Score (Skin in the Game Book 1) (7 page)

It was the perfect plan. Not only would it get Renee off my back, but it would also keep other girls from sniffing around so I could concentrate on getting my knee back in shape. I needed to get back on the field ASAP, and this could only help.

And Bee. More Bee,
my subconscious reminded me.

I gave her my pleading, puppy dog eyes in the dim glow of the emergency lights. That look had the power to turn most girls to jelly. But she stared me down and I felt my own limbs gumming up. This was Bee. Bee was different.

Maybe I’d just stunned her speechless, because she stared at me, arms crossed, mouth slightly open, sucking air like a guppy out of water.

“What is Bee short for?” I asked her. Out of the blue, maybe, but I really wanted to know.

She didn’t answer right away. I’d just about assumed it was one of those secrets she’d take to the grave when she muttered, “Belinda.”

Belinda.

I liked it.

But she hadn’t accepted my proposal yet. “Yet” being the operative word. Because, turned out, Renee wasn’t the only one who didn’t like taking no for an answer when she wanted something.

And I wanted this.

Bad.

I
didn’t know much
, but up until that moment, there were two things I’d always prided myself on being sure of.

One: I’d never date a football player.

And two: I’d sooner set myself on fire than let anyone bamboozle me the way my mom had been bamboozled by my dad.

But apparently all Cal had to do was give me this look, this utterly pathetic, hopeful look, and everything I ever knew or believed was smashed to smithereens in point-two seconds.

I felt hot all over, like I was melting into a puddle of goo at the idea of even pretending to be with Cal.

“Belinda Mitchell,” he said, testing it out in the darkness.

We’d been sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the therapy bench, so close that his arm occasionally brushed mine. Every time that happened, sparks shot down my spine and goosebumps sprouted everywhere. I was so afraid he’d see them that I’d had to scramble away from him.

“I’ve never known a Belinda before. Nice.”

“Well, I hate it,” I grumbled. “It was my dad’s idea. Makes me think of a plump granny or a cartoon fairy godmother.”

“Belinda. Belinda. Belinda.” He tested it more. “No. It’s definitely a good name.”

I laughed self-consciously. The truth was, he said it in a way I’d never heard before. He took his time with the N sound, letting it roll off his tongue in a way that sounded almost sexy. It made my whole body buzz.

Mayday, mayday. The USS Bee, going down in flames.

“Nobody calls me that,” I murmured, rubbing those stubborn goosebumps from my arms. “Not even my dad. When I was twelve, he told me he hated my name. He’s always doing that; being impulsive and having buyer’s remorse. I bet he changed his mind the second the ink on the birth certificate dried.”

Cal let out a harsh laugh. “That’s all the more reason to own it, right? Scream it from the rooftops.”

I nodded slowly. Actually, that made sense. For a guy who claimed he had the IQ of a donkey, he seemed pretty smart to me.

But his idea that I could fill in as his girlfriend?

That
was
dumb.

Dumb, ridiculous, outlandish, and yet…it had my pulse revving like a motor.

“It won’t work, you know,” I said, mostly to shut down my brain. My stupid, preteen brain, which was urging me to jump into his lap at this proposition, like some grateful rescue dog. “Me pretending to be your girl.”

He crossed his arms and frowned. “Why wouldn’t it?”

“Because…” I said, pausing to give him a chance to fill in the blank with the obvious.

He raised his eyebrows, clueless.

Great, he was going to make me say it out loud?

I gritted my teeth, forcing the words out past the humiliation. “Because no one would believe it. I’m me. And you’re…” I waved my hands in the general direction of all his godly manliness. “You. We’re a total one-eighty.”

He rubbed at his chin as he eyed me thoughtfully. “No, we’re not. We have lots of things in common.”

“Like?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “We both have asshole dads, remember?”

I nodded. Funny, he was the only person on earth who had accepted me at my word on that score, and it made me feel better than it should’ve. People always made concessions for my father. Sure, he drinks a lot,
but
… Sure, he can’t keep his dick in his pants,
but
… They gave him a free pass for just about everything. As if the fact that he could palm a fucking ball and run with it outweighed the emotional trauma he’d inflicted on his family.

Not Cal, though. He just got it. Maybe his asshole dad had been the same way. I wanted to ask him about it. Find out more about him and his life and his family.

But I had no right. If he wanted me to know, he’d tell me. And he wouldn’t, because no matter what happened here today, I wasn’t his real girlfriend and never would be.

“That’s one thing in common. Hardly a strong enough foundation to build a fake relationship on,” I joked, toying with my shoelaces and swallowing back the sudden tightness in my throat.

He crumpled the candy wrapper in his hands and deep-sixed it in the trashcan across the room. “We both like Snickers. And Pop-Tarts.”

I had to smile. As much as I hated to admit it, I liked being around Cal. After the party on Saturday, I’d replayed that kiss over and over again in my mind. But it wasn’t just the kiss. I couldn’t stop remembering the way he’d looked at me on the dance floor.

Part of me wanted to roll the dice. Take a risk. Do something wild and crazy for once. And that was the part that was scaring me most. Because this could only end in heartache for me.

Suddenly, something behind the walls banged, and the lights flickered on. The loudspeaker crackled again, and a voice came booming through the intercom.

“The lockdown order has been lifted. All power lines are clear. Thank you for your cooperation.”

Some sad, broken part of me thought maybe Cal would look at me in the light and realize what a horrible mistake he’d made. Instead, he rubbed his hands together, eyes alight with something like anticipation.

“Why don’t you meet me at Buddies tonight? Or, even better, I’ll pick you up. A bunch of us watch Monday Night Football there. We’ll eat, play a little pool. Test it out. See if we can pull it off.”

I cringed at the thought of being scrutinized by all his football buddies. A week ago, I could’ve said with certainty that I’d rather face a firing squad than be stuck in a room full of jocks during my leisure time. Now, I could feel the “
yes”
poised at the tip of my tongue, ready to make an escape.

“Say it, Bee. Say yes,” he urged, his handsome face solemn.

Oh, my God, what the hell was I doing? Terrified, I shook my head.

“Yes. No. Wait. I mean, what’s in it for me?” I said, stalling for time more than anything.

“If you decide to be my fake girlfriend?” He shrugged, brow knitting in thought. “Other than the pleasure of my company? I don’t know. You’ll have an in at all the coolest parties at school.”

I spun a finger in the air and deadpanned, “Woo hoo.”

“All right, all right. I’ll buy you a semester’s worth of Pop-Tarts.”

I smiled until I realized he was probably recalling the image of me flat on my ass in the slush with those crumbs on my chin. What a sexy beast I was. I felt my face growing hot again, so I started to put away my things. “You realize I eat Pop-Tarts for nearly every meal? So that’s like, fifty boxes?”

“Done.”

He offered me his hand, and we shook. Though I could feel the calluses on his palms from weightlifting, his hand felt nice and warm.

“It’s a date. I’ll pick you up at seven,” he said as I swung my bag over my shoulder.

“See you,” I said, trying to be casual.

But the casual routine only worked until he said, “Bye, Belinda,” with that long N.

My whole body turned into a shuddery mess as I stepped outside.

I checked my phone. It was almost five o’clock. He was going to pick me up at the house in just a couple hours.

For a date.

Okay, not a
date
date. All of his friends would probably take one look at me and tell Cal to get out of town. Like they’d ever believe boring, plain Jane Bee Mitchell would catch the eye of someone like Cal? Maybe it would be total humiliation.

Likely
it would be total humiliation.

And yet the stupid preteen part of my brain couldn’t stop those girly fantasies from ping-ponging around my head. Cal coming to our “date” with flowers. Cal offering me his hooked arm and strolling me down the street, maybe throwing down his sweatshirt if there was a puddle I needed to cross. Cal kissing me again.

Mostly Cal kissing me again.

I floated back to the sorority house in a daze. I’m not sure if it was icy because my feet didn’t even touch the ground.

The second I got back inside and took a look at some of my sisters, though, reality set back in. They were all just hanging out in the common room, no make-up, in yoga pants and messy top-knots, half-studying and half-watching
Mom at Sixteen.

And every one of them looked gorgeous.

These
were the type of girls guys like Cal went for. The thought made my stomach turn.

I tugged out my phone to text Cal before I could change my mind.
Sorry, something’s come up. If Quasimodo goes out there’ll be no one to mind the bell tower.
My finger was hovered over the
send
button when someone hip-checked me as I stood in the hallway.

I looked up. Flora.

“Hey you. What’s up?”

“Hi.” I dove forward and grabbed her like I hadn’t seen another living person in years and hugged her tight. I felt like I was going to cry. Or barf. Or both.

“Oh, Lordy. You must have just gotten back from PT. Am I right?”

I nodded as I pulled away. “Uh. Why?”

“Because lately you always look like you’re going to throw up whenever you get back from being with Cal.”

Great. That’s just what men love. A girl who looks like she’s going to ruin their shoes.

I hung my head in misery as we climbed the stairs to our bedroom, arm in arm. She closed the door and looked at me pointedly.

“Spill.”

I threw down my backpack. “I don’t have time to spill. I’m…holy cow, Flora. Cal’s coming to pick me up in two hours unless I chicken out.”

Her jaw dropped.

“It’s not a date or anything,” I explained quickly. “Just watching football at Buddies with his friends.”

Flora squinted at me. “That sounds like a date.”

“No, no, no. He’s still a football player, remember? But we’re friends. Kind of. And that psycho ex is constantly on his case, so he asked me to come along. He said the only time he was able to keep her away was when he was with me.” I ran to my drawers and started riffling through them, head down, so she wouldn’t be able to see any trace of the stupid preteen fantasies that had filled my head on the way home. I pulled out a sweater and inspected it. That would do.

“Screw that,” Flora growled.

I looked up and realized Flora was in her closet, pulling things out. She yanked out this tight red dress and grinned triumphantly at me.

I stared at her in horror. “I hope you’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting. Since when have I—”

“Never. And that’s the problem. Your entire wardrobe is beige, did you know that? If you always dress for anonymity, how do you expect to be anything other than anonymous?”

I touched the silky fabric of the dress. It was tiny, and stretchy, and would likely show off so much cleavage, I might blind a person. I remembered what Cal said about not going overboard with the affection shit. Part of me wondered what, exactly, would make him want to bestow on me
affection shit.
An outfit like that?

I shoved aside the rising sense of excitement at the thought and fought to be sensible. “But I like dressing my way. It’s comfortable.”

“Listen, girl,” she said, reaching into my hair and pulling out my hair tie. “You need to step out of your comfort zone every once in a while. Women will treat you like a doormat if you dress like one. If you’re going to be Cal’s bodyguard and keep women away from him, you need to look like you can handle your business.”

“Oh, no, I don’t need to.” Flora’s makeovers were legendary, but I’ve never aspired to be a legend. And I doubted she had the magic potion in her Sephora bag to make Bee Mitchell look like a girl who actually belonged with Cal. “Like I said, it’s just—”

“Trust me. We all have our gifts, Bee, and this is mine. Let me do what I do.” She pointed her chin toward the door and tossed the dress on my bed. “Go shower up. We haven’t a second to lose. I’m going to make you a
stah, dahling.
”

I snorted as I grabbed my robe and shower caddy. “Really, it’s just Buddies. You don’t have to—”

She rubbed her hands together and laughed maniacally. “Oh, yes I do. And you’re going to thank me for this.”

Somehow, I doubted it, but I couldn’t help imagining the look on Cal’s face if Flora did pull it off.

And as I headed toward the shower, I found myself whistling.

I
’d asked
Bee Mitchell to be my fake girlfriend.

I still wasn’t sure what had gotten into me. There was almost zero chance I was going to run into Renee that night, especially if she’d stuck to her plan to stay in bed, waiting for me to go over there.

So why did I have to convince Bee to come?

That question had dogged me for the next couple hours and the answer I kept coming back to was, it just felt right. I probably could’ve gotten a half-dozen girls at Buddies lined up to go back to my apartment, but every single one of them would’ve wanted to be with me because I was Cal Samskevitch, first-string wide receiver.

Bee was the first girl who seemed to like me
despite
that.

So what if all the typical Barbie Doll Kappas didn’t think she was cool? So what if all the guys would probably give me shit for being seen with the girl who knew about as much about how to use a mascara wand as I did?

Fuck ‘em. I needed to do this. I
wanted
to do this. Because even with all the shit going on with my knee, being with Bee made me feel alive.

It was bitter cold that night as I stuffed my hands in the pockets of my hooded sweatshirt and made my way to the Kappa house. I’d walked this way dozens of times to drop off girls on sorority row, but this time felt like the first time.

When I got to the stairs, I paused at the bottom. The snow was piled around the two sturdy brick posts outside the front stoop, and the stairs glistened with what was likely ice. I was standing there with a grin, remembering Bee and her butt-slide down the front steps, when the door opened.

A girl stepped onto the porch in a hot pink coat. Her hair was all loose, dark curls, her lips were like cherries, and she had on these high-heel boots that went all the way up to her knees. Definitely the kind of girl all my buddies would flip over.

She stood there, staring at me with these dark, heavy-lidded eyes and I reminded my cock to mind its manners. I was here for Bee.

Then she looked down at the staircase, and she bit that cherry-red lower lip of hers.

And I nearly came undone.

My body moved of its own volition, almost as if it realized what was happening before my brain did. I bridged the distance between us in record time and hooked my arm onto hers before those lethal boots could have their way with her.

She looked even better up close, and she smelled every bit as sweet as she looked. God damn, she smelled like cake, like something I wanted to take a bite of. My mouth moved to form words but nothing came out.

Finally, one did.

“Bee?”

She gave me a
duh
look.

Ah. There was the Bee I knew and loved.

I helped her down the stairs to the slushy sidewalk and she said, “The heels were definitely a mistake.”

“No,” I said honestly. Because
damn
. “You look really great.”

Massive understatement. Her body was sheer perfection, dangerous curves ahead, and it was everything I could do not to stare.

She rolled her eyes. “I told Flora what I was helping you with and she said that if you wanted to keep girls off you, I needed to pull out the big guns. Apparently, she thinks you’re pretty hot stuff and women would knock me over to get to you if I’d just showed up looking like myself.”

I let out a short laugh. “I like when you look like yourself too, you know.”

Her cheeks went a pretty shade of pink. “Yeah, well, Flora wasn’t about to let that happen. She lives to give makeovers.”

I hadn’t said much as we walked down the street since my tongue wanted to do nothing but wag at her, like a Labrador’s.

“So, sorry if this is a little overboard for pool at Buddies,” she chattered. “Flora gets carried away sometimes. But I’ll have you know I did draw the line. She wanted to put fake eyelashes on me.”

She shuddered and removed her arm from mine, then brought her hands up to her eyes and waved her fingers at me, miming gigantic eyelashes. She lowered her voice and growled
, “Hi, Cal, do you like my makeover?”

I started to laugh, but a second later she took a step and nearly ended up on her backside again. She shrieked, but I grabbed her around the waist, just in time, and lifted her against me. Her tits grazed my chest and her hip rubbed against my cock.

Then we just stood on the sidewalk, eyes locked on each other.

I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to pick her up and take her back to her Kappa bed and forget going out at all.

But she looked away first, doing a number on her lower lip again. “Do you think we’ll get there in one piece, at this rate?”

I took her cue and stepped back.

“I’ll hang onto you tight so you don’t fall.”

We made it to the bar with minimal conversation—from me, at least. Bee talked a mile a minute, and asked me what was wrong a couple times, but hell if I knew. She looked phenomenal, so I should’ve been glad.

Instead, the closer we got to the place, the more I wished I’d never mentioned going there at all. The feeling increased a thousand-fold when I helped her take off her coat.

Holy shit. She was wearing this red dress that literally made me crazy. Part of me wanted her to cover up. Part of me wanted to bend her over the bar and take her right there. Slim waist, full ass, she could’ve been a 1950’s pin-up model. The milky skin of her tits on full display, hinting at nothing but gorgeousness underneath.

And all these guys were getting to see it too.

I wanted to tell her something suave. Something that would get her wanting to be alone with me. I leaned in toward her ear to whisper it when she suddenly waved across the bar.

“Hey, aren’t those your friends?”

I turned to where she was gesturing and saw she was right. They were all hanging out by the pool table. Weber, Johnson, Andrews, and a couple of sorority girls. My stomach clenched as I realized they were all staring at Bee. And each one of them looked like the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood. Licking their chops, eyes narrowing in on their prey.

And Bee?

She just smiled at them.

Since she hadn’t been properly introduced to any of them at the D-Phi party, I grudgingly made the introductions. Instead of dismissing her the way they had before, Weber asked her name twice, so he wouldn’t forget it. Andrews kissed her hand. Johnson jumped off his barstool and offered it to her, then asked her if she wanted a drink.

I went from chill to heated on a dime. “Take it easy,” I said to Johnson, because no way in hell was I going to let him buy her the first drink. “I’ll get this round.”

I went up to the bar and ordered seven Dos Equis. Then I leaned there, taking deep breaths and hoping to catch back that zen feeling I’d had only a few moments before.

But then I caught sight of Bee in the mirror behind the bottles of liquor. She was chatting with Johnson and Andrews. She hopped off of the stool, and Andrews took her hand. I tamped down a hot stab of jealousy and took a long swig from my beer. Then I turned around and saw Andrews up behind Bee. She had a pool cue in her hands and he had his arms wrapped around her, trying to show her how to make the shot.

His hands were all over her, his cock practically nestled in the crack of her ass, no doubt on purpose.

Rage flowed through me, unchecked this time, as I tried to think of what to do.

Bee was smart. Surely, she’d realize right then what a sleaze he was. She’d tell him off, maybe even want to leave.

Leave with
me
.

But then I looked at her face. She was smiling.

I walked up to them with Bee’s beer in hand and gave my boys all a tight smile.

“Your beers are over there, guys.”

Sub-text:
So go get them and get the hell away from her.

Andrews looked at me. He still had one hand planted firmly on Bee’s hip, and she didn’t even seem close to swatting it away.

“Bee told me you two are together. I didn’t realize it was like that.”

I took another swig of my beer, my eyes still locked on his hand, on her fucking waist, so comfortable there.

“That’s right,” I said coolly. I raised my gaze to meet Bee’s. “We’ve been seeing each other since the day we met. Although, if I recall, Bee, you were a lot less quick to smile that day.”

She shrugged. “Well, Cal, I seem to remember that I’d just fallen down a flight of stairs, and all you did was laugh at me.” She laid the pool cue on the side of the table and crossed her arms, the grin on her glossy lips never dimming.

Andrews and the other guys chorused an
oooooh.
Weber appeared beside me.

“Whoa, you did that, man? That’s cold.” He turned to Bee and laid a hand on his heart in promise. “I would never do that to you, shorty.”

Weber, the fucking guy who had my spot on the field since my injury. Now he was flirting with my girl?

I’d wanted to punch him a bunch of times before, but never so much as now. I clenched my fist and tried to talk myself down. Where was this white-hot anger coming from, anyway? These guys were my brothers, my team, and they were always ribbing me about shit and vice versa. I should’ve been able to take it.

Johnson said, “Yeah, what, is chivalry dead in the Samskevitch family?”

Andrews laughed. “He doesn’t need chivalry. The girls drop their panties for him regardless of how much of an asshole he’s being. Me, on the other hand?” He took Bee by the wrist and held her arm aloft to inspect her from head to toe. “I would never laugh at a beautiful woman like you.”

Bee blinked, then looked at me, that familiar blush slinking across her cheeks. My jaw clenched, but now my fury had swung toward Andrews. The rest of the guys were yanking my chain, but Andrews? That motherfucker would set the bro-code on fire for a chance to get in bed with Bee if he thought he had a shot.

Not fucking going to happen.

I took her by the arm Andrews had been holding and guided her toward me. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies,” I said to the guys. “My girlfriend and I need some alone time.”

No sooner had I pulled her away than she whispered, “Wow, is that true? Do girls drop their panties for you all the time even if you’re an asshole?”

Thanks, Andrews, you dickhead
.

I exhaled slowly. “No. And what the fuck were you doing over there?”

She shrugged innocently. “I don’t know. I was just trying to make friends with your friends. Was that wrong?”

I grabbed the darts from the dartboard on the wall, stood back, and started to throw. Every one of my throws was way off. No shock there, considering how tense I felt. “They’re football players, you know. Like me? Like your dad? We’re all assholes, right? Didn’t seem to stop you from getting pretty chummy with them.”

After I’d thrown all the darts, I glanced over at her. She was looking at me like I had an alien coming out of my mouth.

“This whole thing was your idea. I thought as long as I was pretending to be your girlfriend, I should pretend to like football players, too,” she snapped. “You know, since you
are
one.”

She had me there. But I guess I hadn’t known she would be so good at pretending to be something she wasn’t. I didn’t like it one bit. The thing I’d liked most about her in the first place was how genuine she was. What you saw was what you got. And now--

“I do it all the time, with my dad,” she said softly, cutting off my train of thought.

“Pretend to like him. Mostly for my mom’s sake.” She started to bite on that cherry red lip of hers, and one look at that familiar gesture made all the rage inside me evaporate.

She’d literally done nothing wrong. I was pissed because I wasn’t used to these feelings bubbling up inside me and I was taking it out on her.

I blew out a sigh and nodded. “I’m sorry you feel like you have to do that. And I’m even more sorry for acting like a dick. You were doing exactly right, it just surprised me is all. And you look so great…”

I trailed off, not wanting to reveal too much. I’d told myself this was just supposed to be a way to keep Renee off my back. Spending a little more time with Bee was a bonus. But now? I knew I’d been fooling myself. It had always been about Bee and how I felt when I was around her. And it scared the shit out of me.

“Anyway, I really appreciate you doing this. We cool?”

“Sure, yeah.” She nodded and tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind one ear. She looked as confused as I felt and just when I thought I’d blown the whole evening with my macho-asshole routine, she stepped back and cracked her knuckles like she meant business. “Now move out of the way and let me show you how that’s done.”

She strolled over to the dartboard, mesmerizing me with the sway of her hips, and pulled the darts out one by one. I watched as she stood on the yellow line and cocked her arm before letting loose. Three in a row, all pretty close to the bull’s eye.

Then she turned and grinned at me. “Okay, so maybe darts is a bad idea for you.”

“Nice,” I said, returning her grin.

We played darts for an hour or so, but my game was garbage. Every time I tried to focus on the board, I could see her in my periphery, that sexy cleavage just begging for my mouth. I’d already embarrassed myself and couldn’t imagine my playing was going to improve, so I admitted defeat with a grimace.

“Okay. Clearly, you got me at darts. Let’s find something I’m better at to make it a real competition then.”

I considered trying pool again but the guys were all huddled around the table and I wanted Bee to myself for a while longer. I spied an empty Trivia Master game at the bar and led her over.

We climbed into the worn leather stools and I slid two dollars into the machine before tapping on the screen to select Sex Trivia.

“Oh, lord,” she mumbled. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” It was a chance to make Bee blush, and I couldn’t pass that up.

The first question flickered onto the screen and I read it out loud in my best newscaster voice.

“According to a 2007 survey, approximately what percentage of U.S. women claim to have never experienced an orgasm? Five percent, ten percent, fifteen percent, or twenty percent?”