RUNNING GAME (A SECOND CHANCE SPORTS ROMANCE) (71 page)

“Shut up, Tristan,” I hissed, pushing him away. “For once in your life, shut
up
. Your
mistress?!
For Christ’s sakes, your dick is still inside me!”

“I was joking!” Tristan said, his grin fading as I forced him out of my cunt and halfway across the bed.
My
bed. Christ, the audacity! “Gwennie, come on…”

“Stop calling me that!” I shouted. “How dare you, Tristan? How
dare
you insinuate that I would ever do something like that—be the other woman, the homewrecker, the…” My voice broke and hot, angry tears welled in my eyes. “How could you think I’d ever become my mother?”

Tristan’s face softened immediately, but that only made me angrier. “You dolt,” I whispered. “You blithering dolt. You didn’t even think about that, did you? You didn’t even consider…”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Gwendolyn, I was making a joke. It wasn’t meant to hurt you.”

“But it did,” I snapped. “It did, Tristan. Whether you meant it to or not. And that makes you an ass—an inconsiderate ass who doesn’t get to decide if you hurt me or not. That’s for me to decide—the one who’s feeling the pain.” I shook my head at him. “You didn’t think… but you should have. I’m not one of your girls you don’t know anything about. You know everything about me, my life story. You’re the only one I ever told about what my mother did to me, how she conned your father, and how she used me to…” I trailed off, lost for any more words on the subject. “Maybe you didn’t think about that because you didn’t want to. Because you didn’t care to.”

“No, Gwendolyn, that’s not… I didn’t…” But he couldn’t come up with any defense. His mouth worked, but his usual Tristan charm and diplomacy was gone. Not even a master manipulator like him could weasel his way out of this one.

“You’re right, you know,” I said at length, covering myself with the sheets. “That’s all I’d ever be to you, isn’t it? I could never be anything else. Nothing official. Nothing that came
first.
” I snorted. “Not when your money and title occupy that space, anyway.”

“Please, Gwendolyn,” Tristan began, “I can make this right. I was a fool, but what I said doesn’t mean…”

“Get out,” I told him. When he didn’t move, I said it louder: “Get out!”

Tristan’s face crumpled. His eyes were pleading. “It was… just a joke…”

“It wasn’t funny. It was cruel.
You
are cruel. Now get out!”

Tristan gathered his clothes and put them on outside of the bedroom without a word. I waited until I heard the door close to start sobbing in earnest. I’d risked everything for a few moments of pleasure. My business. My reputation. All of it was on the line. And for what reward? Memories that would haunt me the rest of my life? Pleasure I would never feel again?

This isn’t a Disney movie,
Tristan had told me once, when I was young.
I’m not your Prince Charming, or your knight in shining armor.
I’d thought that was just bad boy rhetoric, that if I could make him see the light, he’d somehow change. But he hadn’t, and he never would. Not until he got married, and some other woman bore his children and made him into the man I’d always wished he would be.

I covered my face with my pillow to muffle the insufferable sounds of my grief. Tristan wasn’t the fool here. I was.

I
had royally fucked
myself over twice in a single span of twenty-four hours—a new personal record, to be sure. I couldn’t believe what an ass I’d been, and to Gwendolyn of all people. I couldn’t remember a single time that that girl hadn’t treated me well, and I had joked about how I would make her my mistress. Idiot.

After I’d been so forcefully ejected from my stepsister’s bed, I called myself a taxi to take me home. I hated the look on Gwendolyn’s face, that look of embarrassment and shame. I knew that I’d messed everything up in a way that I’d be hard pressed to fix if this plan was going to work.

I was almost shocked when I felt my cellphone buzz in my pocket, hardly expecting anyone to be calling me, at least not this early in the morning. I pulled the phone out of my pocket, surprised to see my father’s number glaring at me from the bright screen. I almost didn’t answer, uninterested in the idea of hearing that old bastard’s voice to disrupt what was already a perfectly terrible morning. Despite myself I swiped my thumb across the screen and put the phone to my ear.

“Father, what a delightful surprise,” I said, making sure my tone was almost
too
chipper. “You hardly ever phone me anymore. How are you?”

There was silence across the line and I knew that I’d thrown him. He’d expected anger or annoyance right out of the gate. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction; and besides, I so enjoyed toying with him.

“I’m more than fine, Tristan,” he said, his tone suspicious. “In fact I just came back from the sonogram with your mother—”

“
Step
mother,” I reminded him in a song-song voice.

“Evenlyn’s child is growing quite nicely,” he said, his own voice becoming almost… kind. It had to be a trick. “I thought you ought to know, since you’ll be a brother soon.”

“What is it you really want, father?” I asked, “We both know you don’t ever call me unless you have something to
gloat
about.”

“The fact that I’ve won isn’t enough?” he laughed, that same crowing laughter that put a chill in my gut every single time. “My son will grow up to be a duke, and you’ll be left in squalor… that is unless you’ve begun looking for a wife.”

My stomach clenched as those words curled through the labyrinthine maze of my mind. He had found out—somehow, someway he had figured out my plan to take the title from his “legitimate” heir. But how? How had he figured it out? Surely Gwen didn’t tell him, or her assistant, Tina. But then who else could have known?

“I’m not sure what you mean,” I said, trying to play the fool and see if he was merely fishing, or if he’d truly been able to figure out what I had thought was such a brilliant plan before it had time to come to fruition.

“Don’t play dumb with me, boy,” he snapped, his familiar anger returning in force. “I’ve seen the pictures of you and that woman. Who is she?”

“I was on a date, Father. Is that so unusual?” I asked.

“It is when your only hope of taking what rightfully belongs to my true son is marrying whatever harlot will have you,” he snarled. “I won’t have you ruining this, Tristan. We both know that you don’t go on
dates
with women unless you want something from them. Dating and courtship imply commitment, something you sorely lack.”

“I’m hurt, Father,” I said, hoping to anger him to the point that he would slip up and reveal just how he figured out where I had been the night before. “How could you say such a thing about your own son?”

“You are no son of mine!” he shouted over the receiver. “My son is growing in the womb of my wife! You are an abomination!”

“Oh, Father,” I said wistfully, “I so love it when you bring out the old names from when I was young.”

“Don’t try to play cute with me!” he roared. “I will make you rue the day that you were cut from your mother’s unclean womb! So help me if you try to steal my son’s inheritance I—”

“I only want what I’m entitled to, father,” I interrupted, doing my best at keeping my voice level. I didn’t need to him to know how frustrated I was, though I found it hard to keep the edge out of my voice. “I’m your eldest son, and I will do what I must to make sure that I am the only viable option for your inheritance when the time comes—a time I hope comes sooner rather than later—when you shuffle off this mortal coil and I take everything you ever had as mine.”

“Never!” he barked. “I’ll make sure it’s all burned before you ever touch it!”

“Then I will be a duke of ashes and dust,” I said, “but a duke none the less. And your new child will not even be that.”

“It’ll never work,” he hissed. “You aren’t enough of a man to keep yourself from a life of sin. You’ve always been a failure, and you’ll remain one. You’ll see.”

“I think you’re wrong father,” I said, making a point to sigh loudly. “I have a whole list of women who are prepared to become the next Mrs. Tristan Wolfe, and I really must be getting back to sorting through them all.”

“How are you doing this so quickly?” he asked after a long and tense silence, suspicion heavy in his voice. “You’ve hardly the connections to find a woman of standing; you must have someone helping you find these women.”

I couldn’t help but laugh as my father desperately pumped me for answers. He knew that the game was on, and he wanted to know all the players before he made his move.

“Gwendolyn is helping me find a suitable wife. That is her job, after all.”

I heard him curse from the other end of the line and couldn’t help but smile. I so enjoyed getting under his skin. He didn’t approve of my stepsister’s business, but since she’d never used a single pence of his money, he could kindly shove it up his ass. He’d never imagined that his children would both rise against him at once. He could threaten me all he liked with disownment, but when it came to Gwen he had no power.

“It doesn’t matter how much help you have, Tristan. No one is going to have you as their husband, even for all the money and status in the world. You have no follow-through. You’re unreliable, and you’re never going to change.”

With that he hung up, leaving me staring out the cab window with only my thoughts for company. Maybe he was right, maybe I was the kind of man who couldn't keep to the promises or the commitments he made. Or maybe I was the man who knew that he had the power to change all of that.

I
couldn’t believe
how much of a prick he was.

It was one thing to be a smarmy asshole, but to suggest that I would simply sit by, content to be his
mistress,
of all things! Even the thought of it had my blood boiling in my veins. I wanted to say that I hated him, wanted to curse his name with every breath I took as I burnt any picture I could find after I’d crossed out his face.

“How dare he?” I said to my mirror as I readied myself for the day ahead. I was so angry—so enraged that I could hardly think of anything else besides the way I wished I could make him pay for treating me like I could be relegated to the position of his “mistress” for the convenience of his need for some title.

But the more I wanted to hate him, the more I so wanted to feel his touch once again. And I was more than a little conflicted on the matter of how to handle my stepbrother, especially where our business arrangement was concerned.

I had half a mind to call the whole thing off, leaving him to find a wife by his own means and leave his bad habit of playing my heart like a harpsichord far away from me and the life I’d built for myself. How could he be so unconcerned with how all of this affected me? I wasn’t the natural born daughter of a lord, I had been born common and fought my way to the place that I was at. Just one scandal was all it would take to bring my entire life crumbling to its knees.

After I was dressed I made my way down to the car waiting for me just outside, trying to keep my expression neutral as I took my seat and closed the door behind me.

“Good morning, Miss,” Franklin said, smiling at me from the rear view mirror. “I trust you slept well?”

“Well enough, I suppose,” I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose. I was not by any means a morning person, and after the utter foolishness involving Tristan, I was not feeling up to dealing with any of my clients today.

“Something troubling you?” Franklin asked, his brow creasing with concern as he pulled into the flow of traffic.

“Romantic entanglements,” I said, trying to keep things as vague as I could for his own benefit and mine. Franklin didn’t need to be privy to my sordid dealings, much less these flights of quasi-incestuous desire I had been prone to since Tristan spirited himself back into my life.

“Something I know you’re more than accomplished at handling, Miss Gwendolyn,” he said.

“It’s much different when you’re dealing with your own problems,” I said, leaning back in the chair.

“I imagine that you’re right, of course,” Franklin conceded dutifully.

I could usually be very open with Franklin, but the idea of involving him even the slightest bit in this scandalous behavior—even as a confidante—was not something I was willing to do.

I wasn’t at all surprised when I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket, though when I looked to check the number I was shocked to find that it was Tristan and not Tina who was calling me.

“Hello?” I said as I put the phone to my ear.

“Gwen,” Tristan said, almost sounding relieved to hear my voice. The thought made my heart flutter like a bird. “I need to apologize for this morning.”

“As well you should,” I said, scowling. “I’ve half a mind to hang up right now and let you choke on your damn apology.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, heaving a sigh. “I was a complete ass and I didn’t mean to upset you. I let my mouth get ahead of my brain and ended up chewing on my foot.”

“That’s an interesting way of saying you’re a complete twit,” I muttered, sighing as I relaxed against the back seat of my car. I glanced over toward the divider between Franklin and I, careful not to let too much on as to who I might have been talking to. As though he’d read my thoughts, I watched the privacy shield slide up between us, blocking him from view behind its reflective surface. “Is that all?”

“Of course not,” he said defensively. “I don’t want you to be upset with me over something as stupid as a bad joke.”

“You know that that wasn’t a joke to me, Tristan,” I said. “I’d told you those things in all confidence and for you to just say something like that? Can you even imagine how that made me feel?”

“You’re right,” he said. “I brought up the past when I know how much that part of your life hurts you. I was an insensitive prick, and you deserved better from me.”

“You’re damn right I do,” I said, an angry brand of confidence rising up inside of me. “I deserve
much
better treatment than that. Especially from you, Tristan Wolfe.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, each time sounding better than the last. “I’ll say it as many times as it takes for you to forgive me. Right now that’s all I want.”

I couldn’t help but smile. Despite my better judgement I could only hope that by trying to get back into my good graces he had meant what he said about his title and inheritance not mattering, and that he wanted to be with me. More thoughts of the night before danced through my head as I leaned my head farther back against the headrest.

“And what if I don’t forgive you, what then?” I asked, my tone leaning toward almost being flirtatious. I wanted to see how he’d react to the thought of being teased and made to work for my forgiveness.”

“I’ll do anything you ask,” he said determinedly, “we can’t be at odds when we both have a lot of work ahead of us.”

I didn’t understand. What kind of work could he be talking about. Surely, making our relationship work—especially if it was going to be a secret—would take a great deal of effort, but I got the feeling that he was distinctly referring to something else entirely.

“Sorry, I don’t think I understand what you mean,” I said, my voice faltering just slightly. Hadn’t we already passed through the hardest part? If the two of us were going to have a go of it I didn’t see what “work” there he had in mind. The way he’d said it made me nervous, a sense of dread building in my gut.

“We still need to find me a wife, don’t we?” he asked, and all at once I could feel myself falling to pieces. How could he still be intent on finding a wife? If he didn’t care about the title, then what was the point of going through with this stupid plan of his? “I mean, you were completely right this morning—everything you said was absolutely true. I’m have no follow-through or commitment. I’ve been just terrible, but I’m determined to change that. I don’t want to be the one who ruins everything for the people around me.”

I swallowed hard, a lump forming in my throat as I began to understand what he was saying. He was going to try to forget everything we’d done and just move on, as though somehow that would just make it all better. He expected to throw the way he felt for me out and leave me standing there, still pining for him. I wanted to scream. I wanted to crumple in on myself and just cry until I had nothing else left.

“We need to be adults about this…” he continued on, taking my silence as a cue to carry on. “I was being childish by putting you into this situation, and I’m sorry. I should never have toyed with your emotions the way that I did. We need to do the responsible thing and go on with this as planned. It’s the only way that both of us will get what we want out of this little arrangement of ours. ”

“I… yes, of course you’re right,” I stammered, doing what I could to regain my composure. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of myself in the reflective surface of the privacy screen, my mascara already beginning to run as the first hot streams of my tears made their way down my cheeks. “Carry on, and all that, I supposed.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

I had sometimes wondered what the sound of my heart breaking would be like, and it turned out to sound a lot like my stifled sobbing.