Playing Hard: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (8 page)

I swallow.

I didn’t realize I looked quite so aggressive. In the picture, I’m sticking my finger in his face while he holds his hands up defensively, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It was the one second I’d really lost control of myself — so naturally, that’s the photo that ends up on the front page.

“Want me to read it to you? It’s quite the tale.” Darcey smirks at me.

“No,” I say, sinking even farther down into my seat. No wonder everyone was staring at me when I came in. This is exactly the kind of place the ‘cool’ people on campus come — Darcey’s kind of people, the ones who love gossip while pretending to be above it all. “Just… close it. Get it out of here. I don’t want to know.”

I don’t even want to
think
about it. I have no idea what kind of dark forces Murray has at his fingertips, but I never imagined his arts extended to placing pictures of me viciously arguing with a college sports star in a second-rate gossip blog.

Well,
I remind myself.
We weren’t
supposed
to be arguing.

That had been Riley’s fault. What the fuck had he been thinking? 

“It’s official,” Darcey informs me. “You’re the designated ‘mystery woman’ in Riley’s life.”

I groan. “Fuck.”

“C’mon, you knew what you were signing up for when you agreed to this,” Darcey says, turning her iPad back around and scrolling through the article with the tip of her finger. “You can’t really say you’re surprised.”

“I guess not,” I grumble. “But… it wasn’t supposed to come out like that. It was just supposed to be a picture of us together. Not a picture of us
arguing.
”

“Yeah, I wondered about that,” Darcey says casually. “Says here you were pissed that he was hanging out with another woman. Were you?”

“No,” I lie. I glance over my shoulder, feeling paranoid and almost expecting to see everyone’s eyes on me. But given what a hipster place this is, everyone’s already gone back to their lunch. Or at least, they’re pretending to. “Like I keep telling you, we’re not really dating, and Riley can hang out with whoever he wants.”

“Uh-huh,” Darcey says absently, her eyes on the screen. “Sure.”

I huff out a breath and decide to ignore her, staring out the window. At least the small flurry of interest my arrival at the restaurant seemed to generate has died down. It’ll probably be forgotten about in three seconds flat anyway.

We’re joined after a few minutes by Megan, Darcey’s friend from her polisci program, and her boyfriend, Tyler.

“Wow, if I’d known we’d be eating with a celebrity I would’ve dressed up,” Tyler jokes as he sits down.

I just make a face at him. “Can we not?” I ask.

“No way,” Megan cuts in. “I have to know everything. How do you know Riley Knox? I never had you pegged as a sports fan.”

“I’m not,” I say, feeling awkward. I guess that’s one thing I never really gave any consideration to about this whole facade: the amount of bald-faced lying I’d have to do if anyone asked about me and Riley.

Even as I think it, I realize how incredibly naive I’ve been. Somehow, I thought the stories Murray would plant would get shot out into the ether, without having any effect on my real life, as if they were about someone else entirely. I didn’t think at all that people around me — my
friends
— would get caught up in it.

Stupid
, I think to myself. 

“So, how did you meet Riley, then?” Megan asks, eyes bright with curiosity. “I mean, they say he’s a ladies’ man….” She trails off, raising an eyebrow suggestively. “Does he really measure up to his reputation?”

“What?” I yelp, causing a few heads to turn in our direction. “No, I mean — ” I lower my voice. “I haven’t
slept
with him.”

“What’s that? You haven’t?” Darcey is grinning mischievously. “Have you forgotten my room is right next to yours? All I heard last night was
oh Riley, yeah, like that Riley, oh, oh oh ohhhhh —
”

“That never happened!” I shriek, loud enough that even more heads turn this time.
Oh great,
I think. My first day of fame, and I’m already living up to my reputation as a shrill harridan. “Darcey, tell them that
never
happened.”

“It was just a joke,” Darcey says, shrugging a little. “Sorry, didn’t know it was such a sore spot with you.”

For a moment, I think she’s really angry with me for yelling at her, but then I see a twinkle in her eye. She’s
loving
this.

At that moment, a waiter arrives to take our order. I haven’t even thought about what I want to eat, but it’ll all be deconstructed lumps of whatever anyway. I order the first thing I see, and then sit back in the booth, listening as Darcey, Megan and Tyler start bitching about one of their professors and his unreasonable homework expectations.

I realize I’m being an antisocial bitch, but for some reason I just can’t bring myself to join in on the conversation.

My mind’s elsewhere.

Mainly in Riley Knox’s pants. 

CHAPTER EIGHT

RILEY

“Oh, man, you got chicks catfighting over you again?” Reid, my teammate and my roommate, laughs, throwing his head back. “Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to be you for a day.”

I try to give him a smile, though I’m not really into it. “Yeah. When they make the movie of my life, that shit’ll only be shown on HBO,” I tell him. “Anyway, what’re you complaining about? You get plenty of ass.” I’m trying to change the subject, I hope not too obviously.

It doesn’t matter though — Reid’s like a dog with a bone, which is what makes him such a good linebacker. Once he’s got something, he never lets it go.

Right now though, it just makes him a huge pain in my nads.

“So who’s that girl who was yelling at you?” Reid asks, vaulting over the back of the couch to land beside me. “I haven’t seen her around the house. You should invite her over. That bitch is fine.”

Don’t call her a bitch
are the first words that jump into my mind. I shove them away. I don’t give a fuck what Reid says about Ava. Why should I? He’s right, anyway — she
is
a bitch. Both times we’ve met now she’s done nothing but cuss me out and be rude.

“She's just some girl,” I say defensively, which is right.

She's just some girl, who I can’t stop thinking about. She's just some girl, who, for some reason, has my cock twitching in my pants every time I think about her.

If I’m being honest, I have to say I've never met any girl like her before. Hell, she's the only girl under forty I've met in the past two years whose first reaction to me isn’t to slither out of her panties and offer me a blow job.

All she’s done is give me attitude and be a royal pain in the ass.

And I’m finding it a total turn on.

Maybe it’s the wrongness of it — the fact I’ve been told by Coach Jackson that I’m not to actually put my hands anywhere on her just tempts me even more. And her father is Orson Westwood, Mr. Stick Up His Ass himself, from a family of renowned Sticks Up Their Asses, just makes it even better. I can only imagine the expression on his face if he ever found out I’d been giving it to his precious daughter. The one who apparently I’m good enough to pretend to date to help along his political career, but not good enough to actually date.

I don’t even know why it bothers me. I’ve had more trust fund babes cruising through college on their daddies’ dime in my bed than I can count. 

I don’t need one more. I
definitely
don’t need it to be Ava Westwood. She’s a stuck-up snob who probably sees me the same way her father does: some poor-boy dupe she’ll use and then discard.

Well, joke’s on them. I only have to
look
like I’ve reformed enough to make Coach Jackson happy, and to fool everyone into thinking my party days are over. But no one said anything about
actually
sticking to it. I can still do what I want, I just have to keep it on the downlow.

There’s just one problem.

I’m not in the mood.

What the fuck.

Not once, since puberty onward, have I not been in the mood to get my dick wet.

But now, I just don’t feel like it.

“Bryce is having a party tonight.” Reid interrupts my train of thought. At least he’s quit interrogating me about Ava. “You should come. I hear there’s going to be some extra fine talent there, if you know what I mean.” He winks, as if I might not have picked up on his innuendo.

I’m about to shoot back a sarcastic response, when I stop myself. Why am I being such a shitass? Reid can be kind of irritating at times, but he’s a bro, and he’s also here on a scholarship, just like me. We don’t talk about it much, but it’s good to know there’s another person here who wasn’t born into money. Reid’s family weren’t walking around with holes in the ass of their pants like mine was, but he still knows what it’s like.

And maybe he’s right — a party is just what I need to clear my head.

And other things as well. Maybe that’s the problem: I haven’t gotten laid in almost a week and a half. That’s enough to make any man go crazy. Yeah, so I haven’t felt like it, but that’s no reason not to.

“Sure,” I say. “Why the hell not?”

Reid grins, holding his hand up for a high five.

“Awesome!” he says, bounding up from the couch. “I gotta shower, then we can go. Or maybe I should forget the shower? I read something online that says chicks dig a man’s natural pheromones. It makes them wet before they even know what’s going on.”

“There is no woman on earth who is going to be turned on by the smell of your ball sweat, Reid,” I tell him. “Go shower. Jesus.”

Reid only laughs, before heading upstairs to wash himself.

The party’s already in full swing when we arrive.

Bryce lives in one of the frat houses on campus, a massive red brick building with white pillars out front. Despite the fact it’s a cold night, there’s already any number of half-naked girls sitting around on the porch, beers in their hands, laughing and shouting with the footballers and other guys Bryce has invited over.

I grin.

This is better — this is what I live for. Pussy and booze, and both in large amounts.

Grabbing a beer out of the cooler stationed on the front steps, I crack it open and enter the house.

Inside, the music is pumping, practically making the walls vibrate. There’s smoke hanging in the air and I can definitely smell pot — too bad I can’t have any. The football team gets tested regularly, and Coach is a demon about it. I’m not fucking up my future for one toke, even if I’m sure these guys can afford the best weed on the market.

Instead, I throw back my beer and head over to where there’s clearly a drinking game going on in the lounge, shots laid out in front of every player, a huge bottle of tequila in the middle of the table.

“Hey Riley!” Bryce shouts across the room when I enter, a beer in one hand and some smokin’ hot blonde under his arm. “Glad you could make it — word is you’ve been kind of whipped lately.”

I sneer. “C’mon Bryce,” I say. “You of all people should know you can’t believe everything you read. Or can you?”

Bryce’s expression instantly sours. He knows what I’m talking about — some girl accused him of slipping a roofie in her drink last year, and he almost got kicked out over it. The only reason he didn’t was because the girl’s friends pulled her out of the party when she told them she felt weird — that, and Bryce’s parents are richer than God, and he’s never had to face a single consequence in his entire fucking life.

It all blew over after a month or so, but I’ve hated him ever since, and I wasn’t his biggest fan to begin with. There’s just something about him that puts me off. Not to mention he’s the kind of lowlife that would drug a girl to get her into bed. If you can’t get a chick on your own merits, you don’t deserve to have any.

“You watch your drink around this guy,” I tell the blonde under his arm, winking at her. “You never know what he’ll do next.”

I keep my tone light, as if I’m joking, even though I’m totally not. The girl pursues her lips a little, before subtly moving away from him.

“I’m gonna go get a refill,” she says, turning and walking back toward the kitchen.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Bryce says to me as soon as she’s gone, anger making his face go red and his nostrils flare. “What’re you trying to do?”

I laugh, but the sound is flat. “Not my fault you can’t keep a girl interested,” I say. “Maybe you should’ve shown her your one-inch cock. I’m sure that would’ve impressed her.”

I keep laughing as Bryce, infuriated, lunges forward and grabs a handful of the front of my shirt. Bryce isn’t a small guy, but c’mon. I’m built like a tank, there’s no way he can hope to take me on.

“You little piece of shit —” he starts to say, his voice a low snarl.

Before he can get any further though, Reid is there, a hand on each of our shoulders, pulling us apart. “Guys, what the hell,” he says. “This is a fucking party. Be cool.”

I ball my fists. Part of me still wants to hit Bryce in the face — though I don’t know why. He hasn’t done anything to me, and while he might be scum, punching guys like Bryce is never a good idea. Not now, not ever. And especially not when I’ve already got Coach breathing down my neck about reforming my reputation. He probably would be pissed I’m even
at
a party to begin with.

Bryce continues to stare in my face, eyes crazy and nostrils flared for another five seconds or so, before he raises his hand and jabs me in the chest with his finger. “Watch yourself, you piece of shit,” he tells me. “It’s guys like me who’re paying for you to even be here. So don’t forget it.”

With that, he shrugs off Reid’s hand and storms off to the other end of the room, probably going off to look for more gullible women he can work his ‘charm’ on.
Hey baby, did you know my dad owns a yacht? Come upstairs and check out my real estate portfolio.

Irritated, I shrug off Reid’s hand as well, trying to get my head together. What the fuck is wrong with me lately?

“What was all that about?” Reid asks, his expression confused. Despite the fact he’s the best tackler on the team, Reid doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. I don’t think he’s ever been in a fight.

I shake my head. “Nothing,” I tell him. “Just Bryce being a dick, as usual.”

Reid seems like he’s about to ask me another question, but then he shrugs it off. “Come on,” he says. “I found this girl and her friend, total hotties — and they say they’re the world’s biggest football fans.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “You know what that means.”

Of course I know what that means. ‘World’s biggest football fans’ means free passes to get laid for any member of the team who wants it. 

All at once, I remember that was the whole reason I came here in the first place — not to get in a fight with fuckwits like Bryce, but to get laid.

So I follow Reid across the room to where these two girls are waiting for us, and they’re every inch as hot as he promised. Long black hair, long tanned legs, even in the middle of winter. Tiny denim skirts that barely cover their panties — that is, if they’re wearing any. Pretty sure I get a good eyeful of snatch when one of them crosses her legs. She looks at me meaningfully when she sees I noticed — she
meant
for me to notice.

And I don’t feel a thing.

Usually, I’d be rock hard in my jeans right now and putting the moves on her to get her upstairs and into the first empty bed I find.

But not this time.

This time, I can barely stay interested enough to follow the conversation, what little of it there is over the music. I just kind of tune it all out.

There’s only one thing I can think of at the moment, and it’s Ava fucking Westwood.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I have no idea, but it’s like she’s crawled under my skin or gotten into my blood or something. The only thing I can think of is those blue eyes flashing as she cussed me out, the way her pretty pink lips curled up in a snarl when she realized I’d brought Kara to our meeting.

I like easygoing girls, simple girls who want the same things I want: sex, parties and booze. Girls who like me going down on them. Girls who’ll order a pizza and let me feed it to them. Girls who’re fans of the game and up for anything. Girls who’d go skinny dipping in a lake with me in the middle of the day, and not care who saw them.

Ava Westwood is none of those things. She seems so uptight that she could probably shit a diamond.

She can’t even admit she wants me. Instead, she just keeps denying it, as if I can’t see it with my own two eyes.

Not to mention, this has got to be the lamest, weirdest situation I’ve ever been in. Pretending to date someone just so I don’t risk my draft pick status? Bullshit. As if any team would pass me up, reputation or not.

“Hey, Riley? You in there?”

Reid’s voice jerks me out of my thoughts, and I realize I haven’t listened to any of the conversation that’s been going on around me. He’s already standing up, his arm around one of the girls. The other is looking at me expectantly, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m gonna take off,” I say, the words out of my mouth before I can think about what I’m saying. “See you later.”

I stand up, turning away.

What the fuck?
my brain asks me, but it already knows the answer. My dick always overrides my brain, and this time is no exception. I’m just not feeling it, and the last thing I want to do right now is jump in the sack with some anonymous football groupie.

Part of me wants to turn back around and go nail this girl, but for some reason I just keep going, weaving my way through the bodies that crowd the floor.

“Hey, bro, wait up.”

I hear Reid’s voice behind me as I reach the door, his hand grabbing my arm.

“You all right?”