Fair Play (13 page)

Me --
Never, you’re stuck with me now. I do need to get out of this shower before I shrivel up like a raisin.

Him --
Go, dry off and go to your party. Don’t have too much fun. Text me if you get lonely, text me if you don’t get lonely, sneak away into the bathroom and text me while your boyfriend waits outside the door.

Me --
You’re bad, but a little bad is good. I’ll text you, I promise. And Emmett?

Him --
Yeah?

Me --
I like you more today than I did yesterday.

Him --
Progress is a beautiful thing. Good-bye, beautiful girl.

Me --
Bye, Emmett.

I sit in the shower for a few seconds, trying to decide if I should do what I’m thinking about doing. I want to give him something real, not virtual. What the hell, why not?

I click on the camera button and hold up my phone strategically, focusing it only on my breasts, careful not to show any of my tattoos or identifying marks, which isn’t easy. I take a picture, check it one more time for anything that could tie the photo directly to me, and hit send.

I step out of the shower and reach for a towel, and my phone dings. I look at myself in the foggy mirror and smile before I read his text.

Him
-- Fuck. You’re killing me, Red. If I find out the rest of you is as exquisite as your breasts, I’ll move heaven and earth to find you in real life. You’re going to be mine, Quinn Lastgoodwoman10, mark my words.

I don’t respond because I have no idea what to say. If I hadn’t met Nick, I would be setting up a face-to-face date with Emmett right this second.

There’s something special about Nick that I can’t deny, and his little girl stealing a piece of my heart isn’t making this any easier. The song “Love The One You’re With” pops in my head, and I hum it while I finish getting ready for our date. 

I’m not a shallow woman and I’ve never been a two-timer, but these men happened to show up in my life at exactly the same time after years of dating countless losers. I know I’ll have to make a choice eventually, but right now I don’t want to risk losing either one of them.

Emmett is my red-hot, dirty-mouthed sexter, but Nick is the one who makes my heart skip a beat every time he enters the room.

Nick is three-dimensional, and so far Emmett and I are only words on a screen. It’s unfair to compare the two when Nick has the upper hand, but part of me wants him to have it.

With my hair almost dry and the front pinned up into two fifties style curls, I pad back into the guest bedroom. Thankfully I threw a white bohemian linen jumper in my bag at the last minute or I’d be wearing cut-offs and a t-shirt to dinner. 

I check my makeup and slip on a pair of black Converse because I'm not in the mood for heels tonight, then make my way downstairs to find Nick and Scarlet.

When I round the corner into the kitchen, I’m greeted by a long, low whistle. “You look amazing.” Nick is sitting on a stool at the island dressed in khakis and a body-hugging Henley that accentuates every muscle of his shoulders and torso. Sauntering over to the island, I toss a little extra sway in my hips and soak up his compliment. 

I lean my hip against the counter and drag my hand down his bicep that is straining against the short sleeve of his shirt the way I saw that trashy girl do at the bonfire. “You’re not so bad yourself there, Papa Bear.”

He points his finger at me with a playful look of warning on his face. “No, just no.”

I laugh and grab his finger. He takes advantage of my proximity and pulls me in next to him.

“I like this.” He softly touches one of my pin curls.

“Thanks.”

“You have a quirky sense of style. I never quite know what to expect.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Oh, good for sure. I love surprises, and you seem to have one after another.”

“After another,” I say with a wink.

“Where’s Scarlet?”

“She’s in the theater room with Ben. He showed up, so I told my mom she was off the hook. She’s been taking her a lot since Mimi hurt her foot. I don’t want to wear out our welcome.”

“You can’t wear out your welcome with your parents. They’re stuck with you no matter what.”

“I guess you’re right. Shall we go?”

“Yep, lead the way.”

He loops his arm through mine and leads me to the front door.

“Isn’t the garage that way?” I hitch my thumb toward the side of the house.

“I called for a driver. I want to be able to focus all of my attention on you tonight.”

“Aw, aren’t you sweet. Are you sure it’s not because you plan on getting rip-roaring drunk with the firefighters?”

I place my hand palm down on his chest and give him an I-know-what-you’re-up-to look.

“Uh-uh, no way. I don’t do public drunkenness anymore. I tried it a few times when I was younger, but things never worked out well. Mariah threatened to hang me by the balls if I didn’t quit.”

“I think I would have liked your wife.”

“Me too, she would have loved your unusual sense of fashion. She loved to design homes for other creative people.”

He thinks I’m unusual. Could be worse.

“And I could have taken a picture of her to hang in my gorgeously designed home.”

“Maybe in our next life. Hey, do you want to bring your camera? You never know when there will be something beautiful.”

“Really? You sure? It’s like taking a third person; she needs her own seatbelt and everything.”

“She?”

“Yeah, I named her Flash.”

One corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk.

“Like the superhero?”

“No, but now that you say that, I could have.”

He lowers his head to my waist. “Who do you have down there today?”

“Nobody.”

“Oh yeah? So no superhero or no, nothing?”

“You’ll find out later,” I sing.

“Oh no, I’ll find out right now.” He slips his hands around my waist and pulls me into his arms, sliding his hands down the thin material covering my ass.

“Mmm, nothing.” He moans and pushes his hips against me.

“You sure you want to go to this dinner party? I could take you upstairs and feed you dinner in bed.”

His cock is thick and heavy against my belly. Emmett's sexting left me craving the feeling of real live flesh against mine. Nick’s offer is tempting, but I’ll have to hold out until later for Bridgette’s sake. I can’t bail on her like that, and Blake would be devastated if Nick was a no-show. I'm sure he's been bragging to his friends all day about having a celebrity at his party.

“Tempting, but nope. We have to go.” I turn in his arms and make to walk away, but he doesn’t release me.

With my back to his front, he kisses the side of my neck. The prickle of his five o’clock stubble on my skin sends shivers up my spine, and the smell of his exotic woodsy cologne weakens my formerly solid resolve. He bends his knees to slide his hands down the front of my thighs, and I rest my head against his chest, offering him better access to the curve of my neck.

My jumper is an off the shoulder shift that he takes full advantage of, kissing and nipping a trail along my shoulder. His hands move inward, and he lifts the flimsy material of my shorts to touch me. He's more than pleased to find me pantyless and recently waxed, and he buries his face into the crook of my neck.

“Fuck, Téa. I want you so much right now. Please let me take you upstairs, we can be fashionably late. Celebrities do it all the time.”

I hesitate, and he cups my mound, slipping two fingers between my hot, wet folds.

“Oh God, Nick,” I gasp.

“That’s my girl. You don’t want to go to a party now, do you? Stay here with me.” He repeats the word stay in his smooth, seductive voice, moving his fingers in sync up and down my crease. My heart is pounding and my breath is coming in short pants. My lips fall open to say “Yes, God. Please take me, take me wherever you want” when the doorbell rings, snapping me out of his trance.

We jump at the sound and the bell echoes throughout the house. I step out of his arms and take a deep cleansing breath. He almost made me come right here in his foyer with Ben and Scarlet right downstairs.

I point my finger at him. “You. You’re like, like a sexual hypnotist or something.”

He shrugs and shoves his hands into his front pockets. “When I see something beautiful, I have to capture it. You use your camera. I use words. It's essentially the same thing.”

“It certainly is not. My pictures don’t lead people to the edge of orgasm.”

“I’ll bet they could if you wanted them to.”

He has a point. The doorbell rings again.

“We should go before Scarlet finds us and throws a fit because she’s not allowed to come.”

He places his hand on the small of my back and leads me to the door. When he opens it, there is a short, stout man with a nicely trimmed full beard waiting with a car to take us to Bridgette’s.

“Hey Cap, how are ya? This is my good friend, Téa.”

“Nice to meet you, Téa. I’m doing well, sir, thank you for asking. Are you ready to go?”

Nick hesitates and looks at me with pleading eyes. I nod my head once firmly. “Yes, we’re ready. Let me get you the address.”

Nick sighs and I show my phone to Cap, who memorizes it and leads us to the sleek black Town Car. He opens the door, and I slide across the buttery soft leather seat followed by Nick.

When the door closes, I ask him about the driver's unique name.

“Do you know the driver?”

“Yeah, most people call him Captain, but the guys on the team call him Cap. He’s a sort of chaperone for rookies. He drives them around at night, keeping an eye on them and making sure they don’t drink and drive or get into any big-time trouble. He helps me out once in a while.”

Cap enters the car and catches Nick’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

“All set?”

“Yes, let’s get this over with.”

Cap’s eyebrows shoot up, and I look at Nick with wide eyes and my mouth hanging open.

“Wow, unenthusiastic much? I’m glad you’re looking forward to our date.”

He threads his fingers with mine on the seat between us.

“I’m looking forward to the second part of our date more than the first. I’ll endure the dinner party as long as you promise me dessert.”

Cap starts the car and drives toward the street as if he’s heard nothing.

“You’re bad.”

“You love it.”

And he’s right, I do. I really do.

Nick

I do not want dinner. I do not want to meet new people. I do not want a drink or casual conversation.

I want Téa underneath me, and I want her now.

But here we are, walking up the path to her childhood best friend’s house for dinner, drinks, and casual conversation.

Relationships are about compromise. I respect that, but I’ve made three passes to an eligible receiver, and every one of them has been intercepted. A man can only be pushed to the edge so many times. If I don’t get Téa alone soon, I’m going to lose my damn mind.

She reaches out to ring the doorbell, but the door swings open before she can even touch it. Standing on the other side is a beautiful, tall, African-American woman who greets us each with a hug. This woman knows how to hug. For a minute there I feel like I'm being crushed by one of the Hawks’ linemen. When she releases me, I gasp for air and Téa chuckles.

“Nick, this is Bridgette. Bridgette, this is Nick Wood.”

She lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “She’s a hugger.”

“I’ve gathered that, thanks for the heads-up partner.”

“Well, the two of you sure are comfortable with each other,” Bridgette says with a wink.

“She’s my girlfriend.” Did I just say that out loud? From the look on both women’s faces, I did. I don’t know why I felt compelled to make a claim like that in front of her friend.

I knew it. I. Am. Losing. My. Mind.

Bridgette stands still, stunned into silence. Téa’s lips separate and she blinks two times before she snaps her gaping mouth shut.

“Well okay then, now that we have that all cleared up, maybe we should go inside,” she says, taking my hand to pull me past Bridgette.

“Straight down the hall to the kitchen, you two. Dinner’s almost ready and there are drinks on the island. Please help yourself.”

We walk down the narrow hall single file, holding hands, Téa leading the way. The house is much larger than it appears from the outside. The hall opens up into a large, open-concept kitchen, dining room, and living room with vaulted ceilings.

A large group is gathered in the living room around a big screen television watching, wait for it … a football game. Please, God, don’t let this turn into a private interview slash autograph session.

It would be nice just once to come to a party and not be bombarded by people wanting to know private tidbits about my teammates or what team I think is going to be the Hawks’ biggest competition this season.

Bridgette waves us over to the island, where she has what looks to be a fully-stocked bar and hors d’oeuvres for miles.

“Come, have something to eat, make a drink. I have to go stir something or flip something.  I can’t even remember what I’m doing anymore. I’ve been in this kitchen for twenty-four hours cooking all this food.”

“Thank you, Bridgette. We’ll be fine, go do your thing,” Téa says, gesturing toward the oven.

“Are we drinking?” I ask.

“As long as it’s not brandy.” She scrunches up her face and pretends to shiver.

“You chugged it.”

“It was nasty.”

“Let’s just agree to disagree about brandy. All right, so what can I make for you? I bet you didn’t know I’m a pretty good bartender, did you?”

“No, I did not. How did you acquire that particular skill set?” she says, leaning her hip against the island.

“In college, I paid for school myself.”

“I’m impressed. So are you like Coyote Ugly talented or just mix and pour talented?”

“I’m whatever you want me to be.” I peruse the alcohol on the counter and slide a bottle of top shelf vodka from the neatly set up row and catch it by the neck. I repeat the motion with butterscotch schnapps and then apple schnapps.

When they are all in front of me, I glance over at Téa and wiggle my eyebrows. She rolls her eyes, clearly not impressed yet.

A silver shaker sits alongside a bucket of ice and a pretty display of garnishes. I pick up the shaker and spin it on my palm. When it’s upright in my hand, I take the tongs from the ice bucket and in a flash toss four ice cubes into the air one at a time and catch them in the shaker.

I sneak a peek at Téa and see her nodding with appreciation. I grab the bottle of vodka and swing it around in my hand and onto my shoulder, ending with a pour into the shaker backward.

People are starting to take notice of the show and gathering around. So much for blending in and being a regular guy, it’s worth it to impress Téa though.

I flip the bottle around my back and toss it up in the air before switching to the first bottle of schnapps and then the second. This is turning into a full-on flair bartending show for a simple cocktail.

With all the ingredients in the shaker, I roll it along my forearm and spin it a couple of times for good measure, pop the top, and pour my famous caramel apple martini into a martini glass that an attentive onlooker has placed on the counter in front of me.

I turn to face my beautiful and now fully-impressed date and hand her the glass with a flourish of one hand and a slight bow. Everyone from the party has gathered around. A loud cheer goes up when she accepts the drink, and I lean in for my reward.

The partygoers whoop and whistle when I scoop her up and cover her mouth with mine. I set her back on her feet with a jolt and she nearly spills the coveted martini.

“Wow,” she says, out of breath and frankly a little stunned, if I do say so myself.

“Flair bartending champion six times in a row senior year of college. I still got it.” I buff my nails on my chest, and she laughs.

“You’re full of surprises, Mr. Wood.”

“Hey wait, you’re Nico Wood, aren’t you? Like, Nico Wood of the SC Hawks, right?” a buff guy standing on the other side of the island says.

“Shit, man. Hey Blake, you never told me you were friends with Nico Wood, what the hell?” says one of the younger firefighters in the group.

A large man pushes his way through the crowd and offers me his hand.

“That’s because I’m not. Yet. My name’s Blake, I’m Bridgette’s husband. Welcome to my home.”

I shake his hand. It’s a powerful, confident shake, and I like him right off.

“Thanks for having me. Sorry, I went a little crazy with your bar.”

“Are you kidding? You can sling drinks in my kitchen anytime. Damn, B said you were bringing a big time ball player as a date, but I didn’t know it was this guy. How the hell do you two know each other?”

We speak at the same time. “We met on a plane.”

He laughs, “Well, at least you got your stories straight.”

“No really, I met him on my flight out here. His little girl kicked my seat.”

“Thank God for tired, hangry kids,” I say, side hugging her.

“No shit? Well, that’s great. We’ll have to get the guys together and come to one of your games this season. I’ll be able to say I had the star player over for dinner.”

“I’ll try to hook you up with some good seats.”

“Hey, did you hear that? Wood’s gonna get us good seats to a Hawks game!”

“Calm down now, Captain. Everybody mingle. Leave these poor kids alone. Dinner’s almost ready.” Bridgette turns her husband by the shoulders and points him in the direction of the television.

“We were just talking baby, everything’s cool,” Blake says, walking away.

Bridgette catches my eye, “He’s not even drunk yet. I know it’s not very hostess-ish of me, but I suggest you eat and run. That man will drive you batty when he gets a few beers in him, believe me.”

Eat and run, no problem, I’d be happy just to run.

“Thanks for the tip.”

She scrunches up her nose and juts out her chin, “I got your back, honey. Now eat and you over there, you drink that fancy ass drink this man just made for you.”

“Yes ma’am,” Téa says before taking a big drink.

Bridget returns to the stove, where she has something cooking on every burner.

“You’re not much for savoring your drinks, are you?” Her glass is half full after one drink.

“Like I said, I’m not much of a drinker. Usually, I do it to get it over with, but I’m chugging this one because it’s good.”

“Halleluiah. Now I just have to stock butterscotch and green apple schnapps in my bar.”

“You can put them where the brandy is now and toss that ratchet stuff out.”

“Oh no. I like my brandy. I’ll make room for your stuff, don’t worry.”

She lowers her eyes to the green drink, “This thing is strong. I’m already light-headed.”

“Take it slow, Red. That thing has five shots of alcohol in it.”

A pucker forms between her eyebrows and she lifts her eyes to mine.

“What?”

“What did you just call me?”

“Red. Because of your hair. It’s red, if you haven’t noticed lately.” I wrap a long curl around my finger and give it a gentle tug.

She picks up another curl and pulls it out straight, looking at it like it’s not her own.

“Maybe you should slow down with that drink.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she says in a faraway voice. She drops the chunk of hair and sets the glass on the counter. It’s a shame, all that work for nothing. Well, not for nothing. I impressed her with my old bartending skills. Who would have known that would come in handy again after all these years?

“I think I need to use the bathroom before we eat,” she says. She’s still sounding zoned out, and it’s got me a little worried. Maybe she’s an ultra mega lightweight or something? I mean that drink is strong, but she shouldn’t be feeling this tipsy from half a martini.

“I’ll walk with you. Do you know where it’s at?”

She shakes her head no.

“Hey, Bridgette. Where’s your restroom?” I point at Téa.

“Down the hall, up the stairs, and on the left. That’s my bathroom. These guys are pigs. I don’t let my friends use the bathroom down here.”

“Hey!” several guys yell in protest from the living room.

“Come on. I’ll help you.” I take Téa’s elbow to lead her, but she covers my hand with hers.

“No, I can find it on my own. I’m fine.”

“But you just said.”

“I know, I was a little woozy for a second, but I’m fine now.”

I narrow my eyes and look at her closer. Something doesn’t feel right. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other under my gaze.

“I’ll be right back.” She kisses me on the cheek and turns to head down the hall. As I watch her go, a thread of worry weaves through my chest, but I push it away. I mean how well do I know this woman? We just met three days ago. She’s probably fine.

“Food’s ready, y’all. Come and get it,” Bridgette yells from the kitchen, and damn if every single person doesn’t snatch a seat. There are two long tables set side by side in the spacious dining room. One belongs there, and one has been set up to accommodate the extra people at the party.

Bridgette waves me over to where she has pushed one of the firefighters down a seat to make room for Téa and me to sit together.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, sugar.”

When everyone is seated, I notice there is one empty chair at the other table. Somebody must have been a no-show.

Bowls start rotating around the tables, and people are calling out what they want to drink while Bridgette pulls beer and soda from the refrigerator.

After I’ve filled both my plate and Téa’s, that thread of worry begins to pull tight in my chest, and I excuse myself to go and check on her.

Down the hall up, the stairs on the left, that’s what she said right? Halfway down the hall, I hear scuffling coming from overhead. Alarm seizes my heart in my chest, and urgency pushes me to race up the stairs. At the top, there is a long hall with three doors on the left. I try the first one, flinging it open, only to find an empty guest bedroom.

A muffled scream comes from the third door, and I try the doorknob, frantically shaking it, but it’s locked. I take a step back and lift my leg, slamming my foot against the door. It cracks down the center and pops open.

What I see inside blinds me with fury. Through the glass surrounding the walk-in tile shower, Téa is pinned against the wall by a man who is holding her inches off the ground by her neck. She’s struggling and frantically kicking her feet while she claws at his thick arm with both hands.

The motherfucker doesn’t even notice that I busted down the door, or that I’m standing right behind him. That’s when I notice his other hand is between her legs, and I lose it.

The surge of rage that rips through me is uncontrollable. I grab the asshole around the neck and pull him off of Téa, who falls to the ground gasping for breath and clutching her neck. I want to help her and make sure that she’s okay, but I have to take care of this garbage first.

“Get the fuck off of me, you pansy ass football Romeo.”

I shove my arm around his neck and yank him back and out of the shower in a headlock.