.” This conversation is starting to piss me off. I don’t have to justify my actions with him or anyone.

  He looks up, startled and the blush is back. “I’m sorry,” he says softly and pulls the beanie off his head, revealing a shock of red hair. The color reminds me of Carrot Top, but Rowen is much more attractive than the redheaded comedian. “I don’t mean to sound judgmental or anything. I know there is such a thing as groupies, but I’ve never actually met one. You’re different than I imagined them to be.”

  I pull one knee to my chest and rest my chin on it as he pulls his beanie back on. I’m surprised he hasn’t done this before. I assume he’s been playing soccer all his life. Has he not been going to parties? I can’t imagine college ball is much different than pro in this regard. “How did you imagine me?”

  He takes a deep breath and looks at the far wall. “I guess I envisioned someone who looks more like a streetwalker, who no one really talks to, just sort of drags to a back room to have sex with.”

  “You make it sound so dirty.”

  He shrugs. “I didn’t start getting invited out until a few weeks ago. I didn’t really have a frame of reference.”

  “But not even in college? There are college groupies, too.”

  “Oh no!” He raises him hands defensively. “My coach was really strict about how we handled ourselves, on and off the field. No way would something like that fly.”

  I like his innocence. Some of the players do take advantage of the situation. I mean, I like sex, so it’s not like I turn many of them down. But they aren’t all sweet, like Rowen. Or even as nice as Santos. They’re mostly like, well, Mack.

  “Can I ask you a question?” He clasps his hands together and rests his elbows on his knees. “Why do you do it? Is it fun? I mean, you’re so beautiful. And a loyal fan. And probably smart and witty and… why are you letting those douchebags treat you like this?”

  I am stunned. No player has ever asked me this before. They assume I’m here to have sex. I want to answer his question honestly, but I don’t know what to say.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to offend you.”

  “No, it’s okay. I understand,” I say. “I just never had anyone ask me that before. You caught me off guard.” I wait to see if he’s going to take it back, but he doesn’t, so I try to be an honest as I can. “I like sex. It’s a great stress reliever, and it has amazing health benefits. And I … like it.” I shrug. “These guys here are my friends. They’re my boys. I know you think they’re douchebags, and yes, a lot of them are, but they’re also my friends. It’s like having friends with benefits.”

  Rowen smirks. “That’s a lot of benefits.”

  I catch the playful tone in his voice and smile at him. “It can be. But only if I’m up for it. No one’s forcing me to do anything.”

  He sits back, and I watch his face. I know he’s thinking, but I’m not sure what about. “I’m not like them. I don’t do the friends with benefits thing.”

  “That’s okay,” I say quietly. “I like just having friends, too.”

  He looks me in the eye, and my breath catches. It’s like he isn’t looking at me, he’s looking inside me. Into the very depths of myself. It’s almost frightening.

  He stands slowly and points to the door with his thumb. “I’m gonna go….”
<
br />   I can’t help the disappointment I feel, but I put a smile on my face. “I’ll see you at the next game?”

  “Yeah. I’ll see you then.”

  I let out a deep breath as the door closes behind him. I’ve been around these guys for a few years. Since I was eighteen years old. And never have any of them affected me like he does. Rowen Flanigan is going to be trouble for me. I just know it.

  The door opens, and Nate Funderling walks in. He saunters toward me with a grin on his face. He leans over the chair I’m in, hands resting on the arms, essentially locking me in before learning over to kiss me, hard and wet and sloppy. I kiss him back.

  “Hey, Tiffany. Wanna rock my world tonight?”

  I smile seductively and pull my shirt over my head, throwing it on the floor.

  Because it’s what I do.

  “Rowen!” My dad’s voice booms through the computer. “What’s the craic, boyo?”

  I smile as he comes on the screen, his flaming red hair sticking up in all directions. No one has ever questioned my paternity. From our bright blue eyes to our lily-white skin to the hair—the famous hair—there is no question who my father is.

  But our looks and soccer skills are the only ways we’re similar. Our personalities are very, very different. He’s loud and boisterous. I’m quiet and some think shy. He’s the life of the party. I’m the one who stands in a corner, watching. When he was in his prime, he got lots of press and reveled in it. I’m happy to let my teammates take the glory. Personality traits… those I got from my Mam.

  Despite our differences, in a lot of ways my dad is my best friend. We used to tour with him when he was in the European league, so he was always around. Once he retired, and we moved to Detroit, he coached every single one of my teams until middle school. Even after that, my soccer coaches would call him to help out sometimes. It was a shock to go off to college and not see him every day. I’ve gotten used to his absence over the years, but our Skype times are still some of my favorite times of the week.

  “Hey, Dad. I’m tired. Real tired.”

  He chuckles and crosses his arms. “Still trying to get up to speed with the professionals, aren’t ya?”

  “He is a professional, Ryan,” my mother says, sitting down next to him and playfully slapping him on the arm.

  “Aye, I know that,” he says as he puts an arm over her shoulders, his thick Irish accent coming through. “But it’s different when yer first called up.”

  “No kidding. They can run circles around me. It’s intense.”

  “That’s why they work you so hard on the practice team. Gotta get your endurance up.”

  “I thought they worked me hard on the practice team,” I say, rubbing my face. “But it was nothing compared to this.”

  “That’s just cause yer getting used to people being on yer level. Yer used to being the best on that field. It’s going to take some time.”

  “I know.” I sit back and cross my arms stretching my legs out. They’re still sore from all the conditioning today. “But it feels like it’s taking forever to get up to speed.”

  “Give yourself time, Rowen,” my mother says, holding a mug. My guess is she’s drinking that fancy raspberry tea her sister got her for Christmas last year. She’s been addicted to the stuff ever since. “You know it takes most players years to get even a little playing time. You’re already ahead of everyone else.”

  “I know, Mam. I promise I’m not worried or anything. Just really tired.” A yawn overtakes me.

  “You’re eating enough protein, right?” she says. “Carbs are important for fuel, but protein is what powers your muscles and helps your endurance.”

  “Yes, Mam.” Dad chuckles as I try not to roll my eyes. “There’s nothing different about my food intake. I’m not drinking too much. Not partying too mu… well, not that much.” I smile shyly, and my dad laughs. He’s no dummy.

  “Getting langered with your teammates after the games, are ye?” He smirks and raises an eyebrow. I can feel the blush creep up my neck. It’s the curse of my Irish roots. I can never, ever lie to my parents. My own body gives me away.

  “Not a lot,” I say defensively. “We’ve only gone out a couple times.” My mind veers off, and thoughts of Tiffany in that back room, naked in a bed, roll through. I was excited when I met her that night. She was funny, and smart, and witty. And so unbelievably beautiful. She’s still all those things. I just don’t know how to wrap my brain around her being a groupie, too.

  “I talked to Fred Manahan yesterday,” Dad says.

  “Yeah?” Fred Manahan is the general manager for the Mutiny and has worked with my dad a lot of years on a lot of different projects. I try to keep that relationship on the down-low. I don’t want my teammates catching wind of who I know on a personal level. Nothing like nepotism to bring a team together. “What did he have to say?”

  “You know the powers that be haven’t been happy with Shivel for a while.”

  “I figured.” My face goes hot. I hope he’s not saying what I think he’s saying.

  He grins at me. “Don’t get caught up in the shenanigans, mac. Yer being groomed to take his spot. Maybe as soon as this season.”

  “Holy shit.” I try to process how that would work. Does Shivel know? If not, how will he react when he finds out? He’s a dick already. I can’t imagine what would happen if he found out I could take his job. If he leaves will he stop having parties, and will Tiffany stop going to them?

  My thoughts drift to Tiffany again, clad in only a white sheet, dark hair hanging loose over her shoulders. Smiling at me, beckoning me to kiss that luscious mouth of hers, then down the column of her neck….

  “Who is she?” My thoughts come to a screeching halt when I hear the deep rumble of my dad’s baritone.

  “What? Who’s who?” I ask, trying to play it off. I know it’s a futile attempt, but my dad has preached to me my entire life about the benefits of committing to one woman. I’m sure he wouldn’t like to hear what I’ve been up to.

  “Don’t give me that shite, boyo,” he growls. “You keep zoning off and getting red as a tomato while yer thinking. I can see right through you. Who is she?”

  I sigh. Mom gets up and walks away. She’s always been good about giving us privacy for our “man talks,” as she calls them. Normally, I don’t care if she knows what’s going on. But in this case, I’m kind of glad she leaves.

  “Dad, I know how you met Mam, but did you have to deal with groupies when you played?”

  “Aye. Even after your mother showed up, they were always around. Ready for a good shag and whatever else we could think of. Rowen, have you gotten yerself in trouble with a cleat chaser?”

  “No! Ohmygod, Dadaí,” I say, the residual brogue bleeding through like it always does when he says something that surprises or shocks me. “Yer such an ass. You’ve preached to me since I was born about how I’m not to give it up to just anyone. It’s gonna take someone special to get in these pants.”

  He chuckles. “I know ye aren’t as experienced as some, but I also know how the women can be. When they have their eyes set on someone, they can be relentless.”

  “Da. I’m serious. You don’t have to worry about me being duped. I don’t plan on having my first time be with, with….” I want to finish the sentence, but if I do, that means I’m saying I don’t want to be with Tiffany. But I do, and not just in the physical sense. I want to know more about her. I want to know where she works and what her hobbies are. I want to know about her family and her childhood. But knowing her status with the team taints my interest in her.

  “I admire you for that, boy. I made a lot of memories with a lot of groupies I wish I could take back.”

  My jaw drops. “Dadaí! Are you kidding? I thought you’d only been with Mam.”

  He looks at me like I’m crazy. “Whereever did you get that idea?”

  “From you.”

  He snorts. “I told ye there was no feeling like being with yer wife. I know that
for a fact, because I’ve been with others, too.”

  “Da,” I say quietly. “I… I don’t know what to think about this.”

  He shrugs. “Is there anything that needs to be said? Does this change the way you see me?”

  “No.” I shake my head and scratch the back of my neck. “It’s just different than I always imagined, I guess. Maybe it changes the way I see myself.”

  “Listen, Rowen,” he says seriously. “All that happened in the past. The minute your Mam came on the scene, it all changed. The partying wasn’t fun anymore. The different women every night wasn’t fun anymore. It was all about her. That’s how I know the feelings are different when you have more than just a physical connection.”

  I nod and look at the floor. It’s weird to think of my dad at a party like the one I went to last night. I can’t even imagine it. But at the same time, if my dad quit going when he found the love of his life, it makes me wonder if the same thing is true of Tiffany. I mean, him sleeping with lots of women, her sleeping with lots of men. It’s not all that different, right?

  “Yer thinking about that girl again, aren’t ye?” He sighs. “Look, I don’t know her. I don’t know why she does what she does. It could be she’s out to trap a player. Or it could be she likes to have fun. All I can say is, be careful.”

  “I know, Da. I’ve kept my cherry intact for this long. It’s not going to kill me to wait.”

  He laughs. “No it won’t. In fact, I’d say it’s a true sign of your self-control. Not many players can stay a virgin when pussy is being tossed in their direction all the time. I admire ye for it. Wish I had done things differently meself.”

  All of a sudden, I feel even more worn out than I was. “I need to go, Da. I’m really tired.” I don’t want to talk about Tiffany or my virginity anymore. It’s not that it’s a weird conversation to have with my dad—we’ve talked about stuff like this before—but I’m trying to process what I’ve learned about his past. Maybe being attracted to someone like Tiffany isn’t as big of a deal as I’m making it out to be.