Fair Game: A Football Romance (59 page)

Chapter Five

Holland

“Are you out of your mind?” Savannah is staring at me when I hang up the phone.

“Just keep your eyes on the road. I’d like to live so I can practice this afternoon.” Savannah’s not the best driver, especially when she’s distracted.

“Wait. I thought you changed your mind. I thought you didn’t want to mess with the most eligible player in the U.S.

And now you’re planning on sneaking off to have dinner with him? How do you plan on getting away with that, anyway? Your mama is picking you up after practice. I offered, but she said no.” She’s been whipping her head back and forth between the road and my face while she speaks. Her blonde hair is flying around in the breeze from her open window. Her hands speak with her words, gesturing here and there while she keeps tucking her wild hair behind her ears. She’s adorable and annoying.

“I’ll figure it out.”

“You’ll figure it out. Holland, you’re starting to worry me. Who are you, anyway, and what have you done with the real Holland? You have one make out session with a hot guy, and suddenly you’re scheming and sneaking around and making dinner plans. You were going to forget him; too old, remember?”

“I didn’t think he’d call me after you read that stuff on the Internet.” I throw up my hands and let them slap against my bare thighs. Shit. I wish I had worn something more sophisticated than a t-shirt, jean shorts and my sparkly Chucks. He’s taking me out to dinner, and he thinks I’m at least twenty-one.

“Yeah, well he’s still that guy. Just because he called you doesn’t make him any less of a player.”

“Shut up, Savannah. If it weren’t for your summer itinerary, I wouldn’t be in this mess.” The second the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. She was only trying to make me happy, and it’s not her fault this thing with King and me happened.

“I’m sorry, Savannah. I didn’t mean that, really.”

“I know,” she says, reaching out to hold my hand. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt, and he seems like the kinda guy that could do some really serious damage, ya know?”

“Yeah . . . I do.” I really, really do. I’ve never had feelings like this before. I can’t tell if they are normal, first time liking a guy kind of feelings, or really serious adult feelings. I do know one thing, though. He called. He wants to see me, and I’m not missing out on the opportunity to see him again with clear, sober eyes. It will also be sort of interesting having the home field advantage this time.

“You have to do me a huge favor, Savannah. Seriously huge.” I need something else to wear. I can’t let him see me looking like . . . like a teenager. She glances at me out of the corner of her eye.

“Shit . . . I’m afraid to ask. What kind of favor?”

“I need something to wear. He’s going to a meeting, and then he’s coming to listen to me practice. I look like a teenager.” I gesture at my outfit.

“You
are
a teenager. Holland, are you sure about this? Sooner or later, he’s gonna know you’re only nineteen. What then?”

“I’m going to New York this fall. I’ll never see him again after that. I just wanna have some fun. Please?” I beg with my hands pressed together in front of me. She looks at me quickly. I hold up my hands in their prayer position and beg again in a tiny voice, fluttering my eyelashes.

“Please.”

“Oh, God. Okay, who can say no to that face? What do you want me to bring you?” she says with a deep sigh.

“Thank you.” I squeal and side hug her awkwardly from the passenger seat. “How about a dressy romper and some heels—not stilettos. My feet are still sore, but something casual.”

“Okay. Yeah, I have something like that. I’ll bring it over. What about your hair?”

“Crap, I didn’t think about that. I’ll just take out the ponytail and wear it down.”

“You’re gonna have a rubber band ring. I’ll fix it for you.”

“I knew I could count on you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“I have a feeling I’m gonna regret it someday when you’re bawling on my shoulder about this guy breaking your heart, but if you’re dead set on playing this out, I can’t let you do it alone.”

I love her.

Savannah drops me at the curb in front of
STRINGS
, the music studio I’ve been practicing at since I was ten.

“You promise you’re gonna help me?” I say, turning back to look through the open door of her parents’ Durango before I close it.

“Duh, of course, dummy. I told you I would. Hurry up and get in there so I can run home and get you an outfit that will make you look old,” she says, swishing her hand at me to close the door. I take my violin from the seat and push the door shut with my hip. She doesn’t even wave goodbye. She’s on a mission to help me in her true best friend fashion. There’s no stopping her now.

Inside
STRINGS
, the cool air rushes over my sweaty skin. Texas in the summer is no joke. It’s hot out there, and I’m glad I’m in here. I bypass the counter where most people check in. Shanna, the woman who makes the appointments, nods at me when I walk by. I’m here twice a week to practice and record my music. She knows me on sight. Halfway down the long hall, I remember that I should probably warn Shanna that I’m expecting visitors today. I hadn’t even thought about her. What if she accidentally says something to my mama the next time she calls for a time slot? I guess I’ll have to cross my fingers and say a little prayer that she doesn’t, because it’s too late now. He’s coming, and I’m not stopping him.

I step around the corner and wait for Shanna to finish checking someone else in. When she’s done, she turns her attention to me.

“Hey, Shanna. I wanted to let you know my friend, Savannah, is going to be dropping by this afternoon for a few minutes.” Shanna knows Savannah, and she also knows I take my music very seriously, so she doesn’t balk about me having a guest, but I’m not sure what to tell her about King.

“And uh . . . a man is coming to hear me play too. If you could let him come back, he’s an um . . . he’s an orchestra scout.” She raises her eyebrows. There’s no such thing as an orchestra scout and she knows it, but whatever. It’s an excuse to get him back there. I don’t want her thinking he’s my boyfriend. He’s not, I don’t think. I don’t know what to call a man—who is six years older than me—that I’m interested in and have already slept with on our first non-date.

“Alright, Holland, I’ll send them back. No messing around, though. Your mama is paying for practice time, not social time.” Crap, there goes all hope that she won’t mention this to my mother. I’ll just tell her the same thing. I met him at orchestra practice. He was looking for talent, so he came to listen to me play.

Wow, I can’t believe how the lies are piling up. I’m digging myself in deeper and deeper with everyone. I’ve gone from goodie two shoes to juvenile delinquent in twenty-four hours.

“I know, Shanna. It’s all business, cross my heart,” I swear to her and make a quick X over my heart before darting back down the hall.

In room three, I move the microphone away from my chair. I’m not recording today, so I set my music on the stand and take my violin from its case. I perch on the edge of the chair with my back straight and close my eyes. After a few cleansing breaths, I raise my bow and begin to play a partita of Bach’s. I don’t need the music. I know it by heart. It flows from me like water down a stream. My body sways with every note; emotions that only my instrument can conjure stir in my soul. I was born for this. I need it. To live without my music, I am simply not me.

Chapter Six

King

Walking down the narrow hallway to room three, I try to shake the irritation caused by the suspicious, overbearing woman at the counter in the lobby. I can’t remember ever being so thoroughly scrutinized by a woman. You would have thought she were Holland’s mother by the way she looked me up and down before allowing me back. As if she would be able to stop me. Nothing is going to keep me from my beauty today, and certainly not that opossum-looking old guard dog.

The rooms are supposed to be soundproof, but I can faintly hear the music coming from room three—Holland’s room. With my hand on the doorknob, I look through the small window in the door and stop dead in my tracks.

There, in the center of the room, sits the most angelic creature, playing the most remarkable music I’ve ever heard in my life. I frequent the symphony and listen to classical music often, but nothing I’ve ever heard compares to this. Nothing. I never imagined that watching Holland play the violin would be so fucking sexy. The passion rolling off of her body is awe-inspiring. Her eyes are closed, and it’s as if her body were composed of the music. Her every movement flows and jerks with the difficult piece. I lean my head against the door and enjoy the sight of a true professional musician melding with her art.              

She told me she played, but this—this is so much more than simply playing an instrument. Her music demands my attention, exactly the way her body did on the dance floor last night in the club. Holland doesn’t just
play
music; she
is
music.

“Uh, Mr. Romero?” A voice behind me snaps me from my reverie, and I turn to see who would be so daft as to interrupt someone listening to an angel playing music straight from heaven. The best friend from last night at the club stands holding a bag and a piece of clothing on a hanger.

“Hi, I’m Savannah, Holland’s friend.”

“Of course. Yes, I remember. It’s nice to see you again.” I glance through the window again and back at Savannah. “Holland invited me to listen to her play. She’s amazing.”

“Yeah, she’s special. Not another one in the world like her,” she says, rising onto her toes to look over my shoulder through the window.

“She asked me to bring her something to change into after practice. She uh . . . didn’t plan on dinner and stuff tonight.”

“Ahh, I see. Should we wait out here for her to finish this piece?” I ask.

“Probably not. This is her favorite, and it goes on for like forever. I’ll let her know you’re here when I go in and give her this stuff.”

“All right,” I say, stepping aside and opening the door for her so she can interrupt Holland.

She’s in another world and doesn’t even notice that Savannah has entered the room. The music pours out into the hall for a moment, blessing my ears, until the door slowly closes, muffling the elegant notes. I look through the tiny window one last time and see Holland jump and drag her bow screeching across the strings when Savannah taps her on the shoulder.

Chapter Seven

Holland

“Shit, Savannah.” I curse and jump when I screech my bow over the strings, ruining the piece of music I was so lost in.

“Shut up and let me block his view of you,” she says.

“Huh? What, he’s here?”

“Yeah, he’s early and he’s waiting in the hall. He saw you,” she says, hitching her thumb toward the door.

“Shit. Did he say anything? Do you think he noticed how young I am?” I ask.

“No, actually he didn’t. He said you were amazing. I think he was probably so into your playing that he wasn’t really looking at your clothes and hair and all that crap.”

Well thank God for that. I lean around Savannah to see if he’s still watching through the window in the door, and she quickly steps in front of me.

“What are you doing, dummy? Don’t let him see you again. You need to change. Move over there in the corner close to the door so nobody can see, and I’ll try to do something with your eyes. Why is he here so early anyway? I don’t have time to do crap to your hair now,” she says, flicking a wild chunk of my hair over my shoulder.

“How am I supposed to know? Come on, walk with me and make it look casual. Did he ask you about the clothes?”

She walks backward toward the door, pulling me along and acting like a human shield. King didn’t see me when I peeked the first time, and she’s not about to let me risk it again.

“That was really casual, Savannah.” I roll my eyes.

“Shut up.” She yanks the rubber band out of my hair and begins fluffing and fussing with my waves. I didn’t do a thing with it today. She’s got her work cut out for her.

When she’s done, she tilts her head to the side, checking her work.

“Not bad. Okay, now hold still and let me fix your face.”

“I’m not broken, just young. Be nice, Savannah,” I say, toeing off my shoes and unbuttoning my shorts.

“I know, I know. I don’t work well under pressure, sorry. Here, put this on.” She thrusts a hanger into my chest.

“Gosh, remind me how rough you are the next time I ask for a makeover.”

I slip my t-shirt over my head, and she informs me that I need to go braless because the romper has a racer back. Great. I step into the gauzy shorts and pull the material up and over my shoulders while she digs in her purse for whatever it is she needs to ‘fix’ my face with.

“Did you have to choose something I can’t wear a bra with?”

“I was in a hurry. This is my mama’s. I didn’t have anything that looked right.” I’ve never seen her so frustrated. She whips out a tube of mascara and starts to come at me with the wand, and I cringe and realize that Savannah’s southern drawl is much more pronounced when she’s in a huff.

“I didn’t bring heels. Nothing I had went with this thing, but my mama wears these gladiator sandals with it, so I grabbed them.”

Actually, I’m pretty happy about that. The balls of my feet are so tender from last night that walking in heels sounds like a special kind of torture. Not five minutes later, I have been transformed from my everyday self into a modern, stylish, twenty-ish looking woman.

“There. Damn, you look good. Oh my God . . .”

“What? Please don’t tell me there’s something on this thing. I don’t have time to—”

“No, there’s nothing wrong with it, it’s just . . . he has on a shirt that’s the exact same color. Like, I mean
exactly
the same shade of orange.”

Oh brother, what are the chances of that happening? This isn’t exactly a common color. Must be fate. Yeah, right.

“We’re gonna look like a couples dance team, but whatever, can’t do anything about it now. Thanks, you’d better go before Shanna comes back here to break up the party. I told her King was an orchestra talent scout.” I giggle and she rolls her eyes.

“I’m not even gonna ask if there is such a thing. I’m going, but you call me if he tries any funny business. I have my mama’s truck, and I can come get you.”

I give her a quick, short hug.

“I will. Don’t worry, it’ll be okay.” She rolls her eyes again. “Your eyes are gonna slip back into your head and stick there if you don’t quit doing that.”

“Yeah, whatever,
Mama
.” She turns to leave, but she quickly spins around and mouths ‘call me’ as she opens the door. Now it’s my turn to do the eye rolling.

She says goodbye to King as I follow her out.

“Sorry, I was dressed pretty casually to go out to dinner. I wanted to change into something a little nicer.”

King stops mid-turn from saying goodbye to Savannah. He slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans and stares at me. His gaze travels down the length of my body, starting with my eyes, working his way down to my feet and back, and settling on my mouth. I fiddle with the violin shaped silver ring that my daddy gave me last year for my birthday. I slide it around and around with my thumb until he notices how uncomfortable I am.

“You look perfect.” His voice is low, and I’m suddenly feeling like I’m going to be his entrée at dinner tonight instead of his guest.

“Thanks.”

He closes the distance between us in two steps, placing his hands on either side of my face. I gasp and watch his eyes jump back and forth between mine as if he’s looking for something, searching for an answer to an unasked question. My heart hammers in my chest and my head feels fuzzy. Even sober, I feel drunk in his hands. He backs me gently through the open door behind me and into the rehearsal room, never losing eye contact.

I want to say something but I can’t. This is amazingly close to the way I feel when I’m lost in my music. It’s like I’m on another wavelength, another level of consciousness, unaware of anything but the subject holding my attention. The door clicks behind him just as his mouth feathers over mine. I want to close my eyes and let him take me away the way I do with my music, but he is much too beautiful to shut out.

His eyes are open too, and he begins a sensual pattern of tenderly kissing and exploring my mouth and pulling away until we’re nose to nose. When he gazes into my eyes, I see a question there. It’s the same question he asked me repeatedly last night. ‘Are you okay? Is this okay?’ I answer him by initiating the next kiss, and I close my eyes to fully experience King’s lips gliding over mine.

I have no clue what I’m doing, but somehow instincts take control and I thread my fingers through the soft curls at the nape of his neck. King moans, drawing me closer, and I feel his thick arousal pressing into my belly. His hands drift from my cheeks down my arms and around my waist, where he finds the open back of my romper.

“Oh God, Holland, this outfit is going to kill me tonight. I’m never going to be able to keep my hands off of you at dinner.”

“We aren’t at dinner yet,” I whisper.

His eyes darken until they’re almost black, and he looks at me so deeply that I swear he can see my soul. He urgently walks me to the wall behind the door, where his mouth covers mine passionately, his touch becomes more demanding, and his breath comes in short pants as he lifts me up, pressing me against the wall. I wrap my legs around his waist and feel his cock strain against my eager core. I push against him, using my body to ask for what I want, and what I want is more—more of him, more of everything.

“I want you, Holland. Right here, right now.”

His words are like currents in the ocean, pulling me out to sea. I’m helpless against their power. Like a defenseless victim, I’m being dragged under and tossed around in the sea. I can’t tell which way is up, where to go for more oxygen, or what to do to survive. My inexperienced hands fumble with his belt as he pushes my shorts and panties to the side to slide a long finger inside my wet folds. My head hits the wall with a soft thump, and when he finds what he wants, it spurs him into a mad frenzy. I don’t even know what happens after that—the sensations all meld together. His hands are everywhere at once while mine impatiently search the chiseled muscles of his back. I need more—more of him, more of this, until he mercilessly enters me with one long, hard thrust and we are no longer two, but one. I yelp, and his hand flies to cover my mouth. This isn’t like last night. This is feverish and desperate and better, so much better. He pulls his face away. Locking eyes with me for a beat, he lifts his eyebrows, and without a word, I receive his message loud and clear: shush, or we’ll get caught, and you don’t want this to stop, so don’t get us caught.

He pulls me flush against his chest and slides his hands under my ass, burying his face in my hair. His mouth is pressed against my neck, and I feel his warm breath panting against my damp skin. I arch my back in an effort to give him more of me—all of me—and he greedily takes it all, pushing inside of me over and over until I’m crying out so loudly that no hand on my mouth can quiet me.

King stops and loosens his hand from my mouth, and I whimper when we lose our rhythm. He presses his forehead to mine, and I watch a bead of sweat trickle over his temple and down the side of his face. A cello plays a sad piece of music in the next room. I can faintly hear the music seeping through the wall behind my head while I wait for King to look at me. When he catches his breath, he looks at me from under his thick black lashes.

“You’re mine, Holland. Swear to me that you will never let another man put his hands on you. Right now, say it. Promise me,” he demands. This is not a request or even an option for me to say no. I don’t want to. I don’t ever want another man to touch me like this.

I quickly nod once with wide eyes, and he presses his hand against my mouth again, anticipating my next reaction.

“Come, Holland . . . right now. I want you to come for me.”

I have no idea how, but my body follows his command, and I scream into his hand, biting down as he pounds into me, smashing my back against the wall. I come so hard that every cell of my body explodes in pure ecstasy.

I lose myself around him as he thrusts twice more before he stops, and I can feel him pulsing inside of me, filling me with a part of him for the second time in twenty-four hours.

His entire body is trembling, and he is holding me so tightly that I can’t breathe, but I don’t care. I feel his jaw clenching against mine, and for a second I worry he may break his teeth off trying to suppress a roar that would have been deafening if we hadn’t been in public. Clinging to each other, we gasp, and I feel his jaw slowly relax and turn into a smile against my neck.

“What the hell was that?” he asks. “You . . .” he says, dropping his chin to his chest and shaking his head back and forth. “You make me do things . . . feel things . . . shit, Holland, you’re like a fucking love sorceress or something.”

This man, who is far more experienced and skilled than I am, thinks that I’m casting spells on him. Me . . . nineteen-year-old Holland Blue Bennett, virgin about town up until a few short hours ago, who knows next to nothing about pleasing a man. I can’t even protest his ridiculous claim, though, because his hand is still covering my mouth.

“Oh. God damn, you probably can’t breathe, can you?” He instantly removes his hand from my face and tucks a piece of my wild hair behind my ear.

“I bit you. I’m sorry,” I say, eyeing his palm.

He smiles, flashing every single one of his perfectly straight white teeth.

“I loved it. Next time, we’ll be in my bed and you can scream as loud as you want to, unless you prefer biting me. That can easily be arranged too.”

“The room is soundproof, you know.” He twitches inside of me, smiling and shaking his head back and forth in disbelief.

“You’re a wildcat, Ms. Bennett,” he says with a smirk, pressing me against the wall one more time.

He pulls away and looks down at my crumpled romper between our bodies, and I follow his gaze.

“I messed you up, didn’t I?” he says, wrinkling his nose.

“Um, yeah, you did. I still need to practice, and Shanna is going to be coming back here soon to check on me, so we need to fix this.”

He steps away, slowly sliding out of me, holding my eyes, and lowering me to the ground. With my feet firmly on the floor and my legs Jell-O beneath me, he bends his knees to tenderly place a kiss on my belly. Then he begins to smooth out the front of my top while simultaneously copping a feel. I giggle, but he is quiet as he adjusts my shorts and panties back into place. My eyes follow his every movement until he turns me around, nudging me gently toward the wall. I press my cheek against the cool surface and wait while he gathers the loose material around my waist and ties a bow at the small of my back. His hands leave me, and I hear him zip and buckle his pants. I start to turn around, but he moves closer again and laces his fingers with mine, pressing me against the wall while he nuzzles my neck with his nose.

“I’m sorry I interrupted your playing,” he whispers in my ear. “You’re so fucking amazing. Watching you play turned me on. I have a thing for classical music, and I have an even bigger thing for you, Holland. I meant what I said. Don’t ever let another man’s hands touch this body.” He presses me against the wall a little harder to make sure I get the message. “You’re mine. I want to get to know you—every single thing about you, inside and out. Not just your body, Holland. I want to know the mind of the woman I just witnessed becoming one with her music. I want to be a part of the soul that can feel so passionately about something that I love so much. I want you to feel that way about me. I want to be your music.”