Playing Hard: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (4 page)

I sit in front of him, stewing. Mainly because that was exactly how I
had
planned on spending my off season.

Now, it seems like I’ll have to spend it
pretend dating
Miss Priss, the soon-to-be senator’s daughter.

Well, fuck.

“I don’t suppose I get any say in this, do I?” I ask, staring at Coach across the table.

Coach Jackson’s smile could melt butter. “None at all.”

CHAPTER THREE

AVA

“Ava, don’t you have to be getting ready for your
biiiig daaaate?
”

Darcey’s sing-song voice drifts out from her room.

We’ve spent the whole day trying to get set up in our new apartment, courtesy of my dad. His one condition — aside from the whole
pretend dating some meathead jock
thing — was that I get a roommate, and Darcey was looking for somewhere new. Unlike me, she went to Blaketon for her undergrad degree, but we were at prep school together, and her father knows my father, yada yada, the usual drill.

“It’s not a fucking date!” I yell back at her, staring at myself in the mirror. Is what I’m wearing right? Is this what people wear for… okay, no, that’s a useless question, because I’m pretty sure no one else in the history of humanity has ever been involved in anything this asinine.
No one’s
father has ever asked them to pretend to date a college football star in order to further his political career. At least, that I know of. So I’m sure the boots, black leggings and massive sweater I’m wearing will be just fine.

Hair can stay up. I’m not in the mood for styling it — and besides, Darcey’s right, and I really do need to get going.

Still, a second opinion couldn’t hurt.

Not that I care.

Riley and I
aren’t
dating. It’s all a sham.

In fact, I didn’t even think he’d agree to it — from what I’ve read about Riley Knox, wild horses couldn’t drag him to a date.

Like, an actual date, not just an all-night fuckfest.

I cross the hall into Darcey’s room.

“How do I look?” I ask her.

She runs a critical eye up and down my body. “Like you don’t even care you’re dating literally half the campus’s dream guy,” she says finally. “You
do
realize you’re supposed to make the guy want to fuck you, right?”

“Oh, shut up,” I snap. “Like you’d know anything about that — do you honestly expect any guy ever to be able to get it up with
those
on the wall?”

I point to the newspaper pictures of Justin Trudeau she has plastered to the wall. As in Prime Minister of Canada, Justin Trudeau. There must be at least seven of them. Darcey might be studying polisci, but this is just
tragic.

“You leave Justin out of this!” she shrieks, as if I’ve just insulted her mother or something. “And I’ll have you know, no guy I’ve ever had in my room has ever had trouble getting it up,
thank you very much.
”

I can believe that, I have to admit. Darcey’s what she likes to call a ‘serial monogamist’, but what everyone else would call a ‘player’. Or maybe that’s not quite fair. She doesn’t
cheat
on anyone she’s with, she just gets bored easily. Those are her words.

Or maybe it’s just that no man will ever be able to live up to the string of crushes on political figures she’s held over the years. I still remember the intensely weird Mitt Romney phase. Honestly, if she could have gone to the presidential debates and thrown her panties up on stage, she probably would have.

“At least take your hair down,” Darcey says. “You say it’s not a date — fine. But isn’t the point that no one else is supposed to know that?”

“Okay, you have a point,” I grumble. “And
on
that point, you tell
anyone
about this and I’ll nail your hide to the wall, is that clear?”

“Yeah, you already said that,” Darcey says blithely, walking across the room to me and yanking the tie out of my hair.

“Ouch!” I yelp, but I stand still as she runs her fingers through my hair, fluffing it up a little before selecting a few strands to waft over my face.

“There,” she says when she’s done, stepping back to examine me with evident satisfaction. “That’s a bit better at least. Now fly — fly to your fake-ass prince!”

I stick my tongue out at her as I grab my purse and head out the door. If I don’t hurry, I’m going to be late.

I don’t care about that because of Riley Knox, but I
do
care about disappointing my father. If Riley’s ego is as big as his… well, as big as the rumors about both it
and
his dick say they are, I can’t see him hanging around for a girl he doesn’t even want to date in the first place.

The meeting’s been set up for a cafe just outside campus, about fifteen minutes from my new apartment. Murray’s organized everything, apparently — and it all has to be, in Murray’s words, ‘organic’.

Which is a laugh, considering the extensive lecture I got about it all.

I trust you with this because you’re a sensible young woman. I
know
you won’t
actually
lose your head over this boy. Remember this is only for a few months.

Murray had droned on and on and on, while I sat there saying
Yes, Murray
, and
No, Murray
, and
Three bags full, Murray.

As the cafe comes into sight, I rub my hands together. Great, my palms are sweaty, despite the cold weather. My stomach is one big knot — it doesn’t matter that this isn’t a real date, I’m still nervous as hell. If I don’t actually know how to go on a real date, then I’m even more clueless as to how to go on a
fake
one.

Not to mention, either way, it’s still Riley Knox. Aside from that one moment after the game, I’ve never even met him.

And that wasn’t even a proper meeting. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t remember me — after all, I’m just another girl to a guy who could have any girl he wants. But for me, it’s just not every day that a shirtless, Adonis-looking, perfectly-muscled sports star comes bounding out of nowhere and sweeps me up in his arms. 

I shake my head to clear it.

I
do not
need to be thinking about that right now. It’s just like Murray says: I’m not supposed to actually lose my head over this boy.

Nonetheless, as I get close to the cafe, I feel my heart sink a little.

It’s a cute little cafe with a few outside tables, and the arrangement was that we’d meet at the third table from the left of the cafe door. But there’s no one there.

I’m a few minutes late, but I seriously doubt even Riley Knox would have gotten bored of waiting and left already.

Maybe he’s not even coming in the first place.

The thought’s in my head before I can stop it, and I pause, biting my lip nervously. I’m not going to humiliate myself by sitting down and waiting for him if he’s not coming. Murray told me it was all arranged, but I’m not exactly sure Riley’s the type to take stuff seriously.

I feel a warm blush covering my cheeks.

This is insane. What the fuck was I thinking?

I was thinking I wanted to help my dad. But nothing is worth this. I’m not going to sit around here getting a numb ass while Riley Knox is probably off screwing some cheerleader. Fuck that.

This was a
terrible
idea.

All at once, I realize just how ridiculous I must look, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at the cafe like some kind of creeper. I can see a few of the people inside glancing at me in mildly hostile confusion while I stare at their dates.

Their presumably
real
dates.

Yeah, this is dumb. And I can think of a thousand ways I’d rather spend my afternoon.

Making up my mind, I turn on my heel, planning to go home and spend the rest of the afternoon wrapped up in a blanket and studying fluid mechanics. Now
that’s
my idea of time well-spent.

I don’t get far, however.

Instead, I’m so filled with righteous anger that when I turn, I take a long, angry stride, and walk smack-bang into a chest.

A chest I’m already intimately familiar with.

Still, my automatic reaction of, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry —” is already out of my mouth in the moment before I look up, and find myself staring into the bright blue eyes of Riley Knox.

CHAPTER FOUR

RILEY

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry —”

It’s her.

I recognize those eyes as they blink in surprise. I mean, I only saw them for a moment the other week, but they sure did leave an impression.

That’s one of the only reasons I agreed to this — that, and I’m pretty sure Coach would have ripped my testicles off and fed them to me if I’d refused.

As she looks up and realizes who I am, those big blue eyes widen in surprise, and a deep pink blush spreads across her face.

Damn, she’s even cuter than I remember.

And she’s totally off-limits
.

I’ve never been one to give a fuck about things like that, though — if anything, the idea of forbidden fruit only makes her that much more tempting.

“Hi,” I say, giving her my most charming grin. The one that makes girls get wet and wiggle out of their panties every single time. “You must be… Ava, is that right?”

She looks up at me for a second longer, her lips still formed into a perfect ‘O’ of surprise, before her eyebrows draw together and she tosses her head a little, flicking her long dark hair over her shoulder.

“I thought you weren’t there,” she says, sounding angry. “I was just about to turn around and go home.”

My eyebrows shoot up. Usually, girls are smiling and giggling by this point. They’re twirling their hair around their fingers. At the very least, they’re not fucking
glaring
at me like I just ran over their grandma.

“You’re late,” I say bluntly. I’ve been staking the place out, waiting for her to show. “I wasn’t going to hang around waiting if you weren’t there. And besides, I don’t think you get who I am — I turn up at a cafe alone and there’s gonna be girls hanging off me in three seconds flat.”

It’s true. I’m not saying it to be boastful. It’s just a fact of life.

But seeing as Coach Jackson specifically told me this had to look like a date, I thought I’d hang back a little, wait ’til she was there before showing my face. At least that way I could deflect attention by saying I was on a date.

Which apparently both Coach and this chick’s dad are
so keen
for us to look like we’re doing.

Ava raises an eyebrow. “Really,” she says flatly, her eyes running up and down my body, as if she’s unimpressed by what she sees. I catch the way her tongue darts over her lips, though — it’s just a momentary thing, but it gives her away completely.

Oh, yeah.

Whatever tightass act she’s putting on, that’s all it is: an
act.

She totally wants me. Which is completely understandable.

“Yeah,” I say, smiling again. I’ve been around girls like this before. You just have to stay charming, keep smiling. They’ll melt eventually. “Sorry, but that’s just the way it is. In a way, you’re one lucky gal.”

Again with the raised eyebrow, the unimpressed look.

“Lucky? How so?” she asks, her voice tight. Then she lets out a long breath, and shakes her head. “Look,” she says after a moment. “Sorry. I’m being a bitch. But I hope you get that this is just something I’m doing to help my dad — I don’t want to be here any more than I imagine you do.”

I laugh a little at that. “I can think of worse ways to spend an afternoon than going on a date with a pretty girl,” I say, flashing her another grin. “Well, one. But you’d have to be wearing less clothes.”

“It’s not a date,” she snaps, ignoring the second part of what I said. That pink blush is spreading across her cheeks again, though.

It’s kind of… hot. The girls I’m used to don’t usually blush. It’s hard to think of anything that could possibly
make
them blush. But
this
girl — I say she’s pretty and she’s red all over.

I’m liking the novelty of it.

“Okay,” I say, holding my hands up. “Whatever you say. It’s not a date. Should we go sit down so we can talk rather than standing here in the middle of the sidewalk?”

She hesitates a moment, before nodding. Then she marches off across the street alone, leaving me behind.

At least it gives me the chance to look at her cute little ass in the leggings she’s wearing.

I don’t know whether she knows she’s doing it or not, but there’s a little wiggle in her hips as she walks.

She
totally
wants me.

And I want her. Sure, she’s not the usual kind of girl I’d go for — kind of serious and nerdy — but they say variety is the spice of life.

Plus, I want to find more ways to make her blush.

All at once, I’m picturing her lying flat on her back on my bed, her dark hair spread out on my pillow, all sweaty and flushed and breathless, whispering
Riley….

My cock twitches in my pants, but when Ava turns around that glare’s back on her face, and when she sits down she crosses her legs at the ankles, all prim and proper, her hands folded in her lap.

That weird moment of sex kitten sway is totally gone. She looks like my maiden aunt.

Well, we say ‘maiden’, but everyone knows she’s been muff diving with Mrs Crosby down the road for years.

I have a flash of insight. Maybe I’ve been reading Ava all wrong. Not likely, but it could happen.

“Hey,” I say, sitting down across from her. “If you’re into chicks, that’s totally cool. I get it.”

“What?” Her voice is acidic.

“You said we’re not on a date — and that your dad is making you do this. So I figured —”

“I’m not gay,” she says, her teeth gritted. “Though I’m seeing the advantages of it right now.”

Geeze, she’s uptight. She needs to relax. I could think of one way I could help her out now that we’ve established she likes cock after all, but given how she’s looking at me now…

Anger suddenly swells up in my chest. I’m used to people at Blaketon looking at me like that. The look that says they think I’m here on charity. That no matter how many games I win for them, I’m still just a shit poor kid here on a scholarship. Like they’re
indulging
me by letting me play.

“What’s your problem?” I ask, the words coming out louder than I intended them to. “Look, you already said you don’t want to be here, and I get it — but this wasn’t exactly my idea. There’s plenty of chicks who’d
love
the chance to get what you’re getting.”

She just looks at me, evidently neither intimidated nor impressed by my anger.

“Look —” she starts, but I don’t let her finish.

“Is it because you’re rich and I’m on a scholarship? Is
that
the problem? My coach already told me the deal — I’m not allowed anywhere near your pristine pussy, so you can tell your dad not to worry, you’ll be unsoiled on your wedding night. Unlike you, I
earned
what I have. I train hard, I play hard, and I’m the best at what I do. If you think I’m going to play along with this sick little game as long as you keep up this rich bitch act, you can forget about it.”

I’m aware there’s a few people inside the cafe who’ve turned their heads to look at us. Ava’s sitting across from me, hands in front of her, fists clenched, her lips pressed together in a long, thin line. 

“‘Rich bitch’?” she asks frostily, after a long silence.

“That’s how you’re acting,” I spit back at her. And it’s true.

Ava takes a long, deep breath, sitting back in her seat. “Fine,” she says. “I’ll drop the rich bitch act if you stop with the arrogance. It’s not charming.”

“You’re the first person who’s ever said that, but whatever,” I scoff. “Look, I already said if you’re a lesbian you can just tell me. I don’t care.”

“Is that the
only
reason you can think of as to why I might not be charmed by you?”

“Only one that makes sense,” I say. “C’mon — are you
really
saying you don’t want me?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” She narrows her eyes. “Maybe you’re hot shit around campus, but I don’t care about football, and I don’t know anything about it, including who plays it.” She looks down, fiddling with her sleeve. “Look, maybe this was a mistake.”

“What?” Now
I’m
clenching
my
fists. Damn, why am I letting this girl get under my skin like this? Usually I’d just laugh and move on if a girl gives me attitude. But
this
one — she’s getting to me like no girl has ever gotten to me before. Like I want to prove her wrong or something.

“A mistake,” she repeats. “I didn’t even really want to do this anyway. I’ll go home and tell my dad it’s off. You won’t have to worry about hanging around with a… what was it? A rich bitch anymore.”

“Hey, wait — ” As she stands to go, I reach out to grab her arm to stop her from going. The palm of my hand brushes against the exposed skin of her wrist, and I feel a little frisson of heat surge through me, like touching her has charged my skin with electricity.

She looks down at me, shocked — either because she felt it too, or because she’s so shocked I dared to touch her pristine skin.

“Let. Me. Go.” Her voice is calm and deadly serious.

“Okay, okay,” I say, letting her go, though the tingle in my skin doesn’t go away. “I’m just saying, my coach’ll kill me if I fuck this up.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I don’t see how that’s my problem,” she says.

She’s colder than a witch’s tit, I swear. Maybe she’s on the rag.

I’m trying to
de
-escalate the situation, however, so I don’t say that out loud.

The
other
thought I don’t say out loud is that I bet a girl like this — all tightly-wound and repressed — would be an absolute
animal
in the sack. Again, my mind is filled with the thought of her breathless and panting, hair messed up, perfect white skin all flushed red, legs spread, me pushing my way between them, making those full tits bounce as I thrust into her….

That’s not a helpful image.

My cock doesn’t care, though. I’m already half-hard just at the thought of it.

Ava’s still standing up and showing no signs of sitting down again. But at least she’s not walking away. And as long as she’s not walking away, I still have a chance to talk her into staying, and save my testicles from a mauling from Coach Jackson.

“C’mon,” I say, smiling. Whatever front she’s putting up, I already know she’s hot for me. “Let’s figure this out.”

She hesitates a moment longer. And then she shakes her head.

“Sorry. But no.”