Jock Wanted by Kate Meader

Author:Kate Meader [Meader, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kate Meader LLC

20

Walking into Jorgenson’s home, Fitz steeled himself to see Tara. This morning, she had skipped out of his bed and only when he got a text a half hour after he’d awoken, did he stop being as cranky as a man without his morning coffee and the hot woman he’d expected to wake up to.

Her message was peak Tara.

Had soooo much fun! I’ll spare you my morning-after discussion of the Congressional filibuster! (Spoiler: I don’t know what the filibuster is.) Kiss Goober and Pickle for me.

He’d laughed his head off, then descended into a funk again when he realized the day stretched out before him Tara-free. He wanted more, for them to continue as long as they both found it useful or desirable or … necessary.

Necessary? In the sense of physical release being necessary, perhaps, but that didn’t have to be with Tara. Any woman could fill that role. Any woman could moan and whimper and sigh when he ran his hands over her lush curves and found the spots to light her up.

Of course, he wouldn’t mind if that was Tara. He would like very much if it was Tara because he liked her. This shouldn’t have come as a surprise—he didn’t fuck women he didn’t like or respect—but acknowledging that thought sent a pulse of excitement through him. So Tara had her faults, not least among them this wrong-headed notion of how to land a husband. But she was also sweet and sexy and so damn funny.

And in an awful hurry to get him dating. He hadn’t missed that. While he appreciated her help in that arena, he was beginning to think his needs could be serviced closer to home.

“Fitz, you’re here!” Erik Jorgenson, the Rebels goalie, pumped his hand. “Are you hungry?”

Within a minute he had a plate piled high with Swedish delicacies, so he stashed himself in a corner and did a spot of people-watching. Or Tara-watching, if he was being honest. She had yet to show. O’Malley was here and Fitz felt some small measure of relief that they weren’t together.

Belly full of meatballs and aquavit, he mingled for a few minutes until he happened on a spirited discussion between Foreman and Remy DuPre.

“Here, Fitz can help us decide.” Foreman held up a picture of a cute terrier with tons of personality. “What do you think of Bobby O as the Rebels mascot?”

“Don’t think so.” Remy was quick to elbow him out of the way and show another puppy, a funny-looking thing of indeterminate breed. “Kreuger is a better candidate.”

“These are the choices? Nah, nah, gentlemen. I think we need to take this up a notch.” He showed them his lock screen, already displaying Goober at his Gooberest. “No contest.”

“A pug?” Foreman sounded disgusted. “Pugs can’t represent. They’re too lazy, waddling around. Would never work as a mascot.”

“You’re all wrong.” The deep voice of Bren St. James entered the conversation. “Gretzky is the original team pupper and no one can top him.” A big black lab, with a big grin to match, greeted them from St.

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