Game For Love: Gridiron Heartbreaker (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Gridiron Bad Boys Book 2)

GRIDIRON HEARTBREAKER

BY

MELISSA BLUE

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NEWSLETTER

ABOUT THIS BOOK:

Alyssa Kirkpatrick believes the perfect cure for a failed engagement is a new life, a new city and a new chef's position. That's until Blaine“Ace” Davis struts into her kitchen. The ridiculously handsome NFL quarterback flirts like it's a contact sport and has no qualms making her a single, over-the-top promise: he'll get her over her heartbreak—guaranteed.

A restless edge has haunted Blaine for a while until Alyssa accepts his unlikely bargain. She's funny, smart and not afraid to let him know he can check his ego at the door. How could he have known keeping a simple promise would upend his entire world?

Alyssa’s dead-set to not fall into the rebound fling trap. He only flirted with her to get himself out of a rut, not to fall and fall hard.

Will their whirlwind romance survive a fumble?

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CHAPTER ONE

Blaine Davis pushed off the wall and slapped his palm against his former teammate's hand hard enough to sting—a ritual he'd missed for too many game days to count. And it got the blood going. Adam's wide grin followed the gesture, and the man beamed with so much happiness, Blaine could only return the smile.

Since he'd been the man's QB once, Blaine had to give him shit. “Are you one hundred percent sure this...” He gestured to the living room filled with people. They were there for an engagement party “...is all voluntary?”

Adam shifted a hand through his dark strands, but Blaine could have sworn the man blushed. “Have you met Charlotte?” His voice rumbled with certainty, and something else he'd had never heard in Adam's voice before. “I'm sure she's the woman I want to marry.”

Blaine scanned the crowd for a short redhead. She was lost in the large living room, surrounded by big, muscled football players, none shorter than six feet. Her family and likely her friends, mingled. Together they all made for a loud, but not quite raucous celebration.

In the backdrop of those people, two tables had been set up near the balcony for dinner—whenever the meal was ready to be served. San Francisco Bay, the Golden Gate Bridge and the rolling fog creeping up the shores would serve as the view. Wait staff weaved around the groups to offer champagne and appetizers. Everyone looked happy and relaxed, having a good time.

And for the first time in a long damn time, Blaine had hugged a wall like a life preserver. He had almost stayed home. On a weekend. When there was a party. With women in tight dresses.

Tension climbed up his neck and gripped his nape. He would get into the swing of things. Dammit. “I met your wife-to-be. She answered the door.”

Adam scoffed. “I told her she didn't have to.”

“She was...interesting to meet.”

Her smile had been sweet but the glint in her gaze had the promise of wickedness. No surprise there that Adam was marrying a woman who could keep up with him. Hell, it was probably why so many people had showed up. They wanted to rubberneck and meet the woman who tamed the bad boy of football.

“Define
interesting
,” Adam said, his head tilted and his brows furrowed with what looked to be genuine interest at Blaine's answer.

How could he reply while being respectful? “I expected...” he said slowly, “...blonde.”

Adam grunted, but he didn't disagree with his former type.

Blaine went on. “But I saw you with her. You looked...”

The way Blaine used to. Happy with his lot in life, and maybe a pang of jealousy hit Blaine between the eyes. Maybe he hadn't been content with his playboy lifestyle for a while, but for at least the last two months every day felt like a slog.

Holding Adam's blue-eyed gaze, Blaine pushed out a breath and added, “I heard the rumors about you, so it was good to see you with someone who clearly makes you whipped.”

Adam laughed. “Which rumors? There are plenty.”

“Let me go through my memory and pick the top five.”

“Five? I am definitely a changed man. Not you though from what I've seen and heard.”

“Yeah?” He'd been pretty lowkey. “What?”

“Do you really want to know?”

Blaine didn't even have to think about that. “Not really.”

The gossip mill was a legit problem for both of them. For Adam it had caused the man to be traded a little over a year ago. Yeah. Some racy photos and equally graphic texts had been shared online. For close to six months afterward Adam's name hadn't been in the press until an announcement of his engagement to a sweet, cute catering business owner.

In contrast, for the last six months the tabloids had detailed Blaine's dating life and most of everything they reported about him had been true-ish. He did date like someone could restrict his privileges. He liked to party as though it could be his last chance.

But nothing scandalous forced him to move to Oakland after his contract came up for renegotiation. He'd come home to take care of his mother. He stuffed his hands in his pockets at the last thought.

Adam shifted and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He searched for a server nearby in hopes of whiskey rather than champagne.

“You haven't flirted with anyone since you got here. What's going on?”

Surprised but amused, Blaine leaned against the frame of the glass door behind him. “You were watching me that intently? I thought true love was supposed to blind you to all else.”

Adam's lip quirked as he dropped his hand. “Don't worry, after this, I'm going to...Not the point. You're not yourself.” A pause then Adam winced. “Your mom?”

Blaine flinched at the question. He could unload every worry, every reason why he'd had sleepless nights, but the truth was he came to the party to lighten the hell up. Be himself, not the restless, edgy perpetual frowner. Even if he had to force every light-hearted response.

“She's fine. Thanks for asking, but if anything is making me twitchy it's that someone nicknamed the Devil of the Gridiron is getting married. How the mighty have fallen. Makes a man think about his own mortality.”

“Always a drama queen. Shut up,” Adam said but laughed. “And consider this an invite to dinner after our game on Sunday.” He talked over him before Blaine could refuse, “And if you try to wiggle your way out of it, I will send my fiancée over here to talk you into it. Trust me, you can't say no to her.”

“You shouldn't look so happy being whipped.”

“Depends on who is wielding the leather,” Adam said and didn't even let the insult sink in.

Blaine laughed and it felt damn good. “I promise to turn the charm on someone so you can feel better.”

“Yeah, well...”

At that both men took in the room. He could tell who were there as dates to a football player. They hadn't just dressed for the occasion, but likely in hopes of keeping the men on their arm. Even the women he could assume were friends of Charlotte wore doe-eyed expressions. As always.

Celebrity, no matter how fleeting or abstract, attracted a certain kind of woman. He couldn't help but feel bored at the choices of breathy giggling, awkward or nosy interactions—anything that didn't treat him as a man first. Even then, not one woman he saw drew his interest and there was enough cleavage on display to make Hugh Hefner jealous.

Normally he'd jump in, but nope. Once Adam went back to the thick of the party, Blaine would go back to being a wallflower. His heart wasn't in it, and he didn't know why.

Then the crowd seemed to break apart or maybe it was the way Adam's entire face and demeanor changed, focused on a redhead striding through the mingling people. She was beaming, blushing when her gaze connected to her groom-to-be.

Blaine didn't feel like a voyeur, but he was encroaching on the silent moment between Adam and Charlotte. The two hadn't spoken a word or touched. A nameless pang strummed through Blaine and he took a step back.

“Charlotte,” Adam's voice was warm and...hell, tender when the man said, “this is Blaine. My old QB.”

Her blue eyes sparkled when she gazed at him. “Thank you for your donation.”

He'd almost forgotten about that. A few months ago Adam had called to get help to save a teen youth program. It's how they ended up talking almost weekly again after years of sporadic contact. “You're welcome, and it was no problem. Plenty of my teammates, even this knucklehead, were better off because of programs like yours.”

She cupped Adam's cheek but her gaze remained on Blaine. “He's a keeper. Did you get something to eat? You should. The quiches are to die for, and I'm not biased.”

“You hired the chef after one meal,” Adam said.

“And you know how picky I am.”

Blaine shook his head. “You guys sound married already.”

Adam scoffed. “Don't be bitter.”

Charlotte patted his face. “You can talk smack to him later. We've been summoned by my mother.”

Adam offered his hand, Blaine took it. “Catch you later.”

“Sunday,” Adam reminded him.

After a quick agreement, Blaine was again alone, and likely sulky-looking. He flagged down a server. The presentation of quiches were decent even with a few missing from the original arrangement. He took a tentative bite and had to close his eyes. The crust was perfectly crisp and the eggs fluffy instead of rubbery. The chef had added parsley to offset and compliment the salt. He took another bite for the full flavor to wash over his taste buds.

“They're good, aren't they?” The server asked, a small smile breaking through. “Don't tell Charlotte, but I've been eating them most of the night.”

“Is the chef here?”

“Yeah. In the kitchen, but...” The woman winced. “I wouldn't interrupt her.”

Her
.

He had promised Adam he'd flirt with someone. Never said who and Blaine had a soft spot for women who cooked. “I'll take it under advisement.”

The server got lost in the crowd and Blaine headed for the kitchen. Finally his night was looking up.

CHAPTER TWO

How exactly did one go about telling a famous football player to get the hell out of her kitchen?

Alyssa Kirkpatrick narrowed her gaze on Blaine “Ace” Davis. He'd come in from the party, plopped his ass on the only available stool and held up the first server who passed him.

He did it all with a smile that could talk saints into sinning. God had been unfair and had given Blaine two deep dimples, blue-gray eyes and the kind of chiseled chin Alyssa's favorite romance authors wrote about.

The server never stood a chance.

Alyssa forced her gaze back to the task at hand. She had to finish plating the first main dish in the next five minutes or the rest of the night she'd fall behind. With military precision, she went down the long counter double-checking the steaks were medium rare, shy of getting off the plate and mooing or killing anyone.

His laugh filled the room, deep from his gut and entirely masculine. She didn't have to turn around to know his broad shoulders shook or that he'd thrown his head back to laugh. The messy chestnut waves of his hair would catch the light. Her fingers twitched to find out if the strands were as soft as they looked.

She was going to have to kill him.

Focus, Alyssa. He'll get bored and leave.

The boss's engagement party was in full swing and crawling with athletes. Most had the good sense and manners to stay out of the kitchen and nook area. For the night it was her domain and if anyone forgot, she'd lift a brow to remind them.

Except him—The Walking Abs of Sin. He'd smiled, plunked down, and took up too much room, and smelled better than the vanilla bean cheesecake that would need to be served in exactly forty minutes. Worst-case scenario, thirty-five if the natives got restless with talk over dinner.

Alyssa glanced back at him. He was holding the server prisoner with a deep grin, probably a smoldering gaze too, before he stole three quiches in one swipe. Usually pleasure would have filled her at his appetite, but his very presence was distracting.

She stilled and gave the server a death glare. Maybe the woman felt the heat of disapproval from across the prep area, because their eyes met and the woman abruptly turned and went back into the living room. Blaine swiveled on the chair, chewing slowly, his gaze intent on her.

Why couldn't she move? Or glare back? A flutter went up from her stomach and into her chest as her face heated. Insta-lust wasn't a real thing. A woman couldn't look at a man and have her DNA sit up and pant.

But as she tried to hold his gaze, Alyssa couldn't help but think this was how he looked when he played. She knew of him—too much for a non-sports fan. How could she not though? His face, his shirtless body—really just him—had been splashed across enough tabloids since his move back to Oakland.

They called him Ace because he'd started playing football at the age of five. From there he'd insisted on playing every position so when he finally scored a spot as a QB for his high school team, he'd know the challenges his teammates faced, not only in theory. There was no question he'd end up a coach too, eventually, and no one doubted he'd be good at that.

No surprise, they—whoever that collective hive was—said, he was as good and focused in bed.

She exhaled at the sudden rush of heat flashing through the rest of her and remembered he was probably used to giving women stomach flutters, hot flashes and I-should-take-off-my-clothes-itis.

Alyssa lifted a brow that she hoped telegraphed “If you don't get the hell out of here...”

The laugh started in his eyes, making the gray in his irises glint, and then spilled out of his full mouth. If a laugh could be an aphrodisiac then his would qualify.

“Hello, sweetheart.” His deep timbre was as mesmerizing as his smile. His voice was warm, low and it seemed to zing along her nerve endings.

“Nope.”
She wasn't sure if she was saying that for his or her own sake.

The first guy to make her panties feel one size too tight in five months could not be a man who knew how handsome he was, used that knowledge without an urge to repent, and was likely so disgustingly rich he hadn't heard the word “no” in a decade.

Not that she was looking for a man, but if she was,
Ace
wouldn't top the list.

And her train of thought proved he was a distraction. She needed to get rid of him.

“I'm going to have to ask—”

He rose and the words seemed to drift away at the sight of all of him. God had once again been unfair to the rest of the human race and given Blaine the kind of legs made for jeans—thick and long. Like his fingers.

“You were saying?” he said.

“I—”
Have lost the ability of speech looking directly at you
.

“Do you need help?” He paused and the smile widened. “I'm good with my hands.”

The line wasn't delivered in a smarmy way, but so ridiculously tongue-in-cheek and confident she had the urge to laugh. And that was probably his intent. In such a small yet blatant way, he was telling her to take nothing he said too seriously.

Warmth spilled into her and it took all her strength to not smile at him. “Did you really  say that? Out loud?”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and strode toward her. Could walks be cocky? His tested that theory as he closed the space between them. A swirl of something musky and masculine wrapped around the charged air between them. Without thinking, she inhaled deeper. It should have been criminal for him to smell better than vanilla bean cheesecake. But he did. She needed him to go away.

He eyed the plates of dinner then held her gaze. “Yes, I meant every word,” he said and his voice seemed deeper, richer.

A sound she could, should scoop up to get her fill. Of what, she didn't know but suddenly her stomach... and much lower, sent up hunger pangs.

She pursed her lips and refused to let him fluster her. His gaze dropped to her mouth and he hissed so low she almost missed the sound.

Not. Going. To. Fluster
. “Did you mean the help part?”

“Especially that.” He flicked his attention back to her gaze. “My goal is to steal food, flirt with you shamelessly and then go back to the party.”

From the furrow of his brow, she had to believe he was serious about every single small promise in the short statement.

She almost swayed into him to get closer to his scent—the unspoken promises that shone in his eyes. It took work to keep her voice level. “How often do women tell you no?”

“Would you believe it if I told you very rarely?”

She'd believe it if Blaine told her he visited convents to practice his charm. “Wash your hands. Sing 'Happy Birthday' while you do it, and if I'm in a charitable mood, I'll give you a plate before I serve everyone else.”

“Aren't you sugar and spice.” His lids lowered as he seemed to consider the offer. “What's your name, sweetheart?”

“Alyssa. Call me sweetheart again and I'll show you my chef knives.”

He laughed. She'd been right. His broad shoulders did shake and she got a flash of his Adam's apple. The taut, tanned skin of his neck probably smelled decadent.

She bit into her bottom lip to beat back a moan. Alyssa would not let this man get under her skin. He'd flitted into her life and he'd flit right back out once he was bored. Or found her wanting. She had to wait him out, at least until she served dessert.

His gaze fell to her mouth then he lifted his hand, letting his fingers caress her chin. Shock at the touch made her tongue feel thick.

“What are you thinking?” he whispered.

I need to run.

I want to nip your fingertips to see how dark your gaze can get.

He trailed his fingers down to her pulse. No smile, but a darkening of his eyes. “Tell me.”

“You touch strangers?”

“Not usually, but...” His attention went back to her mouth. “You looked soft and I had to know.”

A server came in to grab another tray. That flash of reality gave her the strength to break the contact. His fingers on her neck and she'd almost forgotten why she wanted him gone. A touch that simple...

The talk Alyssa was going to have with God would be so long.