Pretend Love Romance by Penny Wylder
AJ
Claire is just as beautiful as she was in college—maybe even more so. Since then she’s filled out in all the right places. She’s still sexy without even trying to be. Even though she looked stunning in that green dress, and the color seemed to make her eyes glow, I can tell she would be just as gorgeous in a pair of scrubs or sweatpants. Some people are just stunning. They’re born that way and they’ll be that way no matter their age. They’re timeless, classic. That’s Claire.
The shape of her body sticks in my mind, the softness of her curves, the fullness of her hips, the swell of her breasts. I put my hands to my eyes, trying to wipe her image away from the backs of my lids. But the sight of her has been burned into my memory. It took every bit of self-control I had at the ribbon cutting ceremony to walk away from her. I allowed myself just a single touch, as I set my hand on the small of her back and led her to the big ribbon. But my hands were twitching with the need to feel her the entire time I stood by her side. And the mental energy it took to suppress the animal inside me and control the erection that was semi-hard the moment I saw her, that was exhausting. It will be exhausting the more I spend with her at the clinic. The press would have a field day with that one, if they picked up any chemistry between us. They’ve been up my ass lately, ever since they heard rumors of me retiring.
After grabbing dinner with my agent and going over a few press points for my next interview, I head back to my house on the hill. After making sure my family was taken care of after my first big payday when being drafted into the NFL, my house was the first thing I bought for myself. Ten thousand square feet, five bedrooms, three bathrooms, indoor pool, spa, sauna, screening room, game room, everything I could ever want—except the one thing I actually want. Popularity couldn’t win her then and I doubt the square footage of my home can win her now. The house feels even bigger right now. It’s everything I dreamt of but it’s also empty and lonely. After seeing Claire, I’m reminded of those feelings I once had. I’d convinced myself over the years that it was just lust, that we had unfinished business and that’s why I’ve continued to pine after her, but that’s not it. There’s always been something special about her. I never got to know her well enough to figure out exactly what that thing is, but I felt it again today. It’s chemistry. It’s scientific. It’s relativity, gravity, black holes, dark matter, infinity—things that people have theories about but we don’t really know what or why any of it exists. That’s the only way I can explain this pull I have toward Claire. All I know is from the first time I saw her, she became the sun and I revolved around her.
I sigh as I shrug off my suit and hang it up to be dry cleaned. I put on a pair of sweatpants and sit on the edge of my bed, looking out at the view of Lake Michigan. That’s why I chose this home in the first place. It wasn’t because of all the things inside of it. It was because of how it made me feel when I stood inside looking out.
I close my eyes. For the first time since I moved in, the view can’t hold my interest.
I remember the feel of Claire’s warm skin, her hand dwarfed by mine as we cut the ribbon. Then I think about back in college, how she fit perfectly into my arms, how tight she was when I was inside of her. Reaching inside of my sweatpants, I wrap my hand around my hard cock and start to stroke. Her pussy smelled and tasted so sweet. Her scent drove me absolutely inside. I felt literally out of my mind, like I was floating above my body. The term being on cloud nine made perfect sense to me when I finally fucked Claire.
I remember trying so hard not to come. Just the thought of her alone back then could have made me burst. I’m far more disciplined now. Now I could go hours, but back then I was young and struggled with self-control.
I stroke faster as I remember how delicate and fragile she seemed. Her pussy looked so small next to my cock. It was a miracle I didn’t split her in half. I could tell she was afraid, but she’d wanted it. Bad. She was so wet and swollen and eager.
Maybe I don’t have as much self-control as I thought because remembering the soft pink flesh between her legs and the way her body spasmed around my cock when she came, it sends me over the edge. I let out a loud groan as ropes of cum shoot from my cock. My eyes are closed so I don’t see where they land. My poor cleaning lady. I’ll have to tip her extra for this one.
I flop back on the bed, my cock still out, still hard. It’s been a long day and I’m exhausted. I’d hoped that after rubbing one out I could get some reprieve from her memory, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. Claire is still taking up every inch of space in my head. Except now I’m not thinking about her gorgeous body or those full lips around my cock. Now I’m stuck thinking about the aftermath, how she used me and tossed me to the side when she got what she wanted from me. She insulted me, my intelligence. She turned me into a cliché and never talked to me again.
Still, it hadn’t stopped me from trying. I still wanted her, I still wanted her to want me as much as I wanted her. I tried harder in school, got tutors so I’d place at the top of all my classes. Even with all that effort I never managed to get more than a C average. I felt every bit of the dumb jock she thought I was. I just wasn’t any good at school. What I did know how to do was run and dodge, how to tell exactly where a football would land as soon as it left the quarterback’s hands. As soon as I saw the threads on the ball spinning, I became a walking, breathing machine. I could see numbers and angles and trajectories. On that field I was superhuman. It’s why I was the best. It’s why I have more money than I know what to do with. And that made me happy for a time. It made me happy to buy a beach house for my mom out in California. It made me happy to send my little sister off to culinary school and buy her the food truck she wanted so desperately after she graduated. It made me happy to start the Hope Center as well as the other numerous charities I’ve started. I loved going to all of the events and visiting schools when I could. All of that made me happy. Mostly.
But there was always something missing.
The Hope Center brings me immense joy, and not just because I’m able to get Claire back in my life—though that is definitely part of it. A large part of me wants her to see that her “big dumb fuck” is more than just that, of course, but I also want to give back to Chicago. It’s a city that has cheered me on and supported me for the past eight years. I’m coming to the end of my career. I know this. My age and the mild, yet persistent pain in my left knee is a constant reminder of that. It’s time to take more of my money and put it to good use. Getting slight revenge on the woman who haunted my most erotic dreams is a byproduct. The only problem is that her light floral scent still lingers. Her memory is a poltergeist. No matter how hard I work out in the gym, how hard I go at practice, or how fast I sprint the track, I can’t outrun the thought of her.
I had my assistant dig into Claire’s life. I guess some might call that internet stalking. I consider it smart business. I would have done the same for any candidate I had in mind to run a major clinic like the Hope Center. The only difference is that each time my assistant came to me with new information on Claire, I held my breath and shook with anticipation.
I learned that she’s not married and never has been. Social media didn’t reveal any long term relationships or anything serious. After a few months, specific guys sort of dropped out of her pictures. She’s currently single. In fact, being new in town, she’s hardly had the time to socialize and meet new friends. Like me, her job has been her entire life. Everywhere she’s worked she’s received honors and accolades. I guess that’s how people like us get to where we are. She thinks we’re so different. At least I know she thought of us that way in college, but we’re really not different. We’re both driven and passionate and successful.
I go into the bathroom and take a shower. As I let the warm water wash over my shoulders, I decide it’s time to stop pining over Claire Alverez. I’m going to do something about it.
