Playing Hard: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (31 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

RILEY

I should be happy.

Ava just gave me the best get out of jail free card I ever could have wished for. Now if she wants to try to stay with me and mess up my plans for getting all the pussy I can eat after the end of our ‘arrangement’, I can just point to what she said to her father and tell her that there’s no way I’m continuing on with this cloak and dagger shit, and she’ll have no one but herself to blame. She can’t get mad at me, because
she’s
the one who said it.

This is the best thing that could’ve happened. Now I don’t have to keep dating her, and I don’t have to feel guilty because I was the one who devirginized her.

So why do I feel like someone’s ripped my heart out of my chest?

It was going to be over soon, anyhow. We couldn’t keep seeing each other after the Murray-mandated break up date — not unless Ava planned on defying her father, but
why
I would have ever expected her to do that is beyond me right now.

And anyway, the season will be ramping up again soon. And when I’m playing I can take my pick of hot girls.

I don’t need Ava.

Sure, I thought she was special. But in the end, she proved herself to be just like all the others — only interested in me for one thing. I was a suitable tool for her and her father to use. And now that I’ve served my purpose, they can just throw me away.

But isn’t that what life is like? Everyone just wants to use you. If you can’t do something for somebody, you may as well not exist.

I’ve always known that the only reason I get to go to Blaketon and be seen by hot-shot football agents and courted by NFL teams is because I can play. If I get injured or lose form, I’ll be out so quick my head would spin.

And I’m okay with that. I mean, that’s the deal, right?

Just like all the girls I’ve slept with — they have something I want. I have something
they
want. Fair exchange, right?

But with Ava it’d seemed… different. Or it had started to, anyway.

Sure, at first it was nothing but me wanting to get into her little cotton panties, but then I thought….

Okay, no, this is dumb. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to keep seeing her.

Things with my mom threw me for a loop.

I don’t know what the hell I want.

I lean back on the couch, tipping a bottle of beer down my throat.

Fuck it.

“When you’ve finished moping around like a limp dick, you could come in here and help me,” Omar calls from the kitchen.

Sighing and rolling my eyes, I swallow the beer and get up. Omar’s been bitching all day about the state of the kitchen, and for some reason, just this once, he hasn’t hired anyone to come and do something about it.

I go out to the kitchen. Omar’s tying up a massive trash bag filled with takeout boxes and leftovers, before hurling it dramatically out into the hall.

“Jesus, Riley,” he mutters. “Living with you two is a fucking nightmare. I swear, how do you live like this? Do you not see the mold in here?”

“Okay, okay, keep your fucking pants on,” I grumble.

I throw my empty beer bottle into the recycling bin Omar insists on us having, before going to the sink and turning the faucets on full.

Okay, and maybe Omar has a point — it really is kind of gross in here. There’s a cockroach skittering around on the counter. Without thinking, I raise my fist and then slam it down, sending bug guts oozing everywhere.

It’s… kind of satisfying.

I pick up the first dish in the pile and dump it in the water.

“For fuck’s sake!” Omar screams. “At least wash your hands first. That shit’s disgusting.”

“You know, I am
really
getting sick of you mouthing off at me,” I say, wiping my hand on a towel before throwing it across the room. “What the fuck does it matter?”

“It matters because I have to share a kitchen with your nastiness,” Omar says. “And I for one would really prefer not to get poisoning and die from shitting my pants.”

“You could move out, if it’s so fucking hard living with me,” I mutter, taking a handful of dishes and dumping them in the sink. I think I hear one of them crack.

“Are you serious right now?” Omar asks. “Are you having a tantrum because I asked you to wash your own goddamn dishes?”

“I’m not having a tantrum.”

“That’s what it looks like.”

I clench my fists. If Omar doesn’t shut up, I swear I’m going to punch him.

“I’m
not
having a tantrum,” I repeat. “Can you just lay off?”

Omar, thank God, keeps his mouth shut for once.

I busy myself with the dishes. It actually isn’t so bad once I start — at least it’s talking my mind off shit with Ava. I don’t ever remember being so angry at someone before in my entire life.

“Are you feeling messed up over stuff with your mom?”

I look up when Omar speaks again.

“What?”

“Look, I’d get it if you were,” he says. “It must be weird, having her back in your life like that.”

I don’t answer him. I just shove my hands back in the hot soapy water. I really don’t want to talk about this.

But as per usual, Omar just has no idea when to shut up.

“I mean, I’m here for you, bro,” he says, taking a towel — a different one from the one I wiped my hands with, I’m guessing — and starting to dry the clean dishes. “If you want to talk.”

“I don’t,” I grunt.

How can I? I’m not supposed to talk about Ava anyway. And even if I could, I’m not going to go spilling my guts about a
girl
. Omar wouldn’t believe me, anyway. He’d just assume I’ve been caught by some extra-good pussy, and a good fuck will get my head back in the game.

And you know… maybe he’s right.

Ava has no claim over me. Not that she ever did, but if she had, she’s given it up now by denying there’s anything between us.

I mean… sure I was a jerk when I went over there. But her saying that was some next level shit.

“There any parties on tonight?” I ask Omar eventually.

It’s a Friday night.
Of course
there’ll be a party on somewhere.

Omar just gives me a look, but then shakes his head.

“Yeah. There’s one Reid told me about. You up for going?”

“Sure,” I say. “I could get drunk and blow off steam.”

“Good. Then it can be your reward for getting these motherfucking dishes finished,” Omar says.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

AVA

“Can you blame him for being upset?” Darcey asks, her eyebrow raised.

“Of
course
I can’t,” I moan, blowing my nose on a soggy tissue and dabbing at my eyes. “That’s what I’m
saying
. It was a horrible thing for me to do — I felt so freaked out by the photo, and first Bryce ambushing me, and then Dad calling, I didn’t know what to say, and it just kind of… popped out. But I know it was awful, and I don’t blame him if he doesn’t want to see me. But I have to at least try to apologize.”

Darcey nods, before taking a long drink of her cooler. “Yeah, I think you’d better.”

I take a drink too, but as I do, I still feel the need to justify myself to Darcey.

“But honestly, what was I supposed to do?” I ask her. “Get into a huge argument with my dad and probably dump Riley in a whole world of shit for something I don’t even know is going to last longer than another week or so? Riley’s never said he wants to try to make things work between us, or to keep seeing me after the election. I couldn’t exactly ask him right at that moment. What would
he
have said if his coach or whoever had suddenly jumped on
him
and asked him what was going on? You can’t tell me he wouldn’t have denied it.”

“Point,” Darcey says, nodding. “I guess.”

“Please, Darcey, don’t give me grief about this,” I plead. “Can’t you see things from my point of view?”

Darcey sighs heavily. “Yeah, I can. And you’re right, Riley probably would’ve denied it too. And I heard him — he was being kind of a jerk to you in the kitchen.”

“You were listening in?!” I squeal.

“Hey, only in case you needed moral support!” She raises her hands defensively.

“Okay, okay,” I sigh, taking another drink. “But he’s got his phone turned off, or he’s been screening my calls. Either way, he clearly doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Hmmm.” Darcey looks contemplatively out the window. “Riley’s the kind of guy where you have to strike while the iron is hot, I think. If you leave him to simmer he’ll just get angrier and blow everything even more out of proportion. You should go apologize to him now.”

“Go to his place?” I ask. “I don’t think I can do that.”

“Sure you can.” Darcey shrugs. “We’ll doll you up and get you looking super hot. That way when he sees you he’ll remember why he shouldn’t be mad at you.”

“Uh, great,” I say dubiously. “You don’t think I should like… impress him with my sincerity or something like that?”

“Sure, if you want to be
boring
,” Darcey says. “Believe me, I’ve dated like a dozen jocks. It’s always T&A first, sincerity second.”

“Okay,” I say, a little doubtfully. “But I just don’t think that tits and ass is my style. I mean, Riley once said he kind of liked that I dress like a Catholic schoolgirl.”

Darcey, who had been taking a drink out of her bottle, does a spittake.

“Riley said
that?
”

I nod, feeling a blush spreading across my cheeks.

“Hmm. Kinky,” Darcey says contemplatively.

“You’re not allowed to tell anyone I said that!”

“Don’t worry, the details of your perverted sex life are safe with me,” Darcey says. “Okay, well, we can make that work. You can put on your slutty schoolgirl outfit, give him the old razzle-dazzle, and then make your sincerest apology to him about what you said. I don’t think he can — huh.”

As she’s been talking, Darcey’s been scrolling through the fifty or so new messages she has at any one time.

“What?” I ask.

“Brett just texted me to ask me to come to a party with him tonight,” she says. “
He
got invited by Tori P., who got invited by Omar O’Brien, who’s Riley’s teammate, and
she
says Omar told her that Riley’s going to be there.”

Once I’ve disentangled the strings of pronouns and names I don’t know, I feel my heart sink. Even though I know Riley going to a party isn’t really anything to be worried about, I know the kinds of parties he goes to. The ones he talked about with me — the ones where people fuck in closets or in other people’s beds, and it’s so common everyone knows to knock before entering a room or opening a door.

I swallow.

“Do you think he’s… uh, I mean…”

Darcey glances over at me.

“Well, possibly,” she says, and I can see she’s trying her hardest to be diplomatic — which is not foremost among her skills. “But I mean, a lot of people just go to those parties to get drunk, too.”

“Encouraging,” I mutter.

“Hey, think of the alternatives,” Darcey says. “Can you blame him for wanting to get drunk and blow off some steam?”

“I guess not,” I admit. I mean, I’m sitting here drinking myself. And I hardly ever drink. After spending all afternoon in tears and Riley not picking up his phone, though, I’d decided I needed something to take the edge off.

“Look, let’s go,” Darcey says. “You can see Riley and try to explain and make it up to him. And if not… well, we can get drunk! It’s a win-win!”

“Okay,” I say, though I still feel a little undecided. I’d really prefer to try to talk to Riley without the noise and chaos of a party going on around us, but at the same time, I think Darcey’s right about having to try to apologize as soon as possible. It was a totally shitty thing to say, after all, and if I let Riley stew in his own juices for too long, he’s probably going to think I’m not sorry at all.

Plus, it’ll give me a chance to actually
talk
to him about the future. The idea terrifies me, but… if Riley is willing to try, then I am too. I don’t know how, but I will.

In some ways, he’s right — I can’t live my whole life doing exactly what my father wants me to do. I kept feeling I’d gotten away with something by studying chemistry instead of the business courses he wanted, and that I should do everything else exactly right.

And since Mom died… I’ve felt like I’m the one who’s responsible for making him happy.

But if the past few weeks have shown me anything, it’s that I’m not. Yes, I agreed to this dumb charade because I thought it would help him, and I’d do anything to help my father. I can’t live my whole life like this, though. I’ve been so uninterested in romance before that I never really thought about what it might mean to date anyone at all, but now that I’ve… well, now that I’ve fallen for Riley, I can’t imagine going out with someone just because they fit the idea of who my family thinks I should date. Sure, I do know some nice guys from our social circle. But Riley is right — none of them have ever made me feel the way he does.

And now, I might have fucked it all up, with four incredibly stupid words that I didn’t even mean, that I just blurted because I felt trapped and frightened.

I can only hope that Riley can see my point of view, and tries to forgive me.

Otherwise, I don’t know what I’m going to do.