Dating the Player, an all-new sweet and sexy sports romance from New York Times bestselling author Erin McCarthy is available now!
I’ve got a big pro football contract, a big appetite for women, and a big mouth. It gets me into trouble more often than not… but this time it lands me with a nerdy little PR gatekeeper who is supposed to control me. But good luck with that. Eloise and her kitten sweaters and adorable glasses have me thinking about her in a whole different way…
I’m not your typical nerd girl. Instead of video games, I love football. I’ve landed my dream job managing social media for my favorite team, but with Dakota North as quarterback it’s a 24/7 job. When I’m told I have to spend a week making sure Dak doesn’t tweet, he seems determined to use that time to flirt with me.
I have to ask myself, what is more important- losing my virginity to a bad boy quarterback or keeping my perfect job?
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As Dak sauntered through, big and cocky, it was like watching the viral video of fainting goats. First all the women sat up straight, tits out, eyelashes fluttering madly, then as soon as he passed them, they collapsed back, drained and dreamy. Even though I knew for a fact that he’d had sex with at least two of the women at headquarters, he never spoke to anyone in particular. Except me. In the cruelest of all damn ironies, he spoke to me on a regular basis. Wearing track pants that did nothing to hide a huge cock moving freely beneath the cotton, Dak came toward me. And yes, even as a virgin, I had enough experience with penises in general to know that his was nothing short of impressive. He had on a team logo sweatshirt, which also didn’t disguise his broad shoulders and ripped arms. His hands were huge, and I imagined if he spread one across my face, it would block out the sun entirely. Recently he’d seemed to have forgotten to see a barber, his sandy hair veering into Jason Momoa territory. Football warrior. Maybe that was the look he was going for. It was working and then some. Studying my laptop screen studiously, I pushed up my cherry red glasses and ignored him. “Hey, Kitty.” Dak didn’t know my name. He’d never asked. Even if he had, I doubt he would have remembered it. I turned and gave him a weak smile, my heart rate kicking into overtime. The highlight of my day was when he acknowledged me, but it also threatened to send me into shock every time. Or spontaneous orgasm. My nipples hardened beneath my sweater and I shifted a little on my seat. “Hi, Dak, how are you today?” “Living the dream, Kitty.” In his case, that was hugely accurate. He gestured to me. “Turn around and let me see you.” Obediently, I swiveled my chair so I was facing him. This was our routine. I’d say I didn’t know how to break it, but the truth was I didn’t want to. His eyes raked over me slowly, amusement and mischief in them. “Now that. That right there is the sweetest pussy you’ve given me yet.” “It’s Siamese,” I told him. “Kinky.” I glanced down at my breasts and the cat on my sweater. “I don’t think so. Cute more so than kinky.” Dak shook his head slowly. “Then clearly our thoughts aren’t running in the same direction.” I pushed my glasses up on my nose. “Apparently not.” I didn’t take anything he said seriously because Dak was a wicked flirt. He flirted on social media with random women who commented on his posts. He flirted with the team cheerleaders. He flirted with female sports reporters. But he had a type when it came to women he actually had sex with or dated. They were always what my grandfather would call “hot to trot.” They were women who oozed sexuality in every look, every gesture. In the way they dressed and moved and spoke. That wasn’t me. Not by a long shot. Nope. I was the virgin intellect who dressed her pets in team jerseys. So, I knew that Dak just found me a kooky cat girl and that I was entertaining for five minutes whenever he was in the office. But he’d never date me or want to have sex with me. Which sometimes was devastatingly disappointing. Because, hello, sexy alpha male with a charming smile, muscles on muscles, and a confidence that made him a powerhouse on the field. Other times I realized that if Dak ever got tired of supermodels and decided he wanted to take a dip in the nerd-girl pool, I probably couldn’t handle it. He would break me, in all ways imaginable. I may have had intelligence, but it didn’t mean a damn thing when hormones were involved. Survival of the fittest and all that. “Well, if you ever want me to explain it to you, let me know.” Dak gave me a wink.
USA Today and New York Times bestselling author Erin McCarthy sold her first book in 2002 and has since written over seventy-five novels and novellas in the romance and mystery genres. Erin has a special weakness for high-heeled boots, martinis, and Frank Sinatra. She lives with her renovation-addicted husband (he built her a bar, so it’s all good!) and their blended family of kids and rescue dogs.
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