Playing for Hearts (92 page)

Crista tugged on his pant leg. “I take it you struck out, huh?”

He turned his attention to her and frowned. “No, I didn't strike out. But because I have to take you home, I can kiss my free ticket to Janelle goodbye.”

“What are you talking about?” She uncrossed her legs and stood in front of him. “Go be with her if you want. I'm not stopping you.”

“You're drunk. I'm not leaving you here to get into trouble.” He searched for her glass to dump the rest of the drink out and couldn't find it.

“I'm not drunk.” She planted her hands on his chest and shoved. “I took a couple sips and didn't even finish my champagne. Where did you get that stupid idea?”

“Look at you … ” He pointed at her, waving his hand up and down. “You were laughing and smiling at those men. Strangers, might I add, and acting like you weren't in control of yourself. All you're doing is asking for trouble. You have no idea what goes through a man's head when he sees someone who looks like you.”

Crista's mouth came open and she blinked up at him, speechless. He scoffed and let his head fall back as he took in the lights surrounding the patio. Why was he arguing with her?

She could do anything she wanted, and he was a guest at her house. He blew out his breath. Going without sex was affecting his thinking.

He had no say in Crista's life or who she talked with or how she acted or what choices she made.

“Listen.” He gazed at her again. “I'm sorry. I just never saw you … doing
that
before.”

Crista tugged her dress up. “Doing what?”

He eyed her breasts, surprised when they swelled and ballooned over the top when she adjusted the top of the material. He rubbed the back of his neck, unable to look away. He knew they were real, but when was the last time he'd seen her like
that
, wearing
that
, and showing off
those
?

“Well?” She cocked her hip and planted her hands at her waist.

“Jet lag,” he muttered, latching onto a plausible excuse for his reaction. “I'm ready to get out of here. You?”

Her shoulders sagged and she stepped closer. “Finally. Let's go home.”

It wasn't something he planned, but somehow he found himself following her back inside the beach house and across the main room. His cock hardened halfway to the door. She had a hell of a walk; her tight ass and loose hips were the perfect combination.

Unprepared for such a reaction, he had to do something because the last thing he needed was to think of Crista as … hell, he couldn't go there. She was his best friend. They'd done everything together. They laughed, fought, conspired, and supported each other. He hurried forward and opened the door, letting her go under his arm and outside first.

The door shut and he held her arm as she navigated the steps in her heels. Her smooth skin felt nice under his fingers and he moved his hand higher.

She glanced at him. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged off her concern. He'd be perfect once he had sex. Tonight proved he was past lucid thoughts and was hallucinating. Crista was off limits and his best friend. Hell, she might as well be his sister for how well he knew her.

He shuddered. At least he called that tremble that swept down his spine and landed in his balls a sign of repulsion. He only went out with girls like Janelle who were unattached to him emotionally, and who he wouldn't have to see after they were done having sex. He went for low maintenance and no obligation sex, not girlfriends or relationships.

“Bruce … Crista,” a woman's voice called out behind him.

Crista groaned. He glanced over his shoulder, and he wanted to groan, too. There, hurrying down the steps of the house was his sure deal—the in his pocket, free sex for the night woman coming right toward them, and she did not look thrilled to see him leaving with Crista.

“You two are leaving?” Janelle directed her question at Bruce.

Crista yawned. Janelle snapped her attention to Crista and glared as if the whole night was her fault. This was a disaster waiting to happen, and there was only one thing he could do to stop trouble before it started. He had to continue playing the part of Crista's boyfriend and keep Janelle interested and hanging in there a little longer.

He looped his arm across Crista's shoulders, pulling her to his side. Her hand went to his stomach out of surprise but provided the perfect sign of them having an intimate relationship. “Do you need a ride home? We have room if you'd like to go with us back to the apartments,” he said.

Janelle's lips pursed and she glared even more. He could barely view the shocking blue color of her eyes through the barrier of false black eyelashes. He glanced down at Crista, who gazed up at him.

Crista's serious expression belied her amusement because her bright green eyes fairly danced with laughter. He tightened his hold on her and hoped for once she didn't do something that would have him busting a gut. “Isn't that right, sweetheart?”

“Sure.” Crista smiled at Janelle. “My car has a comfortable backseat … lots of leg room for a sports car.”

Janelle pivoted without answering, marched back into the house, and finally let her opinion of them be known when she slammed the oversized, solid wood door with the brass handle. Bruce winced. “I guess she has another way home.”

“Appears that way,” Crista said. “Bummer.”

He looked at her. She looked at him. They both burst out laughing and didn't stop until they were pulling into the parking garage at Crista's apartment. He was okay with that because somewhere between the party and Crista's place, he decided he really didn't want to expend the energy it would take to get Janelle into bed.

The iron clank of the barbell hitting the stand echoed in the weight room. Crista sat up from her spot on the bench, wiping the stray strands of hair off her overheated face. If she hadn't eaten an onion burger and fries last night with Bruce, she could've cut her workout in half. As it was, she'd probably still gained five unwanted pounds.

“Done?” Bruce let the leg machine slowly retract back in place and planted his feet on the floor.

“Yep.” Crista stood. “Are you up to ten miles on the bike?”

Bruce eyed the exercise bicycle in front of the mirror. “Staring at myself while being stationary isn't my favorite thing to do.”

“Yeah, well, I was talking about riding outside on two wheels that actually propel you forward.” She laughed. “It does a body good.”

Bruce clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Still not feeling it. The last time I went bicycling with you, I had the bike seat impression in the crack of my ass for a month. Let's just say, it wasn't an enjoyable experience.”

“Crude, dude.” Crista sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “I need a shower.”

“Yeah, me, too.” He grabbed his towel and wiped his face, looping the material around his neck. “How about we hit the beach afterward instead of the self-punishment of the bicycle seat?”

“Sounds good.” She pushed through the door and walked into the hallway. “Don't forget that Grayson and Shauna are coming over tomorrow. We need to plan a night out that's baby friendly.”

Bruce pushed the elevator button. “How would I know where it's safe to take a kid?”

“You expect me to know just because I'm a woman?” Crista nudged him with her elbow. “You probably expect a woman to be barefoot and in dresses when you get home from earning all the money, huh?”

“It's a fantasy.” He stepped inside the elevator and held the door open for her. “Don't you want kids someday?”

Her stomach flip-flopped. His question hit too close to home. She hadn't talked with anyone about her desires to slow down, ease up on training, and think about settling down. Most women, she suspected, only thought about their future after they were in a serious relationship. She worked in reverse order, and since she needed a man to give her a baby, her chances were slim.

“I do,” she said, clearing her throat to ask louder. “Don't you? Someday, I mean?”

“Sure. I think all men do. It's in my body to procreate and want to see little Bruce Juniors running around and hitting the cover of
Sports Illustrated
or
Bass Angler
,” he said.

She opened her mouth to ask him when he planned on settling down, when a slim arm slipped between the closing elevator door, distracting her. She stepped back against the rail, staring at the blood red fingernails as they curled around the door, stopping the elevator from closing. She sagged against the wall and held on to the rail for support.

The door changed directions and Janelle came into view. Irritated over being interrupted just when she was about to get some information about where Bruce was in his life, she scooted closer to her friend, hoping Janelle would take the hint and get lost. As soon as Janelle stepped inside and hit the third floor button, she turned on Crista.

“You're not answering your cell phone,” Janelle stated.

She held her hands, palms up, letting Janelle see the bicycle shorts and sports bra were the only things she had on. “When I'm training, I never carry a phone.”

Janelle leaned against the wall, cupped her elbow with one hand, and delicately fanned the air under her nose. “I can tell you're exercising.”

“Really?” Crista stepped forward, but Bruce planted his hand flat in the middle of her stomach to keep her away from Janelle.

Anger rolled over her. She shrugged Bruce away, but his hand only moved to the back of her and held the waist of her shorts. She was tired of Janelle.

All the attitude and demeaning comments had taken their toll, and she was done. She inhaled through her nose and curled her fingers into fists. Her problem with Janelle wasn't only the lack of respect she received. She was also tired of feeling like Janelle's ugly stepsister.

“Whatever.” Janelle's gaze finally landed on Bruce. “You're looking hot, Bruce.”

The model's gaze lowered and her finely shaped brow arched at the sight of Bruce's loose sweat pants hanging from his hips. Crista rolled her eyes as the elevator dinged.

Without waiting a second, she charged out and headed toward her apartment. It wasn't until she was at the door punching in the code that she realized Bruce wasn't with her. She peered down the empty hallway, looked at the closed door to Janelle's apartment and snorted.

“That bitch,” she muttered.

Stinky, pissed, and feeling kinship to a warty frog, she entered her apartment and headed to the shower. If Bruce wanted to ruin his life getting hooked up with Janelle, then he was on his own. She wasn't going to help him anymore.

While she showered, she stewed. It wasn't as if Janelle was better than her. Janelle had a more active social life, but Crista wasn't looking to bed-hop and fill her life with meaningless friendships. Janelle reminded her of an immature eighteen-year old who suddenly walked out of a strict upbringing and wanted to experience everything at once, no matter what her actions did to everyone else. Crista was past that.

She stepped out of the shower and dried off, leaving her hair wet and dripping. She was also frustrated because Bruce was making a fool of himself by playing Janelle's game just to get sex and prove he was man enough to bag the supermodel. His behavior was pathetic because all he saw in Janelle was a good lay. Crista tossed the towel in the hamper and paused. Fine, if she wanted to be honest, she was jealous that Bruce seemed to fawn over someone totally unlike her.

Ever since she was fourteen, she'd trained and made her life all about competing in marathons, triathlons, and the Ironman. She was proud of what she'd accomplished, but she'd be the first to admit that she'd missed out on a lot of normal things. It was only natural that she'd compare her sex life with Janelle's and come away feeling like the loser out of the two.

She slapped the hamper closed. Now she was too old to act stupid around a man, go out, get drunk, and dance on a table. Everyone knew her, and if they didn't know her for what she'd gained through hard work and dedication, they remembered that silly shot of her running out of the ocean in a bikini that
did
make the cover of
Sports Illustrated
.

Sure, it wasn't the swimsuit addition and she'd had sand in her ass and her hair in a swimcap, but she'd heard the talk. Not everyone thought she was hideous.

She sighed, opened the bathroom door, and walked out naked to get dressed in her room. From now on, she was going to cut off her relationship with Janelle. Toxic friendships messed with her head, and she needed to concentrate on getting in the best shape she could so she could step away from her career on a win.

In the hall, she picked up the dirty towel on the floor and stared at it. It wasn't one of hers.

The spare bedroom door opened. She dropped the towel in surprise and stared at Bruce. He was supposed to be with Janelle.

Bruce's gaze dropped to her bare breasts. Heat rose to the surface of her skin. She stood naked in front of him with nothing in her hands to hide behind. As quickly as that thought passed through her head, she also came to the conclusion that he wasn't with Janelle, and she'd be damned if she was going to cower in embarrassment because she was more mature, more confident, and more secure than her next door neighbor.

Bare chested and wearing only a pair of jeans, Bruce continued to soak in every little detail of her body. His gaze went from her breasts to her legs and back again. His mouth softened and he leaned against the doorframe as if he had all the time in the world to look at his best friend. Her pulse raced. Unable to stop her reaction from his intense inspection, her nipples peaked and warmth spread throughout her body, congregating between her legs.

The feelings were so alien to her, she grew lightheaded. She shouldn't feel … what? She swallowed hard. Turned on? Pleased? Powerful? Sexy?