13 comments/ 31968 views/ 35 favorites The Spirit Girl Ch. 02 By: DrSqueaky There was a great deal of optimism for the Jammers heading into the new season. We were rebuilding the team around the tandem of point guard Marshall Jacobs and forward Stanley Jefferson. We had two first-round picks in the June draft thanks to our trade with Chicago, plus we caught a bit of luck in the lottery, drawing the #3 overall pick when 8 teams had worse records than we did. In my new role as Assistant Director of Player Personnel, I was in New York for the draft. My girlfriend Samantha Sullivan came along; since she was acting PR person while Sandy Clark was on leave, she could run the press conferences once we made our selections. Dad (the Jammers GM) joked that he may as well, he could bring her with us and not have to pay for a hotel room. Going into draft day we had a pretty good idea who were going to get at #3: shooting guard Johnny Mill. Virtually every pre-draft board had him rated 3rd overall. But there was a lot of internal dissent on who to take with Chicago's pick at #24. We were still weak at the 4 and 5, and when our turn came the staff was split between two players. My boss, long-time personnel director "Red" Callahan, wanted us to take Luke Harvey, a pure center from the west coast that most mock drafts predicted would go somewhere in the 15-20 range. He was value in the sense that he had fallen and met a need, but I had concerns about his offensive skills. Harvey had put up decent numbers in college overall, but had been shut down on the few occasions he'd faced good defensive centers; his team had made early exits in the tournament the last two years, and I suspected he was a big part of the reason why. My statistical models predicted he would be a third-line center at best in the Association, but there was far too much variability to really have much confidence in that prediction. I wanted us to take Ephriam McAllister. He was a 5 in college, but undersized so he was projected as a 4 in the pros. Mock drafts had him going in the late first or early second, so he was arguably a bit of a reach at #24, and Red was rightly concerned about taking a guy that high and transitioning him to a new position. But my statistical models suggested he had great individual skills that would allow him to adapt. Dad listened to both sides, but in the end went with Harvey. I couldn't argue; I wasn't that convinced of the prediction models myself, and it was Red's job to advise who we should pick. But as the draft continued later and later, McAllister continued to sit there, undrafted. Red considered that vindication, and made no bones about it; he wasn't too keen on having the owner's grandson in his department, offering opinions that contracted what he saw with his 30 years of experience based on "computer mumbo-jumbo." When McAllister was still there midway through the second round, dad came and asked me again why I thought we should get him. I told him again, and predicted that LA would take him if he was still on the board when they picked. He nodded and got on the phone. Boston was a veteran team gearing up for one more playoff push; they didn't have a lot of use for a rookie this year, especially a project. Dad was able to trade them Jason Newkirk, whose spot on the roster Harvey had probably just taken anyway, for their pick in the late second and took McAllister. That gave us three promising new rookies heading into the season. Red was not happy, however, that a major personnel move was made against his advice. No sooner did we get back from the draft than I was moving Sam into my apartment. It was a bittersweet milestone, though; it happened in part because her roommate Jenna got engaged and moved down to Texas to be with her fiancée. We were happy for them of course, but it was sad for Sam to be separated from her BFF. I felt it as a personal loss too, not just because she had become my friend as well, but because I really believe that Sam and I only ended up together thanks to Jenna's involvement. Jenna's fiancée was originally only supposed to have been in Texas for a year, but now they were telling him maybe he could transfer back after three. I wondered if she'd ever make it back here again. But being in Texas also opened up some opportunities for her; Jenna might not have had abs like Sam, but she was taller and a bit more, uh, top-heavy. We were both proud to be able to watch her on TV when football season rolled around, dressed in blue and white and kicking up her boots on the sidelines for America's team. ------- Everyone in the organization seemed to like Samantha--especially grandpa. She had him positively wrapped around her little finger. She was truly passionate about basketball; now that she watched the games with me in the owner's box, she listened with genuine fascination as grandpa told his stories of players from years gone by. They're great stories, but by now all of us grandkids have heard them multiple times. She was a fresh ear; grandpa was eager to tell her all his stories, and Sam positively ate them up. Dad started kidding me that I had better watch out, because grandpa was makin' moves and trying to steal my girlfriend. Sandy came back from leave as expected in October, but I knew between dad and grandpa they would find another place for Sam in the organization. That place turned out to be promotions manager. Sam was now in charge of giveaways and team appearances and things like that, as well as being the team liaison to the Jammer Spirit dance team. Samantha suddenly became a lot more involved with a lot more people in the organization. At about the same time, Red Callahan started sending me on scouting trips to watch college players all across the country. It didn't seem to matter that I could have watched any of those games on tape AND we already had scouts working those games. I don't think that he was specifically extracting revenge on me for talking dad into drafting McAllister; I think he just realized that he could lessen my influence with the team if I was out of town all the time. As soon as I got back from on trip he was sending me on another; I wonder if he ever even looked at any of my scouting reports. With Sam suddenly very involved and me gone all the time, things started to go wrong between us. The first thing I noticed was that Sam seemed rather cool to me when I returned from a trip. I usually stopped off at the arena on the way home from the airport to drop off my report. Since Sam was usually there working, I wanted a welcome home hug and kiss from Sam, or at least some acknowledgment that she was happy to see me. But whenever I went looking for her, she seemed to always be busy. She was always talking to someone else, and if she saw me she would just kind of wave and say "hi, how was your trip?" I felt like she didn't care about the trip, and just wanted to get rid of me. It was almost like she would rather talk to almost anyone besides me. I felt very brushed off. Stung, I started paying closer attention to what Sam was up to, and saw more things that caused me alarm. For one thing, she spent a lot of time watching practices—I didn't understand why the promotions manager would need to do that. I'm ashamed to admit this now, but I started spying on her. I would walk around the halls, peeking in on practices going on. Sometimes I'd even sit in the owner's box, knowing that with the lights out the glass reflected the arena light and I could not be seen. It seemed that every time I looked, Sam was talking to and being inordinately interested in Johnny Mill. It felt like every minute that he wasn't on the floor, he was at the sideline, chatting with Sam. And for her part, she seemed to always be laughing and having a good old time when talking to him. In contrast, when I saw her in the hall, she'd barely acknowledge me, like someone she knew worked there just because she saw me on the elevator once in a while. It looked like I had become a low on her priority list, whereas Johnny seemed pretty high. As you can imagine, memories of playing second fiddle to Marshall Jacobs were painfully reawakened. She'd even walk with him to the door of the dressing room after practice sometimes. Since my office was still in that vicinity, I ran into them once. It certainly seemed like their prior conversation was suddenly replaced by hushed silence when I came into view. As you can tell, I became jealous and suspicious. And yet at the same time, I was getting mixed signals, because she was different when we were at home. We talked, we made love, we rearranged furniture over and over again—I was confused and struggled to understand. I started to feel like maybe I was good enough when no one else was around, but if there were other people she chose them over me. What we didn't do was talk about my concerns, because I didn't know how to bring it up. With all that tension in the air, sudden Sam and I started to have fights, which we'd never done before, usually over stupid stuff. I started to withdraw as an act of self-preservation, sensing that Sam was slipping away. I had no idea why, but it felt like there was nothing I could do about it. And she sensed that immediately, and did the same. The tip of the iceberg was when Sam became a regular on the local morning zoo radio program. She was invited on early in the season to talk about a new Jammer promotion. Being her usual charming self, they loved her and invited her back the next week. In no time she had a set 20-minute slot on the radio every Wednesday. She did promote the team whenever they gave her the chance, but the bulk of their on-air conversation consisted of innuendo and bald-faced flirtations. When the guys came right out and asked her if she was in a relationship, she responded by vaguely saying she preferred not to talk about her private life. She COULD have simply said yes and put an end to any speculation, but by not really answering the question she gave the appearance as if she was available. Every week I listened to her on the air with my stomach churning as those yahoos flirted with Sam on-air, try to trip her into saying sexy things, asking her opinion on whatever sex-related topic they had been discussing just before she came on (and it was ALWAYS a sex-related topic), and of course tripping over themselves telling the listeners how hot she was. Listeners wondered what she looked like, so the station put up some pictures of her, mostly old Jammer Spirit ones, and they quickly received some of the heaviest traffic on the site. This prompted them to asked her to pose for some sexy new promo shots, which I was not comfortable with AT ALL. Fortunately, when she asked for permission my dad suggested that might not be appropriate for her new role with the organization, and that was the end of that. And on top of everything else, the Jammers got off to a TERRIBLE start. Marshall Jacobs started the season in a sophomore slump, BOTH Luke Harvey at the 5 and Ephriam McAllister at the 4 were looking like total busts, Johnny Mill was doing OK offensively but looking lost on defense, and Stanley Jefferson got frustrated with defenses always collapsing on him and started settling for more long-range jumpers, which wasn't his game. In a nutshell my team sucked, the guy I talked my dad into acquiring sucked, I was being sent on wild goose chases so my boss could get me out of the office, and my girlfriend seemed to be interested in everyone else but me. October had looked so promising; November had turned out to be hell. -------- I was sitting in the airport during the first week of December, headed to New York to see a tournament at the Garden. I knew I had to do something, because I couldn't continue like this. I had gotten so paranoid I was afraid to leave town; I would spend the whole time away worrying if Samantha was out running around, maybe with Johnny Mill. It didn't seem like something she would do, but then I wouldn't have thought she'd seem so disinterested in me, either. And to make things worse, my flight that day was delayed because of fog out east. That may have turned out to be most fortuitous fog ever. With time on my hands, I decided to get a second opinion: I called Jenna. She was surprise to hear from me of course. I pleaded with her "Jenna, you're still close to Sam. Please tell me what am I doing wrong? Why is she slipping through my fingers?" "Don't you guys ever talk?" she accused. She refused to go into details, but the gist of her message was that she'd had almost exactly this same conversation with Sam three days ago. She didn't know what was going on, but it sounded to her like we were looking at the same thing but seeing something entirely different. She was adamant that we needed to sit down, air out our feelings, and figure it out. That seemed like good advice—except that I was feeling very anxious then and there, and I was heading out of town for three more agonizing days. I didn't know if I could stand the stress of worrying and wondering for that long. The flight board updated; it would be three hours at the earliest before we would even consider taking off. Shit. Had I know this ahead of time, I could stayed home, gotten some work done, maybe even had a chance to talk with Samantha. But there was no point in leaving the airport, I'd just get home it would be time to turn around. I looked at my watch; Sam was probably still at work anyway. I decided I'd give her a call just to tell her my flight was delayed. When Sam answered the phone, she immediately said, "Oh hi" in a sterile voice. "Listen, I'm with someone right now, can I call you back in five minutes?" "OK," I said glumly. That figures. Of course she's talking to someone else; heaven knows she wouldn't ever want to talk to ME. So when is she really gonna call back? 5:30, when she's home from work? Or will she even call back at all? What I wasn't expecting was that, in fact, she called me back exactly five minutes later. "Hi, honey, sorry about that. I'm somewhere where I can talk now. Are you at the airport?" "Yeah... and my flight is delayed at least three hours because of fog," I grumbled. "Aww, that sucks," she replied sympathetically. "You didn't even seem like you wanted to go on this trip." "I'm sick of travelling, but mostly I'm sick of being away from you all the time." That was absolutely true, only perhaps not entirely for the reasons she may have imagined. "I know. I miss you being gone all the time, too." Then why do you never seem happy to see me when I'm back? I thought. What I said was "I think that Red just wants to get me out of the office. He doesn't like my statistical models, and it threatens his authority when I don't agree with his opinions. There's no reason I couldn't be watching all these games on tape." "Why don't you talk to your dad about it? It's not like it's cheap to fly you all over the country." "Yeah, I suppose I should. But it will have to wait until I get back, now." "I wish I could see you tonight," she said sadly. She did? Somewhere, deep in my heart, a spark of hope flickered. She didn't need to say that—probably wouldn't have, if she was secretly glad I was going away. It sounded like she meant it. Most of all, it sounded like something Sam would have said back when things were going well. I wanted to believe her, wanted to have her back in my arms—there was just so much of her recent behavior I didn't understand. "Do you?" I asked tentatively. "Of course I do, honey. I love you." "I love you too," came my automatic, reflexive reply. Fucking New York. Great city--unless you're by yourself. Based on what Jenna had said, I really, really wanted to have that talk with Sam, and I was getting exiled to New York. Well, at least Johnny Mill wasn't around, because the team was on a long west-coast swing. It would have been a great time to take some vacation, if I wasn't being sent on another business trip. Maybe if Sam and I could get away for a few days somewhere, reconnect a little... that's when the idea struck me. "Say, Sam--there's no home games this weekend, and you haven't taken a vacation day since you started. Would you want to take tomorrow off and come to New York with me this weekend?" "Come to New York?" she sounded interested but hesitant. "I... do you think that's even possible? Is there room on the flight?" "I'll go ask," I replied, "I've been seeing people leaving, maybe some of them are cancelling." I walked up to the check-in desk and was informed there were plenty of seats on the flight. "The hotel is already booked, all you'd need to do is run home, throw a few things in an overnight bag and catch a cab to the airport. We're not leaving for at least three hours; you'd have plenty of time." She sounded like she was actually excited about the idea. "I'm sure YOU could do that, but I can't pack for a trip in 30 minutes..." "Just throw in whatever you think of. Anything that you forget I'll buy you new in New York. Promise." She paused for a just a moment, and then she said "Yes! I'd love to go to New York with you this weekend. I'm leaving the office right now--don't let them take off without me!" ------- A few hours later, Sam and I were flying to New York; I had bought another seat and upgraded both to first class. We had the armrest up, and I was cuddling her while we sipped champagne. "This was such a nice surprise," she purred. This felt like Sam the way I remembered her, when I felt like she really loved me. I was confused but encouraged. "I'm so glad you're coming with me. We don't seem to get out much anymore." "Oh I know," she agreed. "I miss going out after games--maybe not as often as we used to, but now it seems we NEVER do. But I'm not with a Spirit girl anymore, Jenna's in Texas, and the average age of my staff is 19. There just isn't a gang to going out to hang around with anymore." "And the average age of my department is probably 50... but why do we need anyone else? We could go out, just you and me." "Yeah," she agreed excitedly. "And we wouldn't have to go to the 5th Quarter. Maybe we could go dancing." I nodded. "Yes... we could..." She noticed the look on my face. "You don't look convinced." I shook my head. "I... I guess I'm just confused, that's all. Lately it seems like you don't want to do anything with me, and now all of a sudden you're all excited about it." She studied me. "What makes you think I don't want to do things with you?" "You don't ever seem happy around me. When I see you at work, you're always laughing, smiling, outgoing with everyone. When you come home... you seem quiet and reserved. It makes me think you'd rather not be there." "Honey," she said gently, "it's my JOB to be outgoing at work. I'm supposed to put people in a favorable frame of mind with regard to the Jammers. It's like I'm always on stage at work. When I come home, I want to decompress and be myself." I thought for a moment. "I can understand that, but... sometimes it feels like you like talking to everyone in the office EXCEPT me! Todd from the box office is a good example. He comes in and finds you to ask you something, you're all friendly and smiley to him. But I show up and wave at you, and you barely acknowledge me. It's like I wish you weren't there." Sam regarded me with great seriousness. "Honey... when your dad hired me, he asked me to keep my relationship with you quiet. Keep it hidden as much as possible. He said that if everyone on staff saw us running around kissing, they'd all assume the only reason I had my job was because I was dating you. He said to be successful I'd have to be taken seriously, and to do that I'd have to prove my effectiveness on my own. I'm sorry... since it came from your dad, I assumed you knew." I hadn't considered that possibility, but it did sound like something my dad would say. "I'm sure you talk to my dad a lot more than I do these days. So you're saying... you try to ignore me... because you don't want people to know I'm your boyfriend?" The Spirit Girl Ch. 02 "Honey, don't say it like that, it sounds like I'm ashamed of you! I'm not, I'm just trying to do what you dad told me to," she pleaded. "Trying to do the best possible job for the Jammers!" "It makes me FEEL like you're hiding me, like you're ashamed of me or something," I argued. "Like on the radio—those guys asked you if you had a boyfriend, and you just said you didn't want to talk about your personal life on-air. Why didn't you just come out and say yes? You wouldn't have had to say who I was. Yeah, it's true that you don't want to talk personal life on-air, but now the guys on the radio think you're available, not to mention scores of listeners. No wonder all they do is flirt with you on-air." "Honey... that's all an act," she explained. "They know I've got a boyfriend, I've told them off the air. Truth is, one of those guys is married, and the other is gay! I don't really like all the innuendo stuff, but it does draw in listeners, and all of those listeners then hear my promos for the Jammers. Does it make you uncomfortable to listen to?" "Yes... it does," I agreed sourly. "Honey, it's all fake! There's nothing to be jealous about!" she pondered. Then a moment later, she added "Is this about the radio, or is this really about Marshall Jacobs?" "Not unless Marshall Jacobs is now 6'4" and white," I retorted. "6'4" and white..." her expression seemed to clearly indicate she was at a loss and was searching her memory for a match. "Johnny MILL??? You think I have a thing for Johnny Mill?" "What am I supposed to think? You're always laughing and giggling when you're around him. Once upon a time you used to laugh and giggle with me, too... but not anymore, it seems. I'm not even sure why you're around the practices all the time in the first place; what does that have to do with promotions? You even walk him to the door of the locker room, for crissakes. I'm just waiting for the day that you go in there with him." "Good God! If this is what you've been thinking, no wonder that you've been pulling away from me! Honey... PLEASE don't misinterpret things." she pleaded. "The only thing I feel for Johnny Mill is sympathy. His dad played in the Association, then took the money he earned and bought a farm. Johnny grew up in the middle of nowhere and went to a small school. He's has never lived in town of more than 10,000 people and he's completely overwhelmed living in the city. He's cute because he's totally clueless and naive. I've been trying to help him get used to playing to the pros, but also to city life and how to deal with street-wise teammates—like Marshall Jacobs. Johnny Mill is a good kid, but I assure you, I have NO romantic interest whatsoever in him whatsoever." "And yes, it IS my job to get to know the team," she continued. "Most of our promotions center on individual players, and appearances are coordinated through me. Sandy recommended that I get to know them personally, because it will make it much easier to get them cooperate with promotions if they know me. I admit I spend more time doing that than I would need to, but that's only because I really care about the team--you know that! "Honestly? That's all?" She kissed my cheek gently. "Absolutely, positively. Cross my heart. I love you, and I have absolutely no interest in anyone else." My face must have looked sad. "I'm sorry, honey. I guess I HAVE been getting paranoid. You mean so much to me... I feel like every man in the world wants you. I don't always feel like I'm man enough to keep you in the face of all that competition... " "Now you're just being ridiculous," she scolded. "There is no competition. My boyfriend, just so happens to OWN the basketball team I've loved since I was a little girl. There's 12 new Spirit girls every year; there's only ONE Davis Rutherford III! If anyone should be worried about being replaced, it's ME." "No one could ever replace you," I spouted like a sap. She kissed me. "What can I do to make you stop becoming paranoid every time another guy says hi to me?" "Well... I guess now that you've explained it, I understand why you can't be more demonstrative at work. But can you at least not be less affectionate with me than with every other person on the payroll?" She squeezed my arm. "Yes, I suppose I can do that. But I can't promise that I won't start kissing you if I do! If people figure it out and start talking, YOU'RE going up with me when I have to answer to your dad." "Deal," I agreed, "I don't think he meant that you'd be in trouble if people found out—I think he meant it was important that you prove yourself first. I think you've already done that." "Thank you. I hope so." "From what I've seen, you're doing a great job. But there's one more thing you could do that would make me feel a lot better." "What's that?" "Can you please have talk with Johnny Mill? Just to make sure he knows you HAVE a boyfriend? Because I don't think he does." "What do you mean?" she was genuinely perplexed. "You said yourself how he's kind of naive... well, from what I've seen, I think he's seriously got the hots for you. I should know; I've been there." She squeezed my hand, but asked "He never asked me if I had a boyfriend... why would he assume I didn't?" "Try to look at this like a guy would. A beautiful woman like you gets lots of unwanted attention, right? In order to avoid bad situations, you're usually proactive about telling guys that you're not interested. One of the first things Jenna told ME when I met her was about her boyfriend in Texas and she was not interested. That cleared the air and allowed us to become friends without any misunderstandings." "So?" "So I don't think that's the message Johnny Mill is getting. On the one hand, you've been very nice and outgoing to him, something that pretty girls don't usually do if they're not at least a little interested. On top of that you've never said you had a boyfriend, which he would expect you to have said early on if you had one. Thus, from the male point of view, the logical conclusion is that (a) you're available and (b) you're interested." She frowned, trying to understand the way that men viewed the world. "It's the same thing with the radio--maybe the DJs know better, but since you've never said on air that you had a boyfriend, most of the audience assumes you don't. I think that's why your web page gets so much traffic." She gave a tiny shudder."Well that would at least be one explanation. Lord knows I have had no clue as to why so many people check that page out. I'm not an employee of station or anything. And when they asked me to pose for some new promo pictures..." "What do you mean? You asked my Dad for permission to do it," I pointed out. "I didn't ask him if I could do it... I asked him if I had to do it. I was very uncomfortable with the whole idea. But I also knew it would generate a ton of traffic on the website, which in turn would generate more exposure for the team, and that IS my job. So if the team wanted me to do the shoot, I would have. But I was VERY concerned about how much just how much exposure the station had in mind for me. I was SO relieved when your dad told me I could tell them no." I kissed her. "I'm relieved too. I thought that you wanted to pose for them." "Why would I want to pose for suggestive pictures to be leered at by thousands of strangers?" I shrugged "I didn't know. That's part of what made me so paranoid." "The only person I want leering at me is you," she declared, and we kissed briefly. "I'm so glad that we cleared the air about all this... but this could have all been avoided if we had talked about it sooner, rather than letting it fester. Next time I do something you don't understand, please ask instead of assuming?" I nodded guiltily. "I'm sorry. You're right--that's exactly what I've been doing. I saw a lot of things I didn't understand, then just jumped to conclusions as to what I was seeing. I should have asked you to clarify them right away. I would have saved myself a lot of worry if I had. I promise I won't do it again." She kissed my cheek. "And while I still think you're wrong about Johnny Mill, I will be happy to make a point of mentioning that I have a boyfriend next time I see him." "Thank you. That would make me feel a LOT better." -------- Friday we were in the Garden for the first-round games of the tournament. One thing I hadn't thought of: while I was able to get Sam in for the early session, there were no tickets left for the evening. We watched two games, letting out around 5:00. Sam was kicking back, but with her well-fitting jeans lovingly hugging every curve just so and her black boots, she still looked incredibly hot. We had to vacate the arena between sessions, which was perfect because it gave us a chance to catch some dinner. While we were eating, we were discussing what we would do yet that night. "I talked to the concierge... he said the hottest dance club in the city right now is a place called Club 67. I thought maybe we'd give that a try," I suggested. "I'd love to check out a hot New York club--but I didn't pack any clothes for that." "You look great, sweetheart... those clothes won't fly?" She smiled condescendingly at my naiveté. "This is New York, honey. These clothes would work find back home--but not here. Unless you want to spend the night outside, standing in line and never getting in." I threw up my hands. "You obviously know more about these things than I do. I said if there was anything you didn't remember to pack, I'd buy it. Do you want to go shopping while I watch the first game of the late session." "Hmm, going shopping in New York... I suppose you could twist my arm about that," she kidded. "I wonder what would still be open?" We asked the waiter, and he suggested she head down to the big department store on Herald Square, that was open late. I was a little concerned about letting her go unescorted in New York, but she assured me she'd take cabs everywhere. We agreed to meet back at the hotel at 10. Sam was wearing her long coat against the autumn chill when I came for her, so I didn't see what her new club outfit looked like. I saw she was wearing a little beret-like hat, which looked great on her, and I knew she was wearing some sexy heels. She had picked up some tailored pants and a nice shirt for me, so I quickly changed and we headed downstairs to catch a cab. It wasn't very far to the club; aside from the velvet rope on the sidewalk, you might never have known it was there. Sam unbuttoned her coat as we strode up to the bouncer. "Hot?" I asked. She elbowed me in the ribs. "You've got to have the right look if you want them to let you in. I want them to see what I'm wearing." I saw now that the bouncer was eyeing her appreciatively as she approached. "Good evening ma'am," he said politely, and told her the cover charge. She nonchalantly reached for the cash, and indicated that I was with her. He gave me a quick once-over, then accepted cover charge for two. We got in. "I didn't realize that it was a privilege to pay outlandish cover charges to get in to a club," I whispered. "Shh," she hissed. "Most people never get past the doorman. Let's drop our coats and get inside." We went to the coat check, where we removed our coats and handed them to the girl working. That was the first time I saw what Sam was wearing. Oh my mother-fucking god! She was wearing a short, tight skirt that barely covered her ass over black thigh-high stockings. The fancy decorated tops of her thigh-highs were clearly visible, accentuated by the hemline of her skirt, which was exactly the right length to cover the bare thigh while showing almost all of the intricate lacework at the top of the stocking. Paired with this she wore a sleeveless shirt with a moderate neckline that was cropped a couple of inches short of her waist. She was the hottest thing I had ever seen. I didn't think it was possible that she could be hotter than in her Spirit uniforms, but while this didn't quite show as much belly, those thigh-highs with the sexy heels beat the shit out of those vanilla white dance team tennis shoes. Sam picked up our coat check receipts, turned to hand them to me, and found me frozen, staring with my mouth half-open. She quickly pressed the receipts into my hands and pulled me out of the main hallway before I embarrassed her. "What's the matter with you?" she hissed. "We're in a hopping place; don't stand there gaping like a hayseed!" "Can we go back to the hotel... like, right now?" I panted. She knitted her brow in confusion for a moment. Then she noticed my eyes drinking in the length of her body, figured out what was going on and frowned knowingly. "Ah, I get it... I take it you like my new outfit?" She held her arms out slightly at the sides and did a little half-turn like she was in a dressing room. I lunged to grab her, grabbing two handfuls of tight ass through the tiny skirt, grunting "not half as much as I want to tear it off you!" I moved to kiss her lustfully; with a giggle, she deftly turned her cheek to my kiss and squirmed free of my grasp. She held me at bay with one hand, then gave me quick, publicly-acceptable kiss. "Hold your horses Romeo. You need to wine me and dine me first. After that... we'll see. Now, let's go check out the club!" Before I could respond, Sam seized my hand and dragged me inside. I have to admit, the place was quite a sight to see. There weren't too many people there yet, but the dance floor was already moving to the non-stop bass. There was a main floor, with three levels of smaller, elevated dance floors rising up from it. In a separate booth along the mirrored back wall, a DJ seamlessly mixed one nondescript dance track into another so the beat never stopped. There were huge bars on either side of the floor, each at the base of a staircase that provided access to the two mezzanine floors above, each of which provided 360-degree views of the dance floor below. Red lights and lasers provided minimal illumination. "Wow... this place is awesome!" Sam marveled. "It is quite a scene." I was starting to notice some of patrons. A lot were kind of normal, but a few were clearly interested in being noticed. Some did so with skin; a number of girls wore less clothing than a the pictures in a lingerie catalog. Some went one step further with wild attire, feathers and boas and glitter like 70s glam-rockers. "Check that one out," I nodded towards a slender figure dancing in an outfit like a Vegas showgirl, complete with sky-high heels, two-foot-high headdress and an Adam's apple you could see from across the club. "Cool, the drag queens are here," she buzzed, "this must be the place to be." "OK," I agreed. I didn't know that drag queens were the ultimate authority on what was cool--but I had to admit, their dancing and histrionics did give the place a certain lively vibe. "Come on, let's grab a drink." "OK," she agreed. I motioned that she should lead. The bar area was raised three steps from dance floor level; Sam took up a position along the railing separating the two while I went to the bar. Even steeling myself that the drinks were going to be outrageously expensive I was still shocked by their cost, but at least they were decent sized and a sip quickly told me generously poured. I steered the drinks towards Sam--and found her waving two little pieces of paper towards me. "What's that?" I asked as I handed over her glass. She gave me the two slips of paper to hold. "Two free drinks!" "How'd you get them?" "I was just standing here, and this bouncer-guy came up and handed them to me," she explained with pleasant surprise. I nodded my head. "I bet. You've got the look they want. They want you to stick around," I commented. She shook her head in disbelief. "I don't think they really do that, do you?" "Of course they do. Look at that guy dancing on the riser--or is girl the appropriate term? Look at how much attention he helps keep the club pumping. I guarantee you, that guy can come here ever night and never spend a penny." "Oh sure," she agreed, "but look at her. I don't look anything like that." "No... you look better, because you don't look like a histrionic club junkie of uncertain gender. You're wearing something a normal person might wear, if that person was hotter than hell and lookin' for some action." "Dave, calm your hormones! I get that you like my outfit, but that doesn't mean every other guy in the place is going to react that same way." "No?" I challenged. Then I described to her three men standing around behind her, who I'd already noticed keep looking her direction. There were so many mirrors in the place, she was able to see who I was talking about without turning around. And I was increasingly aware that there were others. "OK, they're looking this way," she admitted after checking them out, "but that doesn't mean they're looking at me. We're surrounded by other girls." "Not anywhere near as worth looking at as you, honey. Want to give it a test?" "What do you mean?" "Kiss me—not just a peck on the cheek, a good one." I tipped my head towards the corner, where there was a woman and a man kissing that hadn't come up for air since I'd been there. The woman seemed to be balancing on one leg—I wondered if his dick wasn't actually whaling away inside her skirt, right here in the club. "It does seem that public displays of affection are acceptable here, so..." she wrapped her arms around me in the way I love, and we kissed deeply. I peeked over her shoulder once or twice, saw them see us... and then almost immediately walk away. When the kiss ended, I said "I liked that. And I was right—the second they saw us kiss, those three guys bailed and went somewhere else." She whipped around to see for herself, but there were now two gay guys in the spot where they had been standing. "That doesn't prove that they left because they saw us kissing." I then pointed out five or six other guys in the place that I had caught stealing glances at my honey. "OK, now you're starting to get ME paranoid. Let's go out on the dance floor, then at least people would have a reason to look." So I let her lead me out onto the floor. "Please help me out," I whispered, "tell me if I'm doing something that looks funny. Personally I don't care, but I don't want you to be embarrassed to be seen with me." "You're doing fine," she whispered back. "Just listen to the music and let it move you." What I did instead was watch whatever she did, and if it seemed like something I could do as a guy, and not a particularly graceful one at that, I did my best to copy it. After we'd been out on the floor for a while, a barely dressed club girl tapped on Sam's shoulder and talked with her for a moment. I saw her look at something, say something, then shake her head. The girl went away. "What was that all about?" "She was inviting me to come up and dance on one of the risers." "You didn't want to?" "She invited ME to dance up there—not necessarily you. So I told her I wasn't interested." I stopped dancing. "See. I told you I was embarrassing you..." Sam grabbed my hand and danced with it. "No, you don't embarrass me at all. Please? I'm really having a good time; we don't have clubs like this at home." "OK... but only because you're enjoying yourself." "Thank you honey," she cooed and stopped to kiss me right there on the floor. Then we started to dance again. "Besides, I don't think I want to dance up there. I'm starting to think you're right about all these men watching us." "Watching you," I corrected. "They'd be looking up your skirt if you were up there; maybe that's why they invited you." She gave me a funny look. "Take a look—there's ring of guys at the base of the thing now. They're not standing there because it's close to the bar." She turned and saw exactly what I was talking about. "So can I say 'I told you so' yet?" I kidded. The Spirit Girl Ch. 02 "No," she teased, "not until we get back to the hotel." ------ That turned out to be quite a memorable night. As the club got busier, people on the dance floor got packed closer together, which made it harder for onlookers to gape. Further, we both had plenty to drink; I asked her to get one of her freebies while I ran to the john, and discovered that as long as she went up by herself and asked for just one drink, they never charged her for it. So we just kept sharing drinks; I swear that outfit paid for itself in free drinks. It was 3am before we got back to the hotel, and that's when the real fun started. We got in the room and embraced in front of the bed. We started swaying gently, like we were slow dancing. "So," she purred in a soft, sultry voice, "what is it about these clothes that get you all worked up?" Her eyes were sparkling with devilish intentions. "Mmm how about everything? First there's this little neckline..." I kissed the side of her neck, and down the length of the neckline. She kept swaying gently, letting me kiss my way down. Her breasts were heaving gently as she breathed, right next to cheek. I let my cheek touch the shirt over her breast, then let my nose gently nuzzle it... "I have other shirts that have much lower necklines," she pointed out quietly. "That you do," I agreed, standing up and kissing her again. "But then there's also the matter of your lovely little belly ." Her eyes watched my face languidly while I ran my hand lovingly over the soft skin of her tight belly. The corners of her mouth curled up ever so slightly; not really smiling, but comfortable in the knowledge that I was truly enjoying the sensation of touching her body. She cocked her head to one side for a moment. "I have other shirts that show more of my belly." "Yes you do and might I add that I love every single one of them, . Most of the time where you wear them, though you're wearing athletic shoes, not sexy heels like those ." She lifted one leg slightly behind her, glancing over her shoulder to look at the shoes. "I do like the shoes. But I wear heels to work every day..." "Yes you do, and I love every single one of THEM, too . But when you're at work, you don't ever wear a skirt that's quite so short or tight ." My hands found my way down to her ass, where I grabbed both cheeks firmly in my hands. This time, she didn't stop me. "I've got other skirts kind of like this," she protested. "But I suppose you've never seen me wear them . I wore that kind of stuff more when I was younger." "You're welcome to wear them any time ... at home. I don't think they'd be appropriate for work ." She flashed her eyebrows at me. "Definitely not . But you still haven't explained what's so special about this outfit." "Well, , we haven't talked about the best part yet. And that is these thigh-high stockings..." I let one hand wander down, and stroke the smooth stocking of her thigh. "That is something new for me. The salesgirl had to talk me into them ." "I'll have to write that girl a personal thank-you note ." "what is it you like so much about them?" "Well, for starters, it's the lace at the top. You're supposed to see it, or else why wear thigh-highs? But it FEELS like you're NOT supposed to see it. It feels naughty... like you're wearing a skirt that's shorter than you're supposed to." I was now running my fingers along the delicate lacework, right at the edge of her skirt. She knitted her brow, pretending to be thinking about a deep philosophical question. "So they're sexy... because it feels like you're looking at something you're not supposed to?" "More than that ... you also know that they end j-u-s-t a little past what you can see. And you know that above that there is nothing but bare thigh." As I spoke, I slipped my hand along the inside of her thigh, up under her skirt, until I was touching the bare skin at the top. "Yes... that's true," she said mildly, but her face communicated readiness to get nasty. "And when your hand is touching that bare thigh... you can feel the warmth of that special place..." I slipped my hand all the way up the thigh to the crotch, and was now touching her thong. She closed her eyes for a moment and I felt her hip grind slightly as my fingers gently teased her most sensitive areas. "What else do you feel?" she purred. "Your underwear feels... a bit moist," I observed. Indeed, the thin fabric of her thong was damp like it had been pulled from the dryer halfway through its cycle. "You should see how it feels inside them." "I think that's a wonderful idea," I agreed, pulling the fabric aside and touching her slit. She bit her lip and her hips ground again as my fingers gently touched her labia. Her pussy was quite warm and wet; it seemed our little sexy talk was getting her motor running quite effectively. I probed gently, and found my fingers had no difficulty penetrating into her boiling depths. She closed her eyes again, ground her hips, and knitted her brow with a grunt of exquisite pleasure. Her pussy wanted me to touch it--wanted me to touch it very much. With two fingers slipping in and out of her pussy, my thumb now rubbing her engorged clit and Sam's hips grinding against my hand, she tried to finish the conversation. "So... you like... the thigh highs because... you keep thinking about... what's right above them? " "Oh, that's not all," I added, trying to sound suave. I LOVED it when Sam wanted me like this. "Thigh highs also offer other possibilities." "Oh?" "Yes," I agreed... and caught her by complete surprise, toppling her onto the bed. But I didn't fall on top of her; rather, I knelt at the foot of the bed, and positioned her hips right at the edge. Like the raising of a curtain, I dramatically lifted her skirt up to her hips. She helpfully bent her knees and lifted her black-clad legs high and to the sides. With a slight, gentle adjustment, the thong was secured off the side where it wouldn't interfere. Then I pressed my face between her thighs and began to lick her already excited pussy. she moaned, and I lovingly lapped her love dew, tasting every surface of her most private area. I tickled the clit with my tongue, I licked the inside of the labia--I even managed to penetrate my tongue into her vagina a ways. She was absolutely delicious. I felt her move, which I had anticipated--I knew she would want to be giving as well as receiving pleasure. But not tonight, at least not yet. I wanted to taste and tease her until she climaxed--and then we could consider the next step. So when she moved, I held firm. I had great leverage over her hips, so she would have had to really fight to get free of me--and had no interest in doing so. I did, however, reach my hand upwards, feeling for her face. She let me touch her face, then she kissed my finger--and then she sucked it. Oh god... she sucked it with a vengeance. Even though it was just my finger, I could just picture her working it--my already hard dick jumped in response. I felt her hands fall away even as she continued to simulate sucking on my finger. I sensed she was doing something--my face was glued to her pussy, so I could feel any move she made. I had no idea what until I felt her hand touch mine again. She sucked the finger a little more, then she rested my hand on her chest and slowly guided it along her skin. I felt the landscape rise slightly, and then I felt her magnificent, extra-large nipple. She had somehow exposed her breasts, and now had guided my eager fingers over to find them. I wasted no time in tweaking the mini-monuments in my fingers, firmly but not rough. I did it entirely by touch, because my face was buried in Sam's thighs and not going anywhere until the job was done. The bucking in Sam's hips grew stronger as her excitement built. She put one leg back on the floor while hooking her other heel onto the edge of the bed. This gave her leverage to satisfy her need to grind her hips while still being able to splay her legs widely to provide me with access. The bucking of her hips got so strong she kept bumping into my face, but I kept chasing that moving target and licking it every time I caught up with it. My fingers, meanwhile, were squeezing the nipples. Her moaning grew louder, It felt so close, but it continued to elude me for a few more minutes. But I refused to give up. All at once I found an angle where I could hold my face that would allow me to keep licking her pussy almost regardless of how her bucking hips decided to go. With my newfound ability to apply continuous stimulation, I was finally able to push her over the crest of pleasure mountain. First, her bucking hips stopped, and indeed her legs seemed to lock into position, stabilizing for the coming tremors. Her entire body then rocked with a series of little earthquakes. The entire bed seemed to shake from the intensity of her orgasm. It one of my better pieces of work. With mission accomplished, I finally let Sam escape from my grasp. She was on my like lightning; joining me on the floor, kissing me intensely. The fact that my face was glazed in her juices seemed to make her kisses even more passionate. Then she pushed me down right there on the floor, and in a flash had my penis free from my new pants. All the intensity that her orgasm had created was now directed to the task of pleasuring my penis with her mouth. Her lips wrapped around me, her tongue pleasured me. She stretched her neck, trying to force my penis as deeply into mouth as her throat would permit. And she was relentless. No slow licking or pauses for breath this time; she was sucking for keeps. I noticed that she was holding my penis steady with one hand, but the other was between her own thighs, rubbing herself, exciting herself as she blew me. I'd never seen her do that before, but this was probably the most positively horny I'd ever seen her. It was awesome! Just as I'd done to her, she had my hips pinned to the ground, a willing captive to her insistence on pleasuring me. She was sucking unbelievably intensely, unbelievably amazingly... I had held her down until she came, and now she was returning the favor. "Oh my god... I'm gonna cum!" I warned, giving her a chance to move the howitzer to some other quarter before it exploded. Instead, she sucked even faster, coaxing the sperm from my balls. "Oh!" I cried out, but by then it was too late to stop. Sam laid her tongue along the bottom of my prick and held me between her lips while I filled her mouth with goo. She waited until the last spasm of orgasm was over, then carefully slurped her lips clear of my dick, careful not to spill a drop, and swallowed my load. She sat up; I sat up too, and we exchanged tongues right there on the floor. I didn't care if her mouth was still salty, it was my fault for that anyway. We sat there kissing until I was ready to go with round two. We slipped off to the bedroom. I stripped and she pulled her thong off, but otherwise she lay in the middle of the bed, thoughtfully leaving her other clothes on. They really accentuated her sexiness, and with her skirt pulled up, thigh-highs and shirt open and pushed aside, there was nothing that I didn't have complete access to anyway. Our lips met, our genitals intertwined, and we made love late into the night. We did sleep eventually, but we were up so late that we barely got out of the hotel by checkout time. A tired Sam slept on my shoulder on the plane all the way home. It felt wonderful. ------- Back at work, I tried one last time to talk to Red about all the unnecessary travel, but he was still wanting to send me all over the place. So I went to talk to Dad, who took care of the problem by framing it as an expense issue and cutting Red's travel budget. Then on Sam's Wednesday morning radio slot, she slipped in a mention that she had spent the weekend in New York with her boyfriend. She spent the rest of the show being grilled about me, but she skillfully deflected anything too personal, and I felt better now that the city knew. The team was just back in town and had a practice scheduled that afternoon; I hoped she would also nab Johnny Mill. Late in the afternoon, Sam came into my office looking upset. She never came to visit me at work. She closed the door behind her as she came in. I could tell right away something was wrong. "I feel terrible. I feel like such a bad person..." she moaned vaguely. "Whoa, whoa, whoa—you're definitely not a bad person. What happened?" She frowned guilty-like. "I did what you asked me to—I ran into Johnny Mill, asked him how the road trip was, then it was easy enough to mention that I'd gone to New York with my boyfriend on the weekend. The look on his face... he was so... crestfallen. He tried to play it cool, but I could see it in his eyes, he was really hurt and disappointed. I can't believe it—you were totally right! He must have thought I was interested in him—he's probably been working up the nerve to ask me out! I feel terrible—it's all my fault. I've been leading him on all this time, and I didn't even know it..." "Now honey, stop blaming yourself. You can't lead someone on without knowing it; that contradicts the definition of 'leading on.' He assumed you were single because he wanted to believe you were single; all he would have needed to do was ask, right?" She nodded. "Look at it this way--think how much harder it would have been if he'd gotten so far as to work up the nerve to ask you out, and then you told him you had a boyfriend." She nodded again "I suppose." "Honey, you really don't appreciate just how desirable you are in the eyes of a man. Yes, all you're doing is being nice to them--but they will read unintended things into it because they want so badly for it to be true. If you want to avoid misunderstandings, just be up front about it. That's what Jenna did with me--the first time I met you guys at the bar, she told me she had a boyfriend and wasn't interested. Because of that, we could become friends without any misunderstanding." She nodded with a sigh. "I never understood why Jenna made such a point of that early in a conversation. Maybe now I do." She snorted a half-laugh. "Maybe I need to get a button made up that says 'I have a boyfriend' and wear it all the time." "That's going overboard," I replied, "just remember that in the absence of information to the contrary, most guys will assume you're available." She sighed and nodded. I kissed her, and she went back to work. But I went back to my desk and sat there thinking for a long time. Maybe she does need a sign... but not that kind of sign. Jenna had said something once about how much less she got hit on once she started wearing a ring. It was just about a year ago when I met Sam, and only about nine months that we'd been dating. Plus we were both just 22. On both counts, it seemed a little early to be thinking in terms of long-term commitments. On the other hand, what was I waiting for? I was convinced that Sam was the girl for me; hell, last summer even my grandfather had commented that it was like she was born to be part of the family. Did it make any sense to hold off on declaring my undying love for Sam because of a calendar? It seemed like it might solve so many problems--there'd be fewer misunderstandings, she probably wouldn't have to be so secretive about our relationship with staff... But there was one big problem that wasn't resolved. If I asked Samantha to marry me, would she say yes? I called Jenna the following day and asked her opinion. She shrieked with delight. "Dave, I'm telling you, Sam loves you. I think she feels the same about you that I did for my fiancée--I would be shocked if she didn't accept." "I hope you're right," I agreed, getting more nervous as the possibility became more real. "When would you propose?" she asked excitedly. "I don't know. Christmas is too soon--besides, I want to get her dad's permission when we're there for Christmas." "Valentine's Day is a popular choice," she suggested. "The Jammers have a home game on Valentine's day this year... I seem to recall Sam has some big promotion going on..." I pulled up the events page on the website. "Oh... well now doesn't this seem appropriate... she's running a Valentine's promotion where people can sign up and propose on the jumbotron. Couples that do get a free night at a romantic getaway suite, and one couple will win a trip to Vegas." "That would be perfect, only you can't very well surprise her if she's running the promotion," Jenna noted. "No, you're right," I agreed. "I would need some way to tack on to it somehow--just when she thinks it's the last couple, I propose to her. But how could I accomplish that?" Then Jenna had an idea, which led to another, and then another, and in ten minutes we came up with a plan that would be truly memorable. It was so good, in fact, that Jenna insisted on flying in just to see it. She wasn't going to miss this for the world. ------- As the calendar turned over to a New Year, the Jammers started playing better. Johnny Mill got better on defense, while Stanley Jefferson and Marshall Jacobs rediscovered their games. But the big difference was Ephriam McAllister. Conventional wisdom was that he wasn't big enough to play center in the pros, but when Luke Harvey went the bench in foul trouble (again) and his backup got hurt, we were desperate for someone to log some minutes in the middle and McAllister was the choice. To everyone's surprise, especially the coach, he outplayed either of the guys ahead of him. Yes, he was giving up height to every other center in the league, but he had a center's instincts; he knew when to play inside his man and when to play out, so he wasn't caught out of position and having to foul like Harvey. He wasn't going to block a lot of shots, but his quick hands denied a surprising number of entry passes. And everyone underestimated his upper body strength; the big concern was that taller centers could leverage their height and push him around, but he was strong enough to neutralize the disadvantage and hold his own. He was even something of an offensive threat; rather than having to rely on dunks, he had a quick hook shot he could drop over the top of taller defenders in close. Soon McAllister was starting, and the team started winning a lot more games. To his credit, Red Callahan realized that times were changing, and suddenly wanted to learn everything he could about statistics. But while it was exciting to see the team improve, all I could really think about was Valentine's day. When February 14th finally came around, I was shaking like a leaf. Work seemed to take forever that day, and waiting around for the game to start afterwards felt like torture. A lot of planning had gone into this--and so far, Sam still had no idea. Sam, Jenna and I had dinner before the game--as far as Sam knew, Jenna was just in for a routine visit home. It was a damn good thing she was there, because she carried the conversation nonchalantly all through dinner, while my mouth was dry as the Sahara. At six Sam left, having a lot of things to arrange for the 13 couples she knew were going to be proposing on the big scoreboard. She made a comment at one point that it was too bad there wasn't one more, so that it would match the date. Little did she know. For the first quarter I sat in the box with grandfather, who had come up from Florida. I had told him that there was going to be a surprise at the February 14 game; that's all he needed to hear. Jenna sat with me, trying to keep me calm before my big moment. Sam didn't know but her mom and dad were in the audience too; I had sent them two tickets and suggested there might be a surprise at halftime. Knowing they'd secretly given me their blessing to marry their daughter, they came to the game.