Take A Knee Read online

  “Mr. Black.” I held back a smirk. “Clearly you don't know me very well but let me clue you in on why that would never happen. One,” I held up my index finger. “I could give a fuck about a championship or a position in the national league. Two,” my middle finger joined my other. “I don't do shit like this. Underhanded, behind closed doors, with whispers and hushed tones. Three,” my ring finger joined the others as they stood straight in the air, “your team will not make the playoffs. Sure, they have solid players, but what they don't have is stamina. So, they won't win. Now, that is something you can take to the court. Which, by the way, I don't ever see you on.”

  One of his thick eyebrows rose in what could have been interest or absolute shock. I am almost certain nobody ever talked to him this way.

  Ever.

  Harvey’s lip turned up, then he said, “Well, you may have a point. But, since you won't let me be an owner for you professionally, how about personally?”

  What in the dribbling hell?

  “What!” I blurted.

  He leaned forward and said with short, succinct, words, “Own. Mine. You. Me. Fuck.”

  Was he a goddamn caveman?

  “What?” I gasped again because I could not believe the words he was saying.

  “You, Zora,” the man repeated. “You won't take one proposal, so take the other. Fuck me when and where I say. I'll own your sweet ass and in turn, you'll want for nothing.”

  There was one man who proposed to me in my lifetime, but I turned him down because he was drunk off his ass, a complete stranger and homeless. Therefore, that did not count. This proposal, however, seemed more serious than I anticipated. The only thing I could think about to keep my mind from my wet panties was the fact I knew his ass was elicit. I knew he was trouble. The way he looked at me, the other night, I knew he wanted a piece of me. But what he didn't know, I was not the fucking type to let someone own me or just fuck me for shits and giggles. I wasn't in my twenties trying to find my way through life. I was a grown ass woman, with responsibilities and shit that did not involve fucking. I was establishing myself as a professional and world-class coach. Then, here goes a man trying to help me sleep my way to the top.

  On top of that, I swore off all men.

  Sexy ass owners, included.

  I was not that woman, and I'd never be her.

  “Mr. Black, I don't like you. Now get out of my goddamn office.” I turned around to face my computer. “Any other requests, please have them go through my owner.”

  I typed my password for my laptop, so I could get to work on the new plays we were planning to do. The computer chimes rang through the tension in the air with a finality that I'm sure had Harvey gathering his pride along with his shit.

  Something slid across the top of my glossy oak desk and then Harvey said, “Just think about it and get back to me. I'll be waiting.”

  “I wouldn't,” I said as I kept typing.

  “I will. You should know I'm not a man easily deterred. I get what I fucking want. One way or another.”

  When I turned to ask him if that was a threat, the asshole was gone.

  Who in the fuck does that?

  Chapter 3

  Zora McCoy

  I tossed and turned all goddamn night; restless and shit, horny as hell. It had been years since I felt anything besides the occasional yeast infection or my monthly menstrual in my nether regions.

  My aversion to men had been real and so much so that people thought I was a virgin, or simply a prude, because I just did not respond to men’s praises or gestures of intimacy. I didn't entertain flirts and for fucks sake, I remained in a pants suit almost any time I was out. Maybe this was used as a deterrent, in my subconscious but I had closed all doors of any sort of romance.

  The species alone had fucked me over in more ways than one. Between the attempted rape at eleven years of age from one of my cousin’s friends. My uncle not believing me and my cousin completely alienating me. My boyfriend, at the age of fourteen, dating me as a bet with his friends. Me being constantly overlooked romantically because I was a tomboy and being friend zoned by guys. To my adult years of dating guys who thought I was gay and preferred to have a three-way relationship. With another woman, of course. Never another man because they were too masculine for that.

  My last straw was the one guy who I thought was a great gal until I beat his ass in a pickup game of basketball. The man’s little pride was hurt and therefore, he underperformed.

  Fucking done.

  Done with men.

  None of this beat the shit I get from guys in the league. This superior ass shit like they have a swinging dick so they are above rules, laws and us little women are inferior. I was done.

  It wasn't that I didn't have needs, but I was over that intimacy notion of a happily ever after. I had the vibrators, sex toys and even the nipple stimulators and they were just fine. Outside of the sexual release, I took care of my personal business by working out, buying a house, paid off all debt and threw myself into my teams.

  Fuck a man.

  Fuck them all.

  Except now, I was horny and the arrogant man was playing on repeat in my mind. His words, that arrogant ass proposal and just his primitive body language. It turned me on, and nothing for the past six years had.

  Why did it have to be someone who propositioned me or who should have repulsed me? Why was he the one to have me flicking my nub with three fingers? Bringing myself to several orgasms and hoping I would fall asleep.

  Why did it have to be him?

  ***

  Practice the next day was brutal and not just from the players perspective but the coaches. We expended enough energy to light a stadium with the intensity of instruction and delivery. We ran our press drill over fifteen times until they were able to execute it flawlessly three times in a row. They were about to collapse and mentally, so were Justine, Sasha and I.

  Once it was finally over and three suicides later, we sent everyone home and the three of us went out for drinks.

  “Damn.” Justine fell back in the buttoned-cushioned oversized chair. “That practice was brutal.”

  Her eyes narrowed on mine, before she shook her head and said, “They'll thank us later.”

  I held up my wine glass, filled with Merlot, and nodded. “Yes, they damn sure will.”

  The fact remained that the women were probably calling us all types of bitches. However, the seasoned ones knew, can't have the fame without putting the work in: Those hard ass practices, time away from family and loved ones, extra nights studying their opponents, eating right and maximizing the strength of their body even off the court. That was the goddamn work, and that is what would and could win championships.

  I was a firm believer of ‘any given Sunday’. I also knew that underdogs usually won because top dogs grew lazy or forgot they needed to maintain what brought them there.

  “Fuck, I feel like I've been running suicides all day.” Sasha remarked before she took a gulp of her draft beer.

  “Cause your ass was out there with the forwards.” I laughed as I remembered her posting up against our other center, who we called Hightower. The woman is 6’7 and lanky as all hell. No meat on her bones so Sasha was on the court showing her, yet again, how to use those bony hips to move a bitch.

  Or an opponent.

  “I know.” Sasha laughed. “Hightower is like a damn flower. No time to be nice. By the time we hit the playoffs, she'll be moving bitches all the fucking time.” She tipped her glass up again against her burgundy-colored lips. “I guarantee,” she said mimicking the voice of Justin Wilson, the Cajun Chef.

  We all laughed at her joke but the steely determination was in her eyes. Hightower would be stronger, no doubt and that was what we needed. In a year or two, she'd be pro.

  “Excuse me ladies.” The waiter came to us holding a long-neck bottle of red wine. “The gentlemen over there wanted your table to have this.”

  His small hands held up the cloth covere
d glass as if it were a baby swaddling in a manger.

  “Oh hell,” Sasha inhaled.

  “Fuck, I'll take it.” Justine looked toward the vicinity where the waiter nodded.

  My gaze floated in the same direction and I nearly dropped the glass of wine in my hand. Harvey was sitting at the bar, boldly intimidating with that damn smirk on his face encase in a goatee and beard I wanted to pull on, so he’d drop to his knees.

  What’s this man's deal?

  A noise escaped my mouth that sounded a lot like a growl. All heads turned my way, sharing that there was recognition and I'm almost sure the irritation was clearly evident.

  “Zora, you know him?” Sasha asked

  “He's the owner of the Warriors.” I worked hard to remove the annoyance in my tone.

  “Oh.” Justine nodded. “That's awfully nice of him.”

  This time it was Sasha’s turn to grunt before she stated, “Seems like he's trying to be nice in other ways too.”

  It took everything to not answer, ‘if only you knew.’ However, I remained silent. If I declined to confirm or deny, maybe she'd forget it.

  “Damn, he's eyeing you,” Justine commented. “Like eye-fucking you to be exact.”

  “Shit,” I hissed.

  “Ohhhhhh.” The ladies at the table all turned around to ogle the man. Which of course, spurred him to saunter over.

  Double shit!

  His long legs carried him to our table much faster than I anticipated even though his pace was measured and not hurried.

  “The dynamic coaches of the Lady Vikings,” he greeted us with a smile. “What a pleasure. I hope you enjoy the wine.”

  “Oh, we will,” Justine said as we all started laughing around the table.

  His gaze moved to study me but I tipped my wine glass and skipped the sipping, gulping a large amount in my mouth. Anything to keep my mind off the things I shouldn’t be thinking about him and any of his fucking proposals, especially the physical one.

  The damn man asked if we could fuck.

  Not just fuck, but when and where he wanted.

  “Zora,” he called. “Step into my office, please.”

  Yup, he was about to do this. Openly and in front of my team. This shit would not fly. To save face, I nodded. Placing my wine glass on the table, I turned to the ladies and said, “Be right back.”

  “Take your time,” Justine said with humor in her tone.

  I did not want, nor did I have time for, this type of bullshit. They already teased me because they thought I needed to get fucked. However, my personal life was none of anyone's business. Sasha and Justine freely shared about theirs, but I never partook. Even if I did have something to gossip about, I still wouldn’t have because that wasn’t me. I liked my privacy. People assumed a lot, but what was actually happening, was absolutely nothing.

  Justine and her partner of three years were still trying to figure out if they were going to get married or call it quits. Sasha was trying to navigate dating a college senior and questioning if he would be a good father to her daughter.

  I had nothing. Hadn’t had sex in six years.

  Six whole years and up until Harvey, I was fine.

  Once I slid from the booth, he held his right hand out signaling for me to go in front of him and his left arm extended in the direction I should walk. This led me to a door that he opened as if he owned the place and I walked in.

  “Yes?” I swiftly turned around ignoring the stock room filled with cases of liquor.

  He stood in front of me and pushed his hands deep in his front pockets, his shoulders were relaxed and the expression on his face stated, he had all the time in the world. I was certain, mine expressed I was highly annoyed.

  “Yes,” I repeated.

  “Zora,” he said my name like he was warning me.

  “You wanted to talk, Mr. Black. Please let’s get on with this.” I folded my arms over my chest. “If you have any more propositions, please note they will need to go through my owner.”

  He nodded, but he took one step closer toward me before his hands came out of his pockets.

  “See here’s my dilemma.” He leveled his eyes on mine. “I’m not sure you want me going to your owner about what I want to do with that body under those black pant suits.”

  Goddamn.

  “Look, I already told you—”

  He effectively cut me off by taking one step toward me, leaving less than a foot between us. “You don’t like me and from what I’ve heard you don’t fuck men. I know.” His eyebrow quirked. “I also have it on good authority that you don’t fuck women either. So, who do you fuck?”

  Son of a bitch.

  “That’s none of your goddamn business.” I slam my hands on my hips.

  “On the contrary. Who you’re fucking is my business because I’m making it mine.” His smoldering look turns into one I wish could be turned off.

  It was doing all types of things to my body and God only knew, I didn’t need these complications in life. No more fast-talking men like him with good looks. One nice fuck, and boom, my heart is shredded again. However, this time, there’s nothing left to shred. It wasn’t prepared from the first time and now there’s nothing left. When I say, I want nothing to do with men, I mean that to my core. I’ll buy some goddamn cats and coach for the rest of my fucking life.

  Just as I was about to tell him where he can take his indecent proposal, his hand moved fast as lightning, which scorched the side and back of my neck. Harvey pressed his fingertips into me, moving me toward him and with almost no effort at all, his lips were on mine.

  Oh my fucking dear.

  He moved his mouth against mine and the tingling that coursed through my body was like a compliant drug because I melted.

  Literally, melted in his arms and he took and took from me. I had nothing to give but being pressed against his hard, bulky body sent me into another zone. One that I wasn’t familiar with and don’t ever remember being sucked into from my past.

  I felt like a victim of a vampire bite. His hands on my body, his mouth on mine, and his tongue invading my mouth, drained everything from me. I felt lightheaded when I was usually as fairly strong as any woman.

  Not anymore.

  This son of a bitch bit me and I was like the prey caught in his trap.

  When he finally finished feasting on me, his scorching gaze bore into mine while I was still in his arms.

  “God fucking damn,” he hissed. “Knew it.”

  I thought I said, ‘what?’, but my lips only formed the word and nothing audible escaped.

  There was a new light in his eyes, shit, even on his face. Like, he just realized something. His gaze remained on me, with more intensity, if that was even possible.

  When my mind finally caught up with everything, I jerked out of his grasp, effectively releasing his spell from over me. Then, I slapped his damn face but there was no running away from him. I stood there, preparing to give him a tongue lashing to match all cuss-outs.

  His head had snapped to the left, but when it came back to face forward, the bastard had a smile on his face.

  What in the fuck?

  “You think,” Harvey took a step toward me. “You laying your hands on me is going to deter me after what I know you felt too.”

  His laugh was almost evil.

  “You’re out of your goddamn mind.” He was no longer smiling but the steely resolve was set in his features and I knew, this man was not to be trifled with.

  Determination.

  Dangerous.

  “Don’t touch me again.” I snapped then made my way to the door.

  “Yeah, then do me a favor and don’t touch yourself thinking about me, either,” he said as a throwaway. “Don’t come, don’t twist those taut little nipples of yours, or pleasure yourself in any way with me on your mind either. Fuck, if you can do that, then I won’t touch you.”

  “You won’t have to worry about that,” I lied. “You’re not welcome in my psyche eithe
r.”

  “Tell that to those wet panties.” He followed up. “When you’re ready, Zora. When you’re ready for me to show you all I can do. I’ll be here.”

  “Fuck you.” I took a step toward him. “I’m not fucking my way up or on the side. That’s not me. I resent your insinuation I should even entertain it; like it’s my only option. You’re just like all the rest. Want a nut? Find a goddamn squirrel who’ll do all the dirty, filthy things you want. I’m nobody’s play thing to be easily dispose of when you’re done.”

  Shit, I probably revealed too much but I could give a fuck at this point. He hit a nerve. Wet panties or not, I wouldn’t give in for that sort of shit.

  “Then do it for yourself,” he whispered.

  That caught me completely off guard.

  “Myself?” I whispered back, not knowing why.

  “You want this.” Harvey turned to face me. “Need this and I’ll make it good. I promise.”

  The difference between me and him was no matter what I wanted, that did not trump my goals. This man was a distraction, and that’s all they would ever be.

  “Pass.” I nodded and turned to walk out.

  Quickly gathering my things, I left a few bills on the table, said goodbye to the ladies and left. They knew something was wrong but I would not share. I had no intentions of staying under the same roof with that asshole if it was the last thing I did.

  My nerves were shot. I was exhausted, and he plagued my mind. Everything was coming to me like it was in warped speed and not enough of my thoughts were spent on practice tomorrow. We had shit to do, and it served no purpose remaining caught up in what would never happen.

  The next week went by fast. It was also Harvey free. In my conscious mind too. But, in the subconscious and my dreams… Let’s just say, I woke up with a wet pussy. The image of the bearded owner of the Warriors had me rubbing against my hardened clit.

  One evening, my cell rang with the tone designated for my brother. He almost never called me, so this was quite weird.

  “Morris?” I picked up.

  “Hey sis, what’s good?” he said in his fake jubilant tone.

  “I’m okay. What’s wrong?” I asked.

  There had to be something wrong because this was his last year of graduate school and he was too busy to call Dad, me or anyone. He was living the life, and we let him do it, but every once in awhile, he’d needed some help and I assumed now was one of those times.