All In: Playing to Win (Gambling With Love Book 5) (8 page)

"You're a football fan, so you probably know that I'm the fourth highest paid quarterback in the league, right? I have a five year, eighty million dollar contract with the Wildcats. And that doesn't include the millions I make from sponsors for shoes, boxer-briefs, razors, sports drinks, and appearances."

"So you're saying that two hundred thousand dollars for you is like what, two hundred dollars is to me?"

"No, I understand and appreciate that it's a lot of money, but I also know that I've still got plenty of it left."

"I feel a little sick," she says, and when I glance over again she's rubbing her hand over her stomach. I think she is actually physically ill at the idea of me spending that much money.

"I shouldn't have told you, because it doesn't matter. It's for the sick kids, woman!"

"I'm glad you're helping the sick kids, I really am, and it's amazing of you, but new rule," she says. "You can't spend more than a hundred dollars, not thousands, but one hundred dollars
total
per date on our remaining dates."

"What the hell kind of dates will they be?" I look over and ask indignantly when we come up on a stoplight. "Dinner at a fast food drive-thru and admission to the
Rinky Dink
?"

"Ha! That would be hilarious...to see you...at the
Rinky Dink
...on skates. I think that might actually be...worth a hundred thousand dollars to see," she throws her head back against the seat and laughs. For the first time in three days she actually looks happy. There's something in those sad, jade eyes of hers that always appear cautious or worried, even when she's smiling. But right this second, she looks carefree and...astonishingly beautiful.

A honking horn alerts me that the light turned green and I didn't even notice. I accelerate again and make the final turn into
Chemistry
, the club hosting the event.

"Wow, that’s...that's a lot of cameras," Natalie mutters softly when we pull up to the busy entrance.

"We just have to stand still for a couple of pictures and then we can go inside, okay?"

"I should've dressed up more. I'm not...are you sure you want to be seen out in public with me?" she asks.

I look over at her to judge her sincerity, to see if she's just fishing for a compliment. I know right away that the panic on her face is genuine. She really doesn't know how beautiful she is. How is that possible? If I have to be seen out in public with the same woman for weeks, I want it to be Natalie.

"Why wouldn't I want to be seen with you? Do you own a mirror?" I ask, putting the car in park.

"Even all dressed up I'm still just average compared to all the women you're usually seen with."

"I thought we went through all that yesterday," I say, blowing out my breath in frustration. She’s also getting too close for comfort in the whole reason we’re going out. She is different, she's not a gold-digging slut. "All right, from now on whenever you make a self-deprecating statement I'm going to spank you. Please, keep it up so I can get my hands on your very fine ass. Understood?"

"Uh-huh," she mutters, looking out the window at the roped off group of paparazzi like she's going to be sick. 

"Natalie," I say, reaching for her hand and intertwining her tiny, childlike fingers with mine to reassure her. "You look absolutely gorgeous, so please stop worrying."

"Thank you," she replies softly, lowering her eyes.

"Ready?" I ask after giving her another minute, and she finally nods.

Letting her hand go, I climb out of the car. Before I can give my keys to the valet and go around to open Natalie's door, she's already stepping out of course. Her eyes are wide, and she's biting her bottom lip nervously.

"Just keep thinking about me skating circles around you at the
Rinky Dink
. All six feet, five inches trying to balance on a pair of four tiny wheels," I whisper against her ear, while guiding her forward with a hand on the small of her back. "You know there will be multiple wipeouts and lots of dust biting because I will most definitely fall on my ass."

"Ha!" She laughs and quickly covers her mouth with her hand, but my comment worked. Now she's smiling naturally, the real one that lights up her stunning, green eyes.           

"Laugh all you want." I keep teasing her when I grab her hand and pull her the rest of the way to the red carpet. "But if I go down, I'm going to be holding your hand so I can take you down with me."

"Zack! Over here!" I hear various voices in the group calling my name and throwing out random questions. "Who's your date tonight?" a woman asks, and that's one I answer right away. The sooner the good press starts securing my contract the better.                             

"This beautiful woman is Miss Natalie Adair," I respond, tucking her against my side with an arm around her waist. She's so petite that she barely reaches my chest, but she fits against me perfectly. Screw the six feet tall models in their four inch heels. I'll take this cute little pixie woman over them any day. "Smile," I warn her when the bright lights begin flashing around us.

After a few seconds, I pull her along behind me and don't stop until we reach the main floor of the dark club. Strobe lights dance around the walls and ceiling to the pulse of the upbeat tempo. Unlike most weekends when I've been here, there’s only a few people on the dance floor or sitting around the bar. Guess there aren't that many that can afford an “intimate affair” like this.

The small stage at the front of the room holds microphones, instruments, and amps, ready for the band to come out and play. Glancing around, I see a few Hollywood actors and actresses that look like they are high and it sure as hell isn't on life, several well-known musicians, a few politicians, and the rest of the group is just other random filthy rich individuals.

Since there aren't any cameras around I take Natalie to a secluded alcove with a round ottoman style seat against the wall. Now that the first part of my plan, getting some good PR with Natalie has been successful, it's time for the second part - seducing the one and only woman I can now fuck. I straddle the seat and pull Natalie down so that she's sitting between my legs. Her back remains rigid, her posture stiff.

"Relax," I say against her ear. I love knowing that one word from me is all it takes to make her sexy, little body shiver. Maybe this is going to be easier than I originally thought. With that sort of reaction, I bet she'll be begging me to fuck her before the night is over, especially since she's got a soft spot for the whole charity deal. After that she'll be wrapped around my little finger and will jump at the chance to go out with me again.

"Kind of hard to relax knowing how much you paid...and these people are all—"

"Forget them," I tell her. Grabbing Natalie around her slender waist, I tug her to me until her back is molded against my chest. I keep my arm looped around her to ensure she doesn't try and make a run for it.

When a server comes by with a tray of drinks, I pass but hand Natalie a glass of champagne. A little alcohol should help the woman mellow out and loosen up.

"Hey, Natalie?" I ask, bending down to her ear, so she could hear me over the current beat. There's something I don't understand and can't quite figure out. I wanted to know why it seemed like after our kiss in college she disappeared. "Why didn't I see you cheerleading after the Virginia Tech game?"

"Because I dropped out of school a few days later," she responds over her shoulder.

"Oh." I wasn't expecting that. "But why?" She's too smart and innocent, so I'm sure it wasn’t that she had partied and flunked out. Maybe she couldn’t afford it? Is that why she freaked out about the money thing earlier?

"I moved back home," she says, which doesn't answer my question.

The time for conversation is over, though, before I can ask follow up questions. The opening band comes out on the stage and starts playing a few of their unknown songs, warming up the small, mostly quiet crowd.

Finally, about an hour later,
Tri-Polar
hits the stage infusing the building with energy. Their music is a mixture of rock, rap, and pop, which is probably why they're so popular. Just about everyone under the age of forty listens to their shit.

The lead singer, Cain Blevins, is a tatted up dude, going shirtless to show off the colorful artwork that covers both of his arms. His jet black shaggy hair matches his eyeliner, not that anyone would make fun of him because he's a badass motherfucker. At the top of his lungs he begins belting out what sounds like his soul in the lyrics of their first hit from five years ago, "
Broken Down.
"

Jumping off the small stage during the third song, a slower rock ballad, Cain works his way through the elite crowd, stopping periodically to serenade individuals.

I wasn't prepared for my jaw to try and break itself when the singer's hand reaches out and caresses Natalie's cheek at the same time he gives her a wink. Especially since the lyrics he's currently singing are ones about laying his woman down tonight and burying himself deep inside of her until he sees the sunlight.

Nope, not a fucking fan of that at all.

His little display better just be a part of the show, because the asshole would have to be blind not to see my arm around her and know she's with me. Although, I have heard that Cain Blevins is the Zack Bradford of the music world when it comes to the ladies.

…

Natalie

I'm starting to think it's possible that I died without realizing it, you know like suddenly after an auto accident or in my sleep, because it sure feels like I'm in heaven.

At the present moment I'm cuddled up to an incredibly hot quarterback while a ridiculously sexy bad boy with the voice of an angel sings to me. For several frozen seconds I was simultaneously touched by both Zack Bradford
and
Cain Blevins.

Maybe this is the cancer gods way of making up for the hell it put me through. I have to say I'm extremely grateful, it's just all too...surreal.

After spending the last few years basically as a worker bee during the day and hermit at night, I'm surprised and confused by the attention of these two incredible men. I'm sure Cain's attention was just part of his performance, and it's probably just my imagination that while I continue floating on my very own personal cloud nine, he keeps glancing my way.

"So, what did you think?" Zack asks after the band finished their encore and walked off the stage to loud applause.

"It was awesome!" I tell him with a smile, standing up from our seat to face him. This
Tri-Polar
live and private performance is without a doubt one of the most amazing things I've ever experienced.  "Thank you so much for bringing me to something so cool that also helps raise money for sick kids!"

"You're welcome. I'm glad you enjoyed it," he says before getting to his feet. It sounds like he mumbles something about Cain under his breath, but I don't catch it.

"Bradford!" a deep masculine voice calls out.

Zack looks around and gives a nod in greeting to the big, beautiful, dark-skinned man heading our way. Oh yeah, that's Marcus Jones, the Wildcats' running back.   

"Jones," Zack says with a smile when the two clasp hands and exchange masculine shoulder pats. "I didn't know you were coming tonight."

"Last minute addition," he says. "And fuck if I didn't miss most of the concert. How was it?"

"It was all right," Zack replies, sounding less than impressed. I guess he didn't think it had been worth two hundred thousand dollars. Oh frick.

My body sways just thinking about giving away that much money. Zack luckily sweeps an arm around me to keep me steady on my feet. It's possible that those three glasses of champagne are getting to me. I'm not a drinker because my doctor suggested only consuming alcohol in moderation, so I'm feeling tipsy just from that small amount. 

"Jones, meet my date, Natalie Adair. Natalie this is Marcus Jones."

"Tinker Bell," the big man says with a stunning smile. He wraps me in a hug instead of a handshake after using the nickname he'd given me at the signing event.

"How are you tonight, Mr. Jones?" I ask with my own smile. The man was a riot when we met at the stadium.

"Damn good. How's the auction going? Anything else I can do to help?" he asks, making me love him even more.

"It's going great, and if I think of anything I'll let you know. Unless...are you one of the calendar men?"

"Damn right I am," he says with a wider smile before raising his shirt sleeve to show me his tattoo. It's a big pink ribbon on his massive bicep with "
Lena Jones is a fighter
" written within. I know from reading up on him that the tattoo is for his mom who is also a survivor. I'm pretty sure the whole autographed merchandise auction had even been his idea several years back before I came to work for the foundation.                        

"That's great! Thank you so much. I bet your mother is really proud of you, ranking sixth in the league already this season, and you're only going to move up."

He nods and smiles wider even though his eyes mist. "She is, and, Bradford, you better keep this Tinker Bell close, so she doesn't fly away. The woman knows her shit."