Play Me (5 page)

Erica takes a huge bite out of her sandwich and rolls her eyes. “Are we being melodramatic again Roxy? Do we need to have another talk?”

I narrow my gaze. “He is. One minute he’s trying to charm my panties off and then he goes all psychotic in the training room because
he
hurt his thigh. I didn’t make him hurt himself.”
“Okay, well, he did just pull his quad and not to mention fuck up his chances of getting any attention from college scouts.”

I didn’t even think about that. But still, there isn’t any reason to take it out on me. “Stop taking up for him or I’m not your friend anymore.”

Erica smiles. “Well, speaking of being my friend. Do you have any plans this Friday?” She holds my eyes and dares me to lie.

“You already know I don’t.”

“I was asking to be polite,” she grins. “We always know Roxy isn’t doing anything because she refuses to take part in anything fun or remotely naughty.”

“Are you going to make fun of me or ask me a favor? You’re not off to a good start.”

She holds her hands up in surrender and then reaches into her jacket pocket to pull out a blue and yellow flier. “Phi Lamb is having their back-to-school party for everyone this weekend. So freshman kids will be there, not just upper classman.”

I scan over the flier. “It looks the same as last weekend.”

She smiles and holds her index finger up. “Ah, that’s what you think. See, when freshman girls are coming, the upperclassmen bring out the hard liquor. So they can get the freshman girls super drunk and sleep with them. So in other words, we’re getting fucked up.”
“I’m enrolling you in AA next week.”
She laughs and looks at her cell phone. “Shit, I have ten minutes to get to my meteorology class.” She stands up and slings her bag over her shoulder. “So, are you coming with me Friday?”

I sigh. “I don’t know. I’ll have to get someone to watch Maddox and we went out last weekend.”

Erica narrows her eyes. “My mother loves Maddox. She asks to keep him all the time, so you know that’s not a problem. Come on, you need a break. Since
Weston Garrison
is
so infuriating,
you deserve a drink or six.”

Smiling, I stand and grab my own bag. “Okay. I guess we can go. Only for a little while.”
Erica flips her braid over her shoulder and winks. “Of course.”

***

“About freaking time,” Weston says as soon as I walk into the training room. If my heart wasn’t jackhammering in my chest I would have told him to go straight to hell. But he isn’t wearing a shirt. Just a pair of low hanging sweats. And a grey beanie.
Holy Shit. Breathe, Roxy.
You’ve seen plenty of guys without their shirts. Hell, you Google them at home all the time. He’s lying back on one of the training tables, a pillow resting behind his head. One cord of his headphones is hanging limply against him while the other one is shoved into his right ear. A Gatorade bottle is shoved between his sprawled legs half empty.

God, don’t look.
Biting my lip, I keep my head down as I set my things on the cabinet. When I turn around I weaken and my eyes shoot for his chest. His wide, tanned chest.
Christ.
His abs ripple down his stomach and his hip bones protrude sharply disappearing into his sweats.

When I finally pull my eyes away from his chest, I meet his own. One eyebrow is raised and a smug smile has lifted from the corner of his lips. “You know it’s not nice to stare, stalker. It kind of makes me feel uncomfortable.”

Heat engulfs my neck and creeps up to my cheeks. “I wasn’t starin’.”

Lacing his fingers over his stomach, he tilts his head at me. “Really? Don’t even try to hide it, sweetheart. I saw you. It’s okay. Just don’t get too attached to it because once I’m better I don’t want to have to rip the addiction away from you. I always hear that’s bad for addicts.”

I snort and walk over to the table. “Not addicted to you. And I’ve seen much better.” Liar.

Weston laughs, throwing his head back. “I bet you have.”

Ugh! “I have,” I snap and then sigh. “How is your leg?”

He gestures toward his leg. “You tell me. You are supposed to be helping me, right?”

My fists tighten. I swear I’m going to strangle him. “Do you have any shorts you can change into? I can’t really see your thigh with those sweats on.”

Weston sits up. “If you want me out of my clothes all you have to do is ask. I would have obliged.”

“Weston,” I warn.

Sliding his legs over, he pulls down his sweats. I gasp. “What the fuck, Weston! I said if you had shorts on.”

He looks up at me, his fingers curled around the waist band of his sweats. The top of his underwear slightly peeking out. I try not to look. “Does me being half-naked bother you?” His eyes drop to my lips and holds. The tip of his tongue darts out and wets the corner of his mouth.

“Absolutely not,” I lie. “Take them off and sit on the table. I want to get this over with.”

“Ah, a quickie. I’m not much of a quickie kind of guy.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Weston’s eyes turn to mine and hold. Something flashes over his face that I can’t pinpoint. He watches me as he slides off his sweats and leans back against the table. “Don’t make me break the self-control that I do have and show you, Roxanne,” he says, his voice suddenly lower than I’ve ever heard it.

Something hot grabs my lower stomach and twists inside of me. “Anyway,” I say, dropping my eyes to his leg. Big mistake. He’s wearing black, Abercrombie boxer briefs. Before I can turn my head I see how he fills them out. Another scorching heat settles in me but it stops in-between my legs.

Placing my hands on the table for support, I reach over and place my fingers over his bare thigh. “Here?” I ask. I hate how low my voice is and I want to scream to make sure he doesn’t know how being this close to him affects me.

A growl erupts from Weston’s throat, sending chills over my body. “Fuck, yes,” he groans, moving his hips upward to slide down lower onto the table.

Biting my lip, I press my fingers harder into the tight muscle. Another moan.
Is it fucking hot in here?
God, I can’t even breathe. I press down harder and his hand shoots up and wraps around my wrist. “Not that hard, sweetheart,” he whispers.

Ah, hell.
I nod and let him guide my hand against his thigh. The tip of his thumb gently rubs the inside of my wrist. “Just like that,” he says.
Why am I sweating?

Glancing up, I see Weston staring at me. His brown eyes darker and wide. The look on his face I can’t pinpoint. “That feels so fucking good,” he says, watching me as he talks. “Oh,
baby
. So fucking good.” A smile.

Asshole!
Narrowing my eyes, I glance back down and notice his dick is hard and protesting against his underwear.

Of all the holy things in the world …

“Uh,” I turn away and pretend to fix my ponytail. He’s fucking hard. His erection was … right there. Beside my hand. And the terrible thing is that I’m not sure how I feel about it.

Putting my hands on my hips, I finally get the balls to look over at him. Humor is all over his face. He is trying not to laugh! I press my lips together and grit my teeth. “We need to walk. Let’s try to walk.”

He holds his hands out. “You’re the
professional
.”

No, he isn’t an asshole. He’s a fucking asshole.

I give him a tight smile and walk closer to him. “Put your hands on my shoulders and stand up, okay?”

He nods and wraps his large hands over my shoulders causing them to burn underneath his touch.
God, his hands are so big.
“Now slowly stand up.”

The tip of his tongue sticks out of the side of his mouth and he slowly stands up. He growls when he puts weight on his leg and grips my shoulders tightly. “Shit.”

“You okay?”

He nods, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. His throat is exposed to me. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and veins strain in his neck. “Can you move to walk? Or do you need to wait?”

“I’ll do it,” he says. Turning his face forward, he leans to take a step. First step fine. His brown eyes hold mine as he takes the second step on his bad leg. Growling, he fumbles forward and knocks me backwards into the cabinet. My back hits the counter and Weston falls onto me.

A loud laugh escapes his lips that are against my ear. The warmth goes straight to my core and makes fucking camp. Someone shouldn’t feel this muscle-y or hard. It’s inhuman. A piece of his blond hair tickles the side of my throat as he laughs into my neck. “Goddamn it. That went well.”

“It takes time,” I whisper. My voice refuses to obey me.
Why is he still on me? For the sake of everything right in the world, please get off of me.

He doesn’t say anything.

“Do you need some help getting up?”

His shoulders shake from laughter. “Am I making you nervous?”

Hell yes. “No, we just need to work.”

No answer. Then I feel his lips against my ear and his teeth nibble on my earlobe. My entire body just melted. I can’t feel my fucking head. “You sure? Then why are you breathing so hard?”

Am I?
I gently try to calm my breathing but his mouth is next to my ear.
He’s an ass, Roxy.
Fight the hotness.
Biting my lip as hard as I can, I raise my hands to his chest and push him to a standing position. “I am
not
breathing hard. Puh-lease. Now, let’s try this again.”

Smiling down at me, he puts his hands back on my shoulders. “Okay, teach me professor.”

After thirty minutes of arguing with Weston, he takes two steps and closes up. Now he is sitting on the table with his head in his hands like a huge baby.

I’m gathering my things when I hear someone wrap softly on the door. Blake is standing in the doorway dripping wet from sweat. His black hair pulled back at the nape of his neck. “Hey, Blake.”

“Hey,
Mami.
You got a minute?”

Glancing nonchalantly over my shoulder, I meet Weston’s gaze. He’s rigid, staring at me from over his iPod. “We’re finished. I’m just grabbing my things. What’s up?”

He makes his way into the room and leans against the cabinet next to me. Brown eyes rise to meet my own. “I was wondering if–,”

“Fuck!”

What the –

Weston is sprawled out on the floor. “Shit. My fuckin’ leg,” he yells.

Bending down, I reach underneath his arm and help him to a standing position. “What the hell, Weston. If you need help ask for it.”

“Me screaming
fuck
really was me screaming for
help
,” he grunts as I help him onto the table.

“Okay, anyway –,” I turn to leave but Weston grabs my wrist and tugs me closer to him.

“You’re leaving? It’s hurtin’. Rub the muscle a little more, please.”

Ugh! When I look back at Blake he’s smiling. But he isn’t looking at me. I look back at Weston and he’s smiling too.
What. The. Hell.

“I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, Roxy,” Blake says, keeping his eyes on Weston. “We’ll finish our conversation then,
Mami.”

Okay.
“Sure. Can’t wait.”

He smiles before disappearing around the corner of the doorway. Weston is staring at me when I turn back around. Both brows are slanted downward and his jaw is tight. “What the hell was that?” I jab my hand over my shoulder.

“What was what?”

“You just made him leave. And you look pissed.”

He shakes his head. “What? I did not and why would I be pissed, besides the fact that my thigh is fucked up. And I’m not pissed.”

I stare blankly at him. “Right.”

He sits up straighter. “I’m not mad.”

I turn and grab my purse. “Sure.” Then I walk out of the training room.

“I’m not!” I hear loudly from the other end of the hallway.

What the hell just happened? Weston Garrison just cock blocked me.

Chapter Five

Weston

This fucking sucks.

If carrying books weren’t enough of a hassle already, now I have to carry them while on crutches. Dom made me carry a backpack, which I hate to the core, and it keeps slapping against the side of my crutches as I walk. Again, this fucking sucks.

I make my way toward the café from my English class and wobble up toward the counter. The person in front of me is trying to decide on what kind of iced coffee to get.

I groan. I’m fucking thirsty and tired as hell. All I’ve been able to think about is football. It’s driving me insane. I need to practice. My phone vibrates in my jeans pocket and I wiggle it out. It’s from Rebecca. I laugh to myself and text her back. That’s one girl that always knows how to make a guy feel better. I’ve busied myself for tonight, so hopefully I won’t be bored out of my mind since all I can do is sit. I’m getting sick of watching TV. I need to run. Feel the wind on me. Smell the grass. I won’t be any good tonight. I’ll definitely have dead fish syndrome but obviously Rebecca doesn’t mind.

“What can I get you?”

I glance up at the freshman behind the counter. She has to be a freshman, because I would have noticed a rack like that by now. Giving her my bedroom smile, I lean against the counter. “Depends on what you’re selling,” I say.

She giggles and tucks a strand of black hair behind her ears. “Whatever you want,” she says.

Damn.
“Don’t wish for things you can’t handle, sweetheart. You just may get them.”

She blushes.

“Get me a–,”

Someone snorts really loudly and then I hear laughing.
Could you be any damn louder?
Turning, I freeze. Blake and Roxy are sitting at a table in the corner of the café.
Is he touching her hand?
No, I’m dreaming. It’s all a huge joke. Roxy brushes her long brown hair from her shoulder and nods along to whatever bullshit he’s selling her. It has to be bullshit. Guys are the best bull-shitters. He is crazy if he thinks he’s getting anything out of that girl. She’s got security up like the damn white house.

“What was that?” Freshman asks.