Playing Hard: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (24 page)

And Riley’s never mentioned his parents before.

“Do you still see your mom?” I ask him.

Riley shakes his head. “Nah. She took off after I got my scholarship. I don’t blame her. Eighteen years of putting food in my mouth — she needed a break.”

I blink. “Did you ever think about finding her?”

Riley is silent. “Maybe,” he says. “But I figure if she wants me, she’ll come back for me.”

I lick my lips.

And then I lean over and kiss him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

RILEY

Two weeks later

I’ve been in the newspaper dozens of times — for making game-winning plays, for partying too much, hell, just for
existing
, basically. My college career, fitness, all of that kind of stuff has been gone over and over again both in print and on TV. I’m the best wide receiver in the college game right now. I’m basically a celebrity, and everything’s only going to get bigger once I go pro.

Still, it’s kind of weird looking at this photo of me and Ava getting out of a car together at whatever event it was that we attended — honestly, they’ve all kind of blurred together in my mind now. Murray’s been pushing things hard. But it’s apparently paid off: above the photo of us is the blaring headline, ‘IT’S OFFICIAL’. I don’t really
want
to read the article below, but my morbid curiosity gets the better of me in the end.

In the most unlikely Cinderella story of the year, it seems that the pairing of Blaketon University football star Riley Knox and heiress Ava Westwood, daughter of philanthropist, businessman, hotelier and now Senate hopeful Orson Westwood, have been officially ‘stepping out’ together since early last month. Though the relationship remains as yet unconfirmed, it’s hard to believe that with the amount of time they’ve been spending together, this couple is anything less than official.

“Cinderella story?” Ava frowns. “How does
that
make sense?”

I scoff. “It does if
I’m
Cinderella, and you’re the handsome prince.”

And also only if it’s some R-rated version of the Disney movie, where Cinderella and the handsome prince can’t keep their hands off each other, and have been doing everything except actual fucking over the past two weeks. Every time they see each other.

I can see Ava thinking exactly the same thing I am as her eyes flick up to mine. I can see the heat in them, and I know what she’s thinking.

That’s been happening a lot lately. But I guess it’s not exactly all that uncanny — not when mostly all we’ve been thinking about is sex.

I’ve never been this enthralled by a girl before. Least of all one I haven’t even fucked.

Or maybe that’s what’s doing it. Most girls are all too happy to jump into bed with me — I’ve never had an issue getting girls to sleep with me. But Ava… damn. She knows I want her. But she knows I only want her when she’s ready for it. And as many times as she’s sucked my cock now, or I’ve had my fingers deep inside her, or I’ve eaten her out until she’s been shuddering and coming on my tongue, she hadn’t said yet that’s she’s ready to take that final step.

And the anticipation is
killing
me.

Maybe it’s the whole ‘forbidden fruit’ thing too. Every time we touch each other, there’s a chance we could be seen. And while, to the rest of the world, there’s nothing wrong with that — we’re ‘official’ now, after all — anything that could get back to Murray or Ava’s father that proves we’ve been anything less than chaste is bad news.

We’re supposed to be faking it, remember.

Sometimes this shit is too hard to keep straight in my head. We’re supposed to look like we’re fucking. But we’re not allowed to
actually
fuck. Except we
are
fucking. Or everything but, anyway.

We haven’t talked about it again since that morning after the charity event, where I slept over at Ava’s apartment. But it’s always there in the backs of our minds. 

And now that Ava’s father has finally announced his intention to run for the senate since the other guy is retiring before his term is up… well, neither of us knows how much longer this can last.

Whatever
this
is.

Murray’s called us both to Ava’s father’s house to discuss it. I guess. Since he didn’t tell me the reason why he asked me to come.

“Was it just me, or did Murray sound… really pissed when he called you this morning?” I ask.

Ava glances at me. We’re both trying not to think it, but the idea is always there in both of our heads: he knows something.

In the end, Ava licks her lips, then shrugs. “He’s probably just grumpy because his Richard Nixon blowup doll has a puncture.”

I laugh out loud, not bothering to stifle it when Murray — finally — comes into the room. That’s just one other thing about Ava I’ve been discovering: beneath that prim and proper exterior lies an absolutely
wicked
sense of humor.

I try to wipe the smile off my face. Even if I couldn’t care less about the consequences of us being discovered, I know it’s a big deal to Ava. That’s the other thing we haven’t been talking about. It’s kind of pointless, though — she’s not going to change her mind about telling her father and Murray to eat it and making us real.
Really
real. Not at the moment, anyway.

If I’m being honest, I mean, I don’t know exactly what I want from her, either. I’ve never been part of… well, whatever it is she’d call it. One-night stands and regular hook-ups and booty calls, yes. But not anything more exclusive or… long-term.

The
exclusive
part of this I didn’t choose. My dick almost always gets what it wants, and in this case, it only wants Ava. Even when I jerk off I can’t think of anything except her. When Omar and Reid had called me down to look at this awesome new porn vid they’d found — and it
was
awesome — I found my eyes glazing over after a minute or so, thinking of Ava. Thinking that this porn star’s moans weren’t half as sexy as hers, or that her big fake tits weren’t as hot as Ava’s perfect handfuls. Even her totally bare pussy wasn’t as nice as Ava’s trimmed little bush. When the money shot came, all I could think about was Ava’s face the first time I’d come on her, and the way she’d licked her lips afterward, as if wanting to taste every last drop of me.

There isn’t a porn star in the world who can compare to
that.

I shift on the couch, crossing my legs.

Regardless of whether Murray knows or not, it probably wouldn’t be the greatest idea to pop a boner right in front of him.

“Something amusing?” Murray asks as he crosses the room to us, shoving his phone into his pocket.

Ava shakes her head. “We were just laughing about the newspaper,” she says, gesturing at the newspaper on the table in front of us. “It’s just funny.”

Murray barely glances down at it. “Yes,” he says, nodding. “Seems like we’ve got them right where we want them. You two have been doing a great job. My polling shows people really love the two of you together. And interest in your father’s senate run has spiked too — which is what I really wanted to talk to you about today.”

I just sit back and listen. Honestly, I usually tune out a lot of what Murray says. Most of the time he sounds like he’s swallowed a dictionary and I can’t follow most of it anyway. If it’s anything important I know Coach’ll be onto me about it, or Ava will remind me.

Murray sits down opposite us. “The special senate election isn’t for another month and a half, and we need to time things exquisitely well for this to work. We can’t have you announce your breakup too soon afterward, or people will know this was publicity. But we don’t want it to run too long, either. This is what I’m thinking: we break you up before the election — right before. Now that we’ve got them all slavering over this, a breakup will translate into press.”

Okay.

Just for once, I’m actually listening to what Murray’s saying. I glance across at Ava. She’s turned a little pale. I hope Murray can’t tell.

“So… what do you mean by breaking up?” she asks. “What’ll that involve?”

“Well, things will essentially go back to the way they were,” Murray says smoothly. “You two will have your old lives back. You won’t have to keep spending time together, that’s for sure. In fact, it would be better if you’re seen together as little as possible. I guess that won’t be too hard for you, seeing as you don’t exactly run in the same circles. I know this is happening a little sooner than Coach Jackson would like it to, Riley. I’ve spoken to him, and he wants you to keep a low profile until the season starts up again. I don’t think that’ll be a problem. Will it?”

I shake my head. “No.”

I honestly don’t know what else to say. The situation’s too weird. We’re sitting here calmly discussing our future breakup — the fake breakup of our fake relationship — as if it’s nothing. Not that we’re even dating right now. We’re just repeatedly making each other come. But still, the idea that we won’t even be allowed to see each other after whatever date Murray decides… that’s weird. I don’t want to stop seeing Ava. A couple of months ago, I would’ve jumped for joy if you’d told me I could stop hanging around with this girl, and get back to doing what I do best, which is chasing pussy. Even if I’d have to do it a little more discreetly from now on.

Now, though….

I feel like there’s a cold knot in my stomach. I’ve never felt this way over a girl before. 

There’ll always be girls
, I tell myself. Hell, that’s part of the reason I play ball.
This one is hardly special.

Except I know that that’s not true. I know Ava’s the most special girl I’ve ever met. And I know I don’t want to lose her. Not yet.

Ava clears her throat. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asks. “I mean… if we broke up before the race, do you think people would be sympathetic? It might go wrong, people might not —”

“Believe me, I’ve considered this from every angle,” Murray interrupts her. “I think this will play well. We’ve got people interested, but you guys won’t be the hottest couple on the block for long. Something new will come along, and the press will jump on that instead. Plus, we really don’t want Riley being too heavily involved if your father happens to win. Football and politics — it just doesn’t mix well. Am I right, Riley? Last thing you want to be getting is questions about whether you support Senator Westwood’s stance on this or on that, right?”

I nod. “Sure.” Well, he has a point there, I have to admit. I don’t pay even a little bit of attention to politics. It’s all a bunch of dicks in suits, all pretty much interchangeable with each other if you ask me. I’ve never voted in my life.

Ava’s not looking at me. I feel like I could reach out and squeeze the tension from the air with my fist. Fuck knows if Murray’s noticed anything — but then, he’s probably too wrapped up in himself to care.

Murray looks like he’s about to go on, when his cell phone buzzes in his pocket. He takes it out, frowning, before he starts texting at an impressive speed for someone who looks so ancient. Like at least fifty.

“I have to take care of this,” he says without looking up. “Ava, your father asked me to pass on that he’ll be home sometime over the weekend. He has to be in Paris until then, but he sends his regards.” He texts for a moment longer, before looking up. “Can I get you a car?”

“No,” Ava says quickly. “I can do it.”

She stands, glancing down at me as she does so.

I know the meaning of that look.

It’s the look that says
I want you.

I mean, to be fair, almost all of her looks say that these days.

And every single one of them makes my dick hard almost instantly.

I stand up, not bothering to say goodbye to Murray, who seems to have pretty much forgotten we’re there, anyway.

I follow Ava out of the room, watching the sway of her hips as she walks. Damn, it’s like she has his hypnotic effect on me now — whenever she moves, whenever she walks, I just can’t stop staring.

Ava glances over her shoulder at me as we make our way out into the hall. I say
hall
, but it’s probably about as big as the house I live in with Reid and Omar. The ceiling is vaulted, the floor is, like, marble or some shit, with an expensive-looking rug running end to end. Right now I’m barely noticing the luxury all around me, though — the only things I can pay attention to are Ava’s deep blue eyes, looking at me over her shoulder, as if checking that I understand what she has in mind.

Which of course I do. But even if it hasn’t been on
Ava’s
mind, it sure is on mine. I’d’ve pulled her into any empty room and gone down on her the first chance I got, anyway.

Ava reaches back and grabs my hand, pulling me after her as she hurries down the hall, turning a corner and leading me deeper into the house. I see flashes of sculpted gardens through the arched windows as we hurry by them; lavish rooms that I can’t even imagine a use for. Who needs so many fucking rooms?

Finally, she comes to a stop, pushing a door open. I don’t know what’s so different about
this
room that we couldn’t have just gone into one of the others, but honestly, I’m not fussy. As long as I get to taste her, I don’t care.

The room we go into smells musty, though — it hits me as soon as we step inside. I screw up my nose, wondering why, of all places, Ava chose this one. It’s a
huge
room. As in, from where I’m standing, I can’t even see the other side. The far wall is obscured by massive shelves, going up two floors, and all of them are filled with books. Huge wooden pillars reach up to the vaulted ceiling. There’s weak winter sunlight filtering in through the windows in the wall closest to us, lighting up the motes of dust in the air.