Night Games (8 page)

“And?” She fucking read my
GQ
article? Maybe she really is a fan and she’s just trying to play it cool. A guy can dream.

“You prefer more of a combination style. You like the kind that extend almost to the knee when you’re playing because…”

“Because…?” I enjoy watching the blush that’s creeping up her neck and slowly entering her cheeks.

“You don’t like to have to keep adjusting yourself when you’re on the field.” Her eyes dart beneath my waist before flicking back to the road. She knows I just saw her checking me out. She’s not that smooth, but that’s what I like about her. I can tell she hasn’t slept around, not like I have. The women I’m with are usually a lot more experienced, but they’re as boring as hell. I have nothing in common with them so we usually have little to talk about. But with Grey, it’s different. It’s like I’m chatting with one of the guys wrapped in a hot, little package. I don’t know what I’m more captivated by, her body or her conversation.

“So what, are you like…my number one fan or something?”

“Shut up.” She glares at me beneath her eyelashes.

“I think you are. Why else would you have turned up at Buster’s Crab Shack after the game?”

“Because I was hungry.”

“I didn’t see you order any food.”

“The waitress wouldn’t let me because you were in the house and she wanted us to clear out.”

“Well, excuse me.”

“And my sister was the one who found out you were there, not me.”

“Oh shit, that crazy girl is your sister?”

“Don’t call her crazy. She was just a little intoxicated. That’s all.”

“Intoxicated? She was drunk off her ass.”

“Well, she has her reasons.” Grey bites her bottom lip. Her profile is going in and out of focus as we pass beneath the streetlights leading to the highway. “She was just excited to see you. It’s how she deals with her emotions.”

“So why didn’t you cut off her beer supply?”

“Because I’d be wearing it right now.”

“Sounds like she’s as feisty as you are. What is it with you Kelleher girls?”

“I ask myself that question every day of my life.”

I laugh and she joins in. I like the sound of her voice. It’s soothing, deeper than when she was nervously addressing me in the restaurant. Combined with her dark hair and pale skin, it makes for an intriguing mix. She’s delicate on the outside, but a little toughie on the inside—like the Jennifer Lawrence version of Snow White.

“So you’re not a fan of mine then?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you just came to the game tonight…because your sister dragged you along…even though it seems like you’ve seen every Kings game in the last decade? Shit. Don’t tell me you’re into Drake?” I cringe inside, waiting for her to contradict me.

“Hell no! I do have a certain level of taste when it comes to men. I’m not a member of DrakesSkanks.com. Thank you very much.”

“Oh God, what the hell is that?”

“Don’t you know? It’s a website devoted to all his reported hook-ups. They post pictures and everything.”

“Fuck. Is there a site like that about me?”

“There should be.”

I want to lash out at her, but I bite my tongue. My exploits are common fodder for the gossip mill. I’m not exactly innocent when it comes to one-night stands. I’m just better at confiscating a girl’s phone before taking her into my bedroom no matter what city I happen to be in. It helps to have a savvy publicity team too. If anything does get out, it’s usually contained before it can go viral. My playboy image is mostly hyped by rumors, not facts. There’s little concrete evidence out there linking me to some random fan. Drake got sloppy after his divorce. He didn’t give a shit who posted what about him, even if the Kings did. He might have gotten a bigger contract than me when he signed, but I’m killing him when it comes to endorsements. No one wants Drake Schultz as the face of their product.

Grey’s eyes are more on me than on the road, so it’s obvious she thinks I’m a… What did Noah call it—a man-whore? It’s time to go on the offensive. “So you know everything about my private life too?”

“As much as there is to know. You’re a pretty secretive guy.”

Ain’t that the truth. If she only knew the half of it, but she knows squat. I keep things hidden for a reason. I don’t like people talking about what I do off the field. My sex life is none of their business. It’s not like I’m taking advantage of anybody. Hell, I don’t even bother finding out their first names. When it comes to down to it, they’re all just ‘Baby’ to me.

“Where the hell are we going anyway?” I gaze around, desperate to change the subject. I thought she was taking me back to the hotel, but we’re already several miles outside the city. I should be nervous—I don’t even fucking know this girl—but I’m not. I’m exhilarated, like I’m finally breaking free of the chains that have been holding me down for so long.

“Didn’t Noah tell you?” She raises an eyebrow in my direction, but I’m too distracted by the way her breasts are heaving beneath her shirt. She’s trying to contain herself, but being in my presence is having an effect on her. There’s no denying it. She probably can’t believe I’m sitting next to her. A smirk plays across my lips from knowing that I’m getting her aroused.

“So you’re taking me to some secluded spot to have your way with me, huh?”

Her foot involuntarily hits the brake and we’re thrown forward. I didn’t fasten my seatbelt so I hit the glove compartment dead-on, jamming my knee in the process.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” There’s genuine concern in Grey’s voice as I lower my head and breathe deeply. It hurts like hell. Seeing my distress, she slows down and pulls over onto the side of the road. “I can’t believe I just did that. I’m so sorry, Chase.”

It’s the first time she’s said my name, and just hearing it roll off her tongue makes the pain almost worth it. But I’m not gonna lie, I think that about did me in. I’m definitely screwed for tomorrow’s game. Forget about playing. There’s no way I’m going to be able to walk. I’m fucked.

“It’s not your bad knee, is it?” She watches as I slowly close my eyes and lean back against the headrest. I don’t want to go saddling her with any more guilt trips. It’s not her fault that I’m in this predicament. I’ve been incapacitated for quite a while now. It sucks coming to terms with the fact that my body will never be what it once was. I’ve depended on it for so long. It’s been my moneymaker, and now it’s starting to fail me—big time. I still can’t wrap my mind around it since last season I had the best year of my career. I’m as obstinate as a mule and I don’t intend to give up. Those sports writers can kiss my ass. I’m not admitting defeat. Not yet.

But I can’t lie to her either. Just the way she’s looking at me now is doing all kinds of things to me. It’s like she’d take all the pain away if she could. I want to believe that somehow she truly cares about me, even if she doesn’t know the real me, only the propaganda machine the Kings throw out there for fans to consume. I’m a total stranger to her, yet it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like I’ve known her forever.

And that’s what scares me the most.

I shouldn’t have had Noah go after her. This was all a big mistake. Sure, I was curious. I wanted to pursue this thing with her further, see where it would go, but I’m only going to end up leaving her in the end. I can’t be with this girl. There’s no way. I have to start shutting this down, for her sake if not mine. I don’t want to lead her on. I thought I could have some fun with her while I was here, but this is getting too deep, too fast. I’m not ready for anything remotely like this. I don’t do real relationships. Only fake ones.

“Yeah, it’s my bad knee,” I snap, causing her to withdraw her hand from where it was resting on my arm. “What do you think?”

She looks absolutely horrified, and I feel like a prick for exaggerating the severity of the situation. My knee was messed up before I even got in her truck. She didn’t cause this, but I have to make her think she did. I need to get back to the hotel and call it a night. She has to go home and get the hell away from me. I’m no good for her. The sooner she realizes that, the better.

“Don’t blame me for all of this.” Her voice is tender but firm. She’s not backing down. “I saw you limping at Beaver Field. Here, let me take a look.”

Her hand is on my thigh, causing my dick to spring to life. Fuck! What is she doing? She bends down and starts rolling up the leg of my jeans. I stay absolutely still, not even breathing as she works her way up higher. She has to see the massive boner I’m sporting for her benefit, but thankfully she doesn’t comment on it. Her focus remains solely on my knee.

“Oh, Chase, it’s all swollen.” She runs her fingers over my kneecap, causing me to flinch. “I’m not hurting you, am I?” She’s hardly doing anything, yet all I can do is silently shake my head as I grip the edge of the seat, ramming my nails into the side. Having her touch me moves something deep inside of me that I thought was dead. I’m used to people tending to me because they have to or because I’m paying them to. It’s been a long time since a girl took care of me out of the goodness of her heart. I can’t give in to this. I can’t. Even if every instinct in body is telling me to surrender to her.

“That’s it, Chase. You’re coming home with me.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I have just the thing to ease the swelling.”

“Grey, I can’t. You don’t understand,” I protest, but she holds up her hand, blocking any attempt for me to talk some sense into her. Instead, she digs out her phone, dialing a number off a card she retrieved from her pocket. “Who are you calling? Please tell me it’s not your sister.”

She rolls her eyes at me before turning her attention to whoever’s on the line.

“Hey, Noah, it’s Grey. Just thought I’d check in with you.”

Noah! He’s my one way out of this debacle. I have to talk to him. I never got his number because I thought he’d automatically be at my beck and call. I have to let him know where we’re at so he can come get me. I look around wildly for any mile markers or exit signs, but I don’t see any.

“Yeah, Chase is okay, but I wanted to let you know I’m taking him back to my place for the night.”

I squirm, reaching across the seat for her phone, but she angles her body away from me before I can pry it out of her fingers.

“No problem. We’ll work something out before noon. Okay, see you then. Thanks, Noah.” She hangs up before I can speak to him, but not before I’m able to pin her body against the driver’s side door.

I’m on top of her again but this time it feels different. I’m angry at her for taking over. What right does she have to tell me where I’m spending the night? No one tells me what to do.

My knee is screaming at me to sit back and let her go, but I ignore it. Instead, I grasp her face between my hands. We’re both breathing heavily again. I think she’s afraid, but she’s trying to hide it, gazing up at me defiantly. What the hell am I doing? I don’t do shit like this. I don’t feel passionate about anything anymore, but I feel like I want to rip her clothes off and have my way with her. Right here. Right now. I’m so mad at her I could spit, but I kind of like how she thinks she can control me. No one ever stands up to me. But she’s done it twice in one night. No wonder I want to bury myself inside of her until she’s screaming my name.

She anxiously licks her lips, not sure of what I’m going to do to her. My thumbs glide across her cheekbones, my fingers nestled deep in her thick mane of hair. Her skin is so soft and her hair is so smooth. Everything about this girl is fucking perfect, like she was made for me to do whatever I want with. But I can’t.

With a groan, I release my hold on her, frustrated that I didn’t even run my finger across her pouty lips. She braces herself against the door. She’s panting like she is on the verge of a mind-blowing orgasm. I can tell that she’s mad at me for leaving her hanging, but she makes no move to slap me even though I deserve it. I hate myself for denying her that pleasure.

“Take me back to the hotel.” I don’t even look at her as I start to roll down the leg of my jeans, wincing as the denim constricts around my knee.

“I can’t.” Her voice is so low I can barely hear it.

“Why not?”

“Noah said there are fans camped outside within view of all the entrances including the ramp to the parking garage. There’s no way either of us can bring you back undetected. Unless you’re okay with having people know you were out all night.”

Shit. That is definitely not an option. The team placed me on a strict curfew for the remainder of my rehab assignment. Getting caught striding through the hotel lobby in the wee hours of the morning—well, it can’t happen. For now, she’s stuck with me.

“Fuck. How am I supposed to get back for the game?”

“Noah said he’d come up with something.”

“Yeah right.”

“He said it’d be better if he could meet us somewhere less conspicuous and take you directly to Beaver Field. But for now, he’ll cover for you with the team as long as he can.”

“Where does everyone think I am right now?”

“The Blue Room, a strip club on Wheeler Avenue.”

“What?”

“It’s dark inside. No one will be able to say you weren’t there.”

“I don’t go to strip clubs.”

“Sure you don’t.”

“I don’t.”

“You’re such a liar.”

“Why would I pay to look at naked women when I can get it for free?”

“C’mon, isn’t that where you superstar athletes go to unwind?”

“I’m not fucking Drake.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“But you’re implying that—”

“Ugh, stop arguing with me already. I don’t care where you go. Right now, all I know is that you’re coming back with me to my trailer. End of story.”

“Your…trailer?”

“Shut it, Whitfield.”

And with a flourish, she peels back out onto the highway, throwing me back in my seat. Just when I thought this night couldn’t get any more unpredictable.

It does.

Chapter Eleven

Grey

I’ve freakin’ kidnapped Chase Whitfield.

I glance over at him. He’s biting his thumbnail, his arm propped up against the partially rolled-down window. The humidity is still high even though it’s the middle of the night, but so far he hasn’t complained about my truck’s lack of air conditioning. In fact, he hasn’t said much at all since I laid down the law.

But I couldn’t resist. I mean, he was acting like a dick. He obviously doesn’t want to be seen in public with me if he went to such great lengths to keep this rendezvous of ours a secret. He could’ve invited me to pull up a chair at Buster’s Crab Shack for all the world to see, but he didn’t. He was okay with chatting up that brunette who was hanging all over him, but not with me. And I gotta admit, that stings a bit.

But he’s here now, and that has to count for something.

I haven’t had a guy spend the night in my trailer since I moved in. I’m not that big on dating. And after my mom was diagnosed with lung cancer, I really haven’t been in the mood for hitting the bar scene. It’s sad, but where else am I going to meet someone? It’s not like the guys I ring up at the checkout counter slip me their numbers or anything. Who wants to date a sales clerk who bags their socks and ties? They probably think they can do so much better.

But to have Chase Whitfield be the first dude to enter my humble abode? I have to pinch myself to make sure this is really happening. Are the gods smiling down on me for once? It’s like he stepped out of my TV screen and into my life, and dreams like that just don’t come true. Trust me. They don’t.

We bounce along the ruts and grooves of the road leading to my trailer. I’m afraid this old clunker isn’t used to having a big, strong man in the passenger’s seat with me. It can handle my hundred-and-twenty-pound frame just fine, but apparently not much else. God, this is so embarrassing. We’re getting jostled so much I can feel my teeth rattling in my skull.

“So are you driving me deep into the wilderness to shoot me or just chop my head off?”

I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or if he’s trying to smooth things over between us. I am going to be his lifeline for the next ten hours or so. It wouldn’t hurt for us to at least try to get along.

“Neither. Why kill you when I could hold you for ransom? I heard you’re worth a fortune.”

It must be a sore spot with him because his head immediately snaps in my direction and I feel his eyes on me. “So you think I’m going to pay you off for helping me out. Is that it?”

“Not at all. I don’t expect a thing from you. Not even civility.”

“I am being civil.”

“Is that what you call having a surly temper?”

“I’m don’t have—”

“Save your breath. I know it must be exhausting not getting your way for once, and I wouldn’t want you tiring yourself out on my account.”

“I’m not tired. I could go all night.”

I shiver goes down my spine at his choice of words. “Is that a threat or a promise?” I’m alone in the dark with Chase Whitfield, and he’s talking dirty to me. My life is going to seriously suck after this. How will I ever go back to being normal? He’s ruined me and he doesn’t even know it.

“It’s whatever you want it to be, baby.”

And just like that, I recoil from him. I can tell he’s used that line a million times to his advantage. It’s a command that has women the world over dropping their panties at his feet. Well, I’m not going to be one of them. Of course, I’d love to be able to say that I bedded Chase Whitfield, but not at the expense of my self-esteem. No guy is worth that. I don’t care who he is.

“Keep it up and you can sleep in the truck.”

“What?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not one of your usual floozies.”

Before I turn off the ignition, I could have sworn he muttered, “Damn straight,” but I’m not sure. God, I can’t figure him out. He’s nothing like I thought he would be. He’s a lot more neurotic, a cauldron of churning emotions. One minute he’s playful, the next minute he’s pissed. There’s a level of familiarity there, like we’ve known each for years, but I don’t know how that’s even possible. Yet at times he seems completely at ease with me, enough to lower his guard until some offhand remark of mine sets him off. It’s beyond bizarre that we’re even talking to each other at all, much less dishing about our private lives. I feel like in a few short hours I’m going to wake up with a wicked hangover realizing that none of this really happened and I was only hallucinating.

I don’t turn off the headlights because I need them to find my front door. It’s pitch black up here at night and I forgot to leave a light on. Chase is quiet as he watches me. His gaze carries so much weight. I feel his eyes on me as I get out and walk toward my trailer, trying to ignore him. He doesn’t get out. He probably thinks I live in a hovel, and I don’t want his sympathy. He can shove it. It may not be the fanciest place on earth, but it’s mine. I don’t need much to be happy. And if he does, then he’s the one to be pitied. Things don’t make a person happy, people do.

“This is fucking perfect.”

My first reaction is to rip his head off, but the way he whispered the words makes my arms break out in goose bumps. I still my hand, the key hovering over the doorknob. I’m too afraid to turn around. It might break the spell he’s put me under.

“You like it?”

“I fucking love it!”

Man, he swears a lot, but for some reason, I don’t mind it. His voice sounds so deep and sexy, resonating through my bones. I could listen to him read the phone book and it would bring me to my knees. Again, I can’t believe his voice is coming to me right from his highly kissable lips. His words are solely directed at me and no one else.

My hand starts to shake as I try to steady myself and somehow get the key in the lock. “I’m glad.” I finally work up the courage to face him, giving him a tight smile. The fact that he likes my home means a lot to me. He’s been everywhere, done everything, yet he’s still impressed with what little I have to offer. That has to mean something, right? For the first time tonight, I think maybe he could be happy with me. Maybe I can be enough for him. I want to explore this connection between us, actually give it a chance.

“Yeah, the paparazzi would never find me up here. We’re completely off the grid.” He claps his hands together as he exits the truck, and my heart drops. He’s only thinking about himself. Funny, I thought he’d been thinking about me. I have to get a hold of myself. Keep things in perspective. He’s not into me. He’s just using me, like he uses everyone else. Women mean nothing to him. They’re playthings to stave off his boredom. And no place is as boring as Stockton.

Chase is right behind me as I turn the knob, and I can feel the heat of his body against my back, his breath on my hair. He’s not touching me, but it sure feels like he is. We’re sharing the same space, practically the same air. I want him to wrap his arms around me and pull me against him, but he doesn’t. He keeps his hands to himself.

“I really have to take a piss. You do have indoor plumbing, right?”

And just like that, my romantic vision deflates like a popped balloon.

“I am a card-carrying member of the twenty-first century. The bathroom is the first door on the left.”

He brushes by me without even a thank-you and shuts the door in a hurry. I don’t care if his bladder is about to explode. He can at least be polite about it.

I scratch my head, wondering what I’m going to do with him for the next few hours. Sleeping is out of the question. I only have one bed, and if he wants it, he can have it. There’s no way I’ll be able to fall asleep knowing that he’s in here with me. I’m not used to having someone all up in my space, and I don’t have the guts to even think about sharing my bed with him. Things could get out of hand in a hurry. All it would take would be his hand at my back or his leg bumping mine and I’d be a goner. I’d give him whatever he wanted and then some. But I’d hate myself in the morning when he bolts without so much as a backward glance. I’d just be one of his many conquests. I can’t give in to the temptation. I’m not going to let him use me like that.

I hear the toilet flushing, and I glance around nervously. The trailer isn’t exactly spotless. I planned on cleaning over the weekend, so damp towels are strewn on the back of the couch and dirty dishes are piled in the sink. I’m not a neat freak by any means, but I’m not a total slob either. In terms of impressing my multimillionaire houseguest, I give my last-minute efforts to tidy up about a two out of ten.

I hear him banging around in there, and I wonder what he’s doing. I look at the back of the door and realize what I’m staring at—my Chase Whitfield poster taped up in all its glory. Shit! He can’t see that. I’ll die. I have to get rid of it. Hide the incriminating evidence of my lifelong crush on him before he comes out. It’s now or never.

I hop over a pile of dirty laundry and practically hurl myself against the bathroom door. But I’m too late. It flies open, and Chase smacks me right in the forehead. I see stars as I tumble backward, tripping and falling onto the unmade bed.

“Fuck! Grey, are you okay?”

His rich baritone is directly above me, but I refuse to look up, hiding my face in the wrinkled sheets. I can already feel my forehead starting to swell, forming a goose egg the size of Mount Rushmore. Why can’t I pull my shit together and just act normal around him? Because he’s Chase Whitfield—that’s why.

“Hang on.” I hear Chase’s footsteps retreat toward the freezer before he roots around for some ice. The cubes crash loudly into the tray as he empties it on the kitchen table.

I bite my lip to hide my smile. He’s making himself quite at home here, isn’t he? I brought him back so that I could take care of him and now he’s taking care of me. I didn’t think he had it in him.

“C’mon, Grey. Get up.” The mattress sinks beneath him as he sits next to me. “You’re going to have a nasty shiner if you don’t let me put this on it.” His hand is still cold and wet from handling the ice, and I jerk away when I feel his fingers on my shoulder. He immediately withdraws his hand, making me want to kill my body for reacting that way. It’s like my subconscious is on high alert, warning me to keep my distance from him. He’s dangerous and I should stay away. But it doesn’t help that now we’re both on my bed, the last place in the world I wanted us to be.

Making an effort to be brave, I shift my legs and sit directly in front of him. He’s so close, closer than I thought he was, and my foot accidentally grazes his side. He draws in a quick breath but doesn’t say anything as I rearrange my awkward limbs. When I finally stop moving, he leans forward, pushing my bangs aside and applying the towel packed with ice to my forehead.

“Thank God I didn’t clip your eye. I thought I did.” He stares at me intently, and I notice just how beautiful his eyes really are set off against his dark complexion. They’re outstanding, actually. Vivid swirls of turquoise that change color like a kaleidoscope. No description of the Caribbean Sea could ever do them justice. I could easily find myself drowning in them, not caring if I sank to the bottom.

Being this close to him, I can see the stubble forming along his jawline. I’ve never seen him looking so scruffy before. The Kings are pretty adamant about their players being clean-shaven in public. It’s like there’s a whole other side to him that not many people know exist and I have the distinct privilege of witnessing it. Chase Whitfield, uncensored and uncut.

I gulp loudly, causing the corners of his mouth to turn up. And this time, it’s not a smirk. His smile is filled with warmth as his eyes dance across my face, examining me for any more injuries.

“Thanks for making my forehead look even bigger than it already does,” I joke, reaching up with my hand to keep my bangs out of the way. “It’s not easy, having a head shaped like an alien.”

He doesn’t tease me back like I thought he would. Instead, he keeps looking at me like I’m a riddle he can’t quite figure out. I’m puzzling him for some reason, but I don’t know why. I’m not that complicated—what you see is what you get.

“You didn’t have to hide the poster.” Hesitantly, he begins to stroke the bottom of my chin. His fingers are barely making contact with my skin, like he’s afraid I’m going to shatter into a million pieces. I’m a lot stronger than he thinks, but what he says gives me reason to pause. “I kind of like that you have it hanging up in here.”

I want to die. I really do. If someone had ever devised a systematic way to torture me, this would be it. I can’t deny it. He caught me red-handed trying to rip it down before he could see it. Knowing that he knows makes me want to run out the door and never look back. I don’t fawn over guys. It’s not my style. I’m not the cheerleader type. But for some reason, Chase has always been the exception to the rule. Why? Because I never thought I’d meet him. I never thought I’d be having a conversation with him. I never thought he’d be sitting in my trailer, looking at his face plastered on my bathroom door.
Oh God, shoot me now.

“It’s not what you think,” I mutter, fumbling for a way out of this fiasco.

“Oh, I think it is.” This time, his thumb finds my lips, sweeping softly over them. A soft moan escapes me, making him smile even more. I’m like putty in his hands and he knows it. I’m in desperate straits. I need to regain some semblance of control over myself before all is lost. One more sensation like that running through my body and I’ll be throwing myself at him. He’s too good at this. I have to stay strong. I owe it to myself not to become another one of his statistics.

So I blurt out the first thing I can think of—the ultimate buzzkill. “So is it true that you have, like, three STDs?”

The shock value alone floors him and he drops the towel, spilling the partially melted ice all over the bed. “Shit!” he cries, trying to mop it up. But thanks to me, the moment we were having is effectively ruined.

“Well, do you?” I probe, not giving him a chance to regroup. I press forward, going in for the kill. “Because I don’t sleep with guys who do.”

“Who says I want to sleep with you?” He’s back on the defensive, which is where I need him to be. I can’t let him get that close again. I can’t.