All Chapters of Rough Play (An Erotic MLM Sports Romance): Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

ANDRE'S POVI was halfway across the parking lot when I saw him.Richard. Parked across from the entrance, leaning against the hood of his car with his arms crossed and his breath showing in the cold morning air. Like he had nowhere better to be at six in the morning. Like he had planned this down to the minute, which he had.I stopped walking.He looked at me from across the lot and I looked back at him and neither of us moved. The facility light above the entrance hummed. The lot was empty except for my car and his and the cold and whatever was passing between us in the silence that I didn't have a clean name for.Then he got in his car.He pulled out of the lot without hurrying. No gesture, no words, nothing. Just the sound of the engine and the headlights sweeping across the concrete and then the street swallowing him.I stood there after the car was gone.Four seconds. Maybe five.Then I went inside.I changed and got on the pitch alone and started my warm-up and the thing just s

Richard's POVBriggs caught me before I left the facility.He was leaning against the wall outside the changing room with his clipboard under his arm and his coffee in his hand and the specific look he had when he had already decided what he wanted to say and was just waiting for the right moment to say it."Walk with me," he said.We went down the side corridor toward his office. He didn't go in. Just stopped at the door and turned to face me with the coffee still in his hand."Setup assignment today," he said. "You've seen the roster.""I've seen it.""So you know who you'll be working with.""I know."He looked at me for a moment. "How are you feeling about that?""Fine.""Richard.""Coach. I said fine."He set the coffee down on the windowsill beside him. "The benefit has press. Regional sports desk, two program photographers, and a human interest writer from the athletics journal." He paused. "The cameras would love a shot of both captains working side by side for a children's ho

RICHARD's POVAndre pulled his shirt off like it was nothing.No announcement, no pause in the work. He just grabbed the hem, pulled it over his head, tucked it into his waistband, and picked up the next crate.I kept my eyes on the box in front of me.Thirty seconds. Maybe less.He was at the upper shelf with his back to me and I could see everything and I was furious about it. The width of his shoulders. The way his back moved when he lifted, muscle pulling tight under brown skin, every line of him clean and deliberate like he trained specifically to look like this from behind. His waist was narrow and his joggers sat low and when he reached up to set the crate on the upper shelf his whole back stretched out and I looked away and looked back and looked away again.He stepped back and rolled his neck. Picked up the next item and crossed the corridor like he owned the floor under him. That was the thing. Every movement was smooth in a way that made me want to hit something. No wasted

RICHARD'S POVI had my jacket on and the exit in my sightline when Andre stepped into my path.He had the public face on. The captain face. Composed and even and put together the way he always was in rooms with cameras and donors and people whose opinions cost money. But his jaw was tight and his eyes were running hot underneath all of it.He kept his voice low."Stay away from Rose," he said. "Whatever you think you were doing tonight, it's not welcome. It won't happen again."I looked at him.I had three things I could say. I knew exactly which nerve each one pressed and exactly how deep the damage would go. The camera flash was still sitting behind my eyes. The weight of his body against mine in that corridor was still sitting somewhere else and I was not going to look at where."See you next game, Williams," I said.I stepped around him and walked out.I sat in the car for a long time before I started it.The benefit was still going inside. Light coming through the venue windows,

RICHARD's povI was already in the chair when Briggs came in.He had the article printed out. He put it on the desk face up and stood over it for a moment with his hands in his jacket pockets, looking at it like he was deciding how much of himself to spend on this conversation. Then he looked at me. “This is not a good look,” he said. “Not for the program. Not for the qualifying picture. Not for you specifically.” He paused. “It’s been picked up by two other outlets this morning. The athletics department emailed me twice before nine.” “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t want sorry yet.” He sat down. His voice dropped, not softer, more deliberate, the way it got when he was saying something he needed to land correctly. “You know what this season actually is?” he said. “First genuine shot at the cup in ten years. Ten years of near misses and average rosters and donors pulling out because they stopped believing the program was worth the investment.” He leaned forward. “This year the piece