Bad Boy's Bridesmaid (33 page)

“I’ll consider
it a signing bonus.” Both of his arms straddled the wall to my sides. He had me
pinned without a touch, and I wasn’t going anywhere. “One kiss. And we gotta
make it realistic. People have to believe I’m wild about you, that I’d do
anything for you…” The act seemed to drop. His voice turned solemn. “They have
to believe that I’d give up everything to spend one night with you.”

My stomach
flipped. He didn’t mean the words, but I hadn’t heard anyone promise something
so lovely since before my heart was crushed and broken by Wyatt.

“Let me kiss
you,” he whispered. “Earn that nickname so it doesn’t just mean how dark and
tasty your skin is.”

This was out of
control.

Way beyond where
anything was meant to go.

I intended to
storm the field. Yell. Berate. Punish.

Not part my lips
and tilt my head.

“One kiss,” I
said. “And then you do as I say.”

“You hold the
leash, just tug on it a little and I’ll come…”

This man was
absolute trouble.

And I knew it.

So why did I
nod?

Jack gripped me
close, pushing his body into mine and pinning me against the cool concrete. The
wall became the only thing grounding me to the world besides his strength and
the fierce grip of his hands.

His rippling
muscle pressed against me, and I felt petite and fragile within the shadow of
his bulk. I gasped, but that gave him the opportunity to capture my kiss and
take it for his own.

My mind
paralyzed. My heart would crack my ribcage.

And my body?

My body exploded
into shivers. Every tremble, every stolen shudder raked over my form and
twisted within my core. Within seconds I panted, feasting against the dragging
nibble of his lips. Heat and sin and every naughty and terribly dangerous
feeling I ever hid from Jack Carson flooded through me.

Kissing him
wasn’t just a mistake…it was a complete surrender to a man who pocketed panties
and broke hearts. He treated passion like it was another game to play and girls
were a literal score.

And I wanted
more than a kiss.

His tongue
swirled over mine.

His hands
grasped my hips.

And a hardness
pressed into my leg—raging, fierce, and demanding.

He didn’t get to
take those girls home last night, and every ounce of his sexual frustration
pent up inside him. It turned him into a wicked beast. I was glad he didn’t
have his fun with them.

Not because I
worried about his reputation.

Not because of
the impending disaster from his accident and the league.

Because that
meant he kissed me instead.

This was bad. I
meant to pull away, but my fingers only grasped his tighter.

I was good at my
job, but I didn’t have the talent to lie and pretend like I hadn’t felt that
chemistry
he demanded.

Our kiss broke
as my breath escaped in a timid gasp. Jack teased with a knowing, terrible
glance.

Jack pulled
away, trading a kiss for his smile. “Go out with me tomorrow night.”

“Out?”

“Easiest way to
prove we’re a couple is if we are seen together.” He retreated, tensed and
loaded, as though he faced an entire charging defensive line instead of
wild-eyed me. “You and me. Out on the town. I’ll take you to a club.”

“I—” I didn’t
dance. I couldn’t talk now either, which meant I couldn’t call him back as he
returned to the field. “We can’t just do your normal hangout. You have to prove
you’ve changed.”

He hesitated,
thinking it over, his eyes brightening as he accepted the challenge.

“Okay. Then
tomorrow, you’re gonna have the night of your life. Fancy food. Music. Fun.” He
met my gaze, and I wished I had the ability to catch my breath after his kiss.
“Be ready. You’ll love the Jack Carson experience.”

Yeah. I probably
would.

And that was
exactly what I feared.

Chapter Four - Jack

I didn’t think a
fake relationship would be hard. Pick Leah up at seven. Let the media see me
playing the gentleman. Make sure she didn’t storm out on me during dinner.

Except I forgot
the most important thing.

Jesus
fuck
,
this woman was absolutely gorgeous.

Leah had hips
that shimmied, curves that bumped, tits that plumped, and eyes that would scold
a man for ogling the most beautiful creature in the world.

She gave me the
address to her apartment, and I offered to pick her up. Originally, I meant to
take her out and let the public know I was spoken for. After I took her home,
I’d planned to meet up with Bryon and the guys. They had a bead on a new bar
stocked with craft beers and co-eds.

Not anymore.
Bryon and his sluts be damned. One look at Leah and the only thing I wanted was
her
.

With me at
dinner.

Coming home with
me.

Sleeping in my
bed.

Waking inside of
her.

Worst part was,
I knew it’d
never
fucking happen.

I thought I’d be
cute and buy her a single red rose. The flower crushed in my fist when she
opened the door, and I was just lucky my jaw hadn’t unhinged like some teenage
idiot.

“Jack.” She
clutched a little purse, matching the black dress clinging to her perfectly
mocha skin. A crimson sash draped over her arms, a shimmering silk that hugged
where I longed to touch. “You’re late.”

And we’d be late
for dinner too if my cock didn’t settle the fuck down. I hardened immediately,
studying her curves. Everything—her exotic complexion, her delicate ebony
curls, the tips of her French tipped toenails—was meant to turn my cock into
cement. Great. Even my most faithful partner-in-crime was punishing me for
agreeing to this
fake
relationship.

I just wanted to
use her as a momentary distraction to the league. Leah thought otherwise. I had
nearly split when she dropped the ground rules. No partying. No girls. Nothing
fun
.
I would have taken my chances with the league had it not been for her kiss.

A kiss that
nearly had me come right there in the tunnel.

Hell if I could
focus on the rest of practice. And I was pretty sure I’d fucked up the speech
Leah forwarded to me, some sort of remark on how sorry I was for my behavior
and the car crash or something. It was all bullshit anyway. What happened off
the field
should
have been my business. And yet, here I was. Spending
thousands of dollars on a publicist to make me appear like a man who wouldn’t
rip off her crimson sash, lift that little black dress, and plow my way to a better
reputation.

“Ready to go?” I
found my tongue somewhere in my dried mouth. Apparently Leah found my head
somewhere up my own ass.

“If you aren’t
going to take this seriously, I won’t help you.”

She didn’t
invite me in. The door slammed behind her and she walked to the elevator
without me.

How did I piss
her off? I
just
got to her apartment.

“What the hell
did I do now?” I asked.

Leah shook her
head. The dress was low cut and everything else good and holy in this world
shimmied too. “You didn’t even
try
.”

“Try
what
?”

“The apology?”
She whipped around, and her hair caressed her cheek. I tried to focus on her
scowl, but, God…even mad she was beautiful. “I spent an hour crafting you
five
sentences to express your remorse for what happened, and you couldn’t even make
it sound genuine?”

What did I do
wrong? “I read what you gave me.”

“Exactly. You
read it like a PR person gave you a statement.”

“Do you want me
to take acting classes now? I’m a football player, not Chris Pratt.”

“Yeah, as if I
could get that lucky.”

“Fine…” I
shrugged. “I’ll do better next time.”

That pissed her
off more. “Jack, there better not be a next time. That was your last public
apology. No one will listen to you
next time
.”

Touché.

The elevator
delivered us to the lobby. She brushed a cautious hand over her dress, like she
didn’t trust that the skirt wouldn’t ride up and show a scandalous amount of
leg. I was praying it would.

“Why are we so
formal?” she asked.

I was a jock,
but even I appreciated a good meal. “I’m taking you to
Le Meilleur
.”

She stiffened,
staring at me with widening eyes. “That’s the best restaurant in the city.”

I smirked,
offering her my elbow as we walked to my car. “Now
that
sounded
genuine.”

I helped her
into the Porsche, hating the brand new car because it wasn’t my classic Camaro.
Leah liked it. She stared at the interior, the navigation system, the luxury.
She was probably a girl who didn’t mind a little class.

Well, there was
nothing classier than getting fucked in the back seat of a sports car that cost
more than her yearly salary, but Leah didn’t seem the type. That didn’t stop me
from imagining it. Wanting it. I adjusted my trousers as my dick swelled
thinking about her skirt riding up and my cock sliding in.

Let’s see her
write a spin piece on the best sex of her goddamned life.

The restaurant
needed reservations a month ahead of time. I called two hours before we
arrived, and a private table waited for the Rivets’ star near the dance floor.
It was a perfectly romantic location for a man taking his
longterm
girlfriend on a date. Low lights, expensive food, and insufferable waiters.
Every girl’s dream before slipping into bed with me.

But Leah didn’t
seem the bed slipping type.

She folded her
napkin neatly in her lap, sipped her wine, and looked positively humbled that I
would bring her somewhere nice.

“Thinking you
were getting a strip club breakfast buffet?” I asked.

She took a deep
breath, meeting my gaze with those big, mocha eyes, as rich as the chocolate
complexion of her skin. She turned my cock to stone, and she didn’t have a
fucking clue.

“I didn’t know
what to expect.” At least she was honest. Her voice shifted, taking on that
professional, impersonal tone. “I’ve posted on social media about tonight. I
have boxed seats for a baseball game and an event with one of the Rivets’
charities we can attend. But, for now? We should probably take a selfie
together a little later, to pass around a picture of you that doesn’t include
three drunken women and a totaled car.”

“Thanks.”

Her hands
trembled. “I don’t know how to handle this from here. How to…make it seem like
we’re an actual couple.”

Fucking her
would convince me. “We’ll start by ordering an appetizer. I think a salad after
that.” I leaned closer, voice low. “Then we’ll get real crazy and grab and
entre.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” I
called over the waiter. “People eat on dates. You and I will eat on our date.”

I tucked a
hundred dollar bill in the waiter’s suit. Leah hissed at me. I ignored her.

“Make sure the
lady’s wine glass doesn’t go empty tonight.” I pointed to a variety of foods on
the menu—not like I could read the French anyway. “That’ll be good for
appetizers.”

The waiter
nodded and scurried to the kitchen. Leah glared.

“
Please
.
Thank
you. You’re welcome
. Ever hear of those words?” She couldn’t look angry
sipping a glass of hundred dollar wine. “You have to be courteous, Jack. You’re
a public figure.”

Since when did
throwing a ball and dodging rabid linebackers mean I was a
public figure
?
“Hey, I’m being a perfect fucking gentleman while you bill me for taking you
out on the town.”

“You make me
sound like an escort.”

“I wouldn’t
know.” I winked. “Never needed one.”

Leah acted like
she’d either let her guard down or dump the wine over my head. I liked the
indecision. Made her feisty.

“I don’t
understand you,” she said. “You’re the star quarterback of a professional
football team. You have the money and the power and the opportunity to become
the best of all time. Not
one of the best
, but
the best
. Why
would you throw it away for a threesome with questionable women?”

“You’re missing
the big picture. It would have been a
foursome
.”

“Oh, whatever.”
She crossed her arms.

“Give me my
moment of glory.”

“Was that what
it was? Glory?”

“It was
fun
,
Kiss. You know. What people do when they yank the sticks out of their asses?”

“I can have
fun.” The shawl covering her bare shoulders said otherwise. “But I also know
when it’s time to be responsible. You have to plan for your future.” She glanced
at me, eyes big and beautiful and more distracting than the swell of her tits.
“Have you thought about your future at all?”

“I have a plan
for my future.” Two, if I counted getting her in bed. “Winning.”

“Winning?”

“Gotta win the
first game. Gotta win the next. Gotta win the playoffs. Gotta win the
championship.”

She waited, as
if I had more to say. “That’s…it? That’s your goal in life?”

“Yeah.”

“What happens
when you get the championship?”

That was the
kind of dirty talk that got me harder than a lucky girl calling me
Daddy
.
“You think I’ll win it this year?”

“Yes…You’re Jack
Carson.” She picked at a piece of bread. “Of course you will.”

“I didn’t know
you were that confident in me.”

She perked an
eyebrow as she tasted the freshly baked bread. “You never asked what I thought,
just kept banging random women on your way to
glory
.”

“What could have
been.”

“I can’t imagine
a foursome being a life goal.”

What was with
her? “I don’t have any other goals. I told you. I want my championship ring.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.” I
frowned. “Why? What the hell are you planning?”

She sucked in a
deep breath and downed the rest of her wine. “I planned to be engaged while in
college at twenty years old. I wanted my first job at twenty-two. Married by
twenty-three. First child by twenty-five. Six figure salary by twenty-seven.
Second child by twenty-eight. Vacation in Paris by thirty. Rome by thirty-one.
Vienna at thirty-two. I’d have my last child when I was thirty-three. That’s as
far as I’ve planned for now since I’m certain the best school districts will
change by the time I’m ready to sell my starter home and move into a
thirty-year house.”

Holy fuck, she
was a freak.

Who the hell
choreographed their life like that? She raised her chin, looking proud and
beautiful and as if she expected me to challenge her. She was right.

“Aren’t you my
age?” I asked. “Twenty-four?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t look
pregnant. She didn’t have a ring on her finger. I could read more than blitzes.

“So what
happened?” I laughed. “Where’s the lucky man you’ve shackled to a life of no
surprises?”

“Sleeping with
my best friend.”

Shit. I didn’t
expect her to be so honest. Neither did she. She couldn’t hide the shame and
picked at the bread again.

Who was stupid
enough to cheat on her?

“What a prick,”
I said.

She shrugged.
The shawl fell from her shoulder. She didn’t fix it. “Ironically, his wasn’t
that impressive.”

“Well, that’s
the real tragedy.”

Her wine
refilled. She drank half right away. “It did the job before it wandered. I
think.”

“You
think
?”

Leah caught
herself, sighing as I stared in confusion. “That was just a joke.”

“No, it wasn’t,”
I said. “Did he fuck you good or not?”

Her eyes
widened. “I’m not talking about this with
you
.”

“It shouldn’t
ever just
do the job.
His should be the only goddamned cock you can
think about.”

“You would
know.”

“Damn right.
Life is too short for bad fucking.”

She was
embarrassed. Leah hid it by picking over the served appetizer. “It didn’t
bother me. Passion wasn’t as much a deal-breaker as the marriage. I wanted the
husband and the kids. The career was important too. Really important. I
expected a good salary that could help me travel…” She sighed. “I wanted it
all.”

She spoke an
entirely different language from me. “What about that big cock and the great
fucking?”