Filthy Player Read online

  “Off night. I’ll do better next half.”

  I meant every damn word. I’d take the blame on this loss, but after looking so good in pre-season we were looking like fools out there.

  He glared at me for a minute, and I took it. Absorbed it. Let his anger and frustrations fuel my focus. This was the season opener. I didn’t have time to be screwed up over a chick.

  I didn’t let women screw with my head.

  “Defense,” Pomville barked. He grabbed their attention and I muted out his instructions to them.

  Oliver Powell sat down next to me.

  “Don’t start with me,” I groaned, scrubbing my hands through my hair.

  “Pussy can fuck a guy up, you know?” He laughed as he said it and bumped my shoulder.

  I did not need the visual of the words pussy and fuck coming from my sister’s fiancé. “Don’t make me vomit either.”

  He punched my thigh. “Just sayin’, never seen you like this. It’s like your first training camp all over again. Remember those fun days?”

  “When you got in my face and screamed at me every two minutes? How could I forget?”

  He snorted. “Yeah, but you’ve come a long way since then, and since I did so damn well making you the best quarterback in the league, I’m going to give you some more advice.”

  I arched a brow at him. “You made me the best quarterback?”

  Powell ignored me. Self-righteous asshole. “Leave it here, Beaux, in this locker room. Deal with it later. You got thirty minutes and then you can go back to trying to fix whatever the hell is screwing up your head, and from what Shannon said, it’s a woman. There’s not shit you can do about it now. Focus on the ball, do what you were born to do, and win us this fucking game. Everyone is fucking looking to you, more so this year than last. You let us down and you’re going to be the fool.”

  He didn’t say anything I hadn’t thought. He didn’t say anything I didn’t already know. But Powell was one of the most experienced guys on my team and he took it upon himself to be a father-figure…sometimes, a super large prick of a father figure, but one all the same.

  It helped. Sometimes, even a grown man needed a damn pep talk, someone in his corner. My jaw hurt from clenching my teeth so hard and I popped it twice. “Right. I’m on it.”

  “I know. I only play with the best, which is why I worked you so hard last year.”

  “To make me the best?”

  He ignored my sarcastic tone and grinned. “See? I think we’re finally beginning to understand each other.”

  I shoved him as he stood, making him lose his balance. He collapsed right into Quinten who pushed Powell to his feet.

  I shook my head, grinning at the smirk on Powell’s face before he snagged his helmet off the floor and sauntered away.

  “He help?” Quinten asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. You got this.”

  I fist pumped him. “Yeah, we got this.”

  Thirty minutes.

  I had the game. A comeback from fourteen points was nothing.

  I would do it.

  And when the game was done, and I was back in Raleigh, I was fucking calling Paige.

  Then I’d deal with her, too.

  ***

  I turned on my phone as soon as I slid into my truck in the valet parking garage.

  We’d won the game. We came back, won twenty-one to fourteen. I played a second half that felt like instinct and not work, the ball sliding from my fingers on every pass, perfectly aimed for my target. The defense held Atlanta to less than sixty yards in the second half and had kept them from getting close to even kicking a field goal.

  We ended the game feeling good, playing like we were trained and paid to do, like we loved to do, but I had other things on my mind as we dressed, boarded a bus and went straight to the plane. Three hours after the game ended and I was back in Raleigh.

  I had one more play in mind for the night.

  My phone pinged with incoming texts as soon as it was powered on and I quickly scanned the few from Shannon.

  OMG you suck. What’s wrong with you.

  Get your crap together.

  My sister. So supportive. Those were all during the first half. I was used to her running commentary and since I hadn’t blown the game, I shook my head and kept scrolling.

  Better, dipstick.

  Amazing pass!

  PS — Did you see how good Oliver looked in those pants tonight? Scrumptious.

  Supportive and disgusting. I shook my head and went to her last text.

  Woo-hoo! Knew you could do it baby bro.

  I flipped through a few texts from Shannon’s best friend, Melissa, congratulating me along with a handful more from guys I played with in college.

  Then two more showed up. My breath caught as I saw Paige’s name on the screen.

  Great game.

  Home from hospital with my dad. He had surgery.

  Shit. My chest burned with worry. I’d gone so far as to call the hospital on Friday when I didn’t hear back from Paige but they wouldn’t tell me anything. I’d considered driving to the garage and seeing if I could find out information there, but then I picked my balls back up.

  I was falling for a girl who slammed a door in my face. No way was I showing up at a garage with a bunch of men looking like a pussy.

  Another text came after that and it took me a minute to process it.

  Can we talk?

  Oh. We were talking.

  I pulled into the nearest parking lot and pressed the phone icon, dialing Paige’s number.

  Pick up. Pick up.

  Good God. I was desperate for the sound of her voice falling from her sweet lips.

  “Hey,” Paige said, her voice quiet and breathy. “Good game tonight.”

  “Is that why you called me tonight Paige? To talk about the game?” I couldn’t keep the coolness out of my tone. My fingers were tapping the steering wheel so hard I could punch a hole through the wheel.

  “Well, no.” Her voice went softer. “I called to apologize, about…well…I wanted to say sorry for the other night.”

  “I’m coming over.”

  “No,” she half-whispered, half-shouted. “My dad’s sleeping, and I think it’s best if you don’t, Beaux, really. I just wanted to talk.”

  Fuck that. She was giving me a sliver of an opening and I was sliding in.

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes, and you better answer your door.”

  “Beaux—”

  “Don’t worry, Paige, I can be quiet.”

  I hung up on a breathy little gasp from her and tossed the phone into my cup holder. I expected a string of texts telling me not to come, giving me the brush off. Something.

  I got nothing from her, which made me grin as I pulled back into traffic and hopped on the interstate, taking me straight to her.

  We had things to talk about. Problems to figure out.

  If I was getting to know Paige at all, she’d already concocted a list of reasons to keep me away.

  Hell if I was listening to them.

  I pulled up onto Paige’s street twenty-three minutes later, slowing down so the roar of my truck didn’t wake anyone even though it was only nine o’clock. But the neighborhood, while well-maintained, was still older and I already knew there was one elderly neighbor, Elsa, who lived nearby.

  When I pulled up to Paige’s house, I slowed to a stop at the curb and hopped out of my truck, quietly closing the door.

  She was sitting on her front porch, a glass of what looked like tea in her hands. She was rocking on a wooden swing, covered in the shade, feet pulled up on the swing, tan legs on full display with the short sweat shorts she was wearing.

  Her brown hair was pulled into a mess on the top of her head, bits and pieces fraying around her temples and sides, and as I got closer, I could tell she wasn’t wearing any makeup.

  She’d never looked more beautiful to me. She was always dressed casually when I saw her, but ther
e was something about that picture, her lazily rocking back and forth, sipping what I assumed was sweet tea that hit me straight in the chest.

  Visions of doing the same with her, night after night after a long day of work or a day off traveling, enjoying the quiet.

  Doing nothing but being together and knowing it was the best thing to do.

  That burn in my chest ignited all over again and I leapt up the stairs, settling myself against the railing.

  “Hey,” I said, as I watched her gaze roam over my body, my eyes, my chest, dipping low quickly and snapping back up.

  “Hey.”

  “So you watched the game tonight?”

  She sipped her tea and nodded. “We always do.”

  “How is he?” I nodded toward the house. I didn’t need to specify I was asking about Sam.

  She blew out her breath and brushed hair off her nape. “He broke his leg. Fell in a small hole off the sidewalk.”

  “That doesn’t tell me if he’s okay.”

  “He’s fine. Or he will be. He had surgery and…”

  She bit her bottom lip, chin quivering.

  I moved and pulled her next to me, rocking the swing and careful not to spill her drink. As soon as I pulled her into my arms, her head hit my chest and her shoulders shook.

  “God, it was so damn scary, Beaux.”

  “Had to be.”

  I didn’t ask her more. I was perfectly content to bear her stress and her worry while she fought back tears and took deep shuddering breaths that made her entire body tremble.

  When she’d calmed, she pushed against my stomach. I let her go reluctantly.

  “I didn’t call to talk to you so I could cry on your shoulder,” she said, reaching for her tea.

  I took it from her hand and set it on the railing behind us. “Then why did you?”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  PAIGE

  It was do or die time and all I wanted to do was crawl back into Beaux’s lap and ignore the reality I was facing.

  With his crystal blue eyes on me, hair done and swept nicely to the side, and dressed in his suit, he was devastatingly sexy.

  He must have come to me straight from the airport, and that thought shot a piercing pain to my chest.

  Beaux was a great guy, and I was going to shove him away from me even though it was the last thing I wanted. I had to in order to preserve my own heart.

  “You going to say anything,” Beaux asked, a beautiful smirk twisting his full lips. “Or are you going to keep staring at me?”

  I wanted to keep staring, to memorize the hard line of his jaw, the perfect point of his top lip, the thick lashes that rimmed his eyes.

  Instead, I sucked in a breath and let it all out. “I called to apologize. I was rude to you, again, and I don’t like that when you’ve been nothing but nice to me.”

  “Nice?” Two perfect brows rose on his forehead. His tone went icy with the word and I tried to pull away.

  He didn’t let me go. Instead, he shoved his arm to my lower back and pulled me so I was once again in his lap.

  The forceful jerk of the swing made me cling to him.

  “Well, yeah,” I said when I’d gathered my wits. It was difficult. He was too consuming. Too beautiful. Too effortlessly, genuinely kind. “And I enjoy the time we spent together, but nothing more with us can happen.”

  It was the speech I’d research ad nauseam all afternoon.

  “No?” His head tilted to the side. One corner of his lips hitched up. “You don’t think?”

  I shook my head. Leave it to Beaux to find me ending things with him funny. “Well, yes, I do think. You’re busy right now, and I appreciate the nights I’ve had with you, Beaux, honestly, but I don’t have the time right now. Not with my dad needing extra help, the bills from the hospital are going to start pouring in and I’m going to have to pick up extra shifts. I have too many responsibilities to consider a relationship with you.”

  By the time I was done talking, he was full on grinning. His hand was at the side of my neck, thumb brushing beneath my jaw.

  I fought a tremble at his gentle, intimate touch, and failed.

  “Beaux—” my tone lacked the warning I intended.

  “All I just heard was that you appreciate me, enjoyed our time together, and I’m a nice guy.”

  I frowned. “And?”

  “And nowhere in that list did you list the reason that you don’t like me or don’t want to be with me.”

  I couldn’t say those things. Not directly to him. I wasn’t a liar by nature, but he wasn’t understanding me, either.

  “I don’t have the time.”

  “And I don’t give a shit. We’ll make the time. We’ll figure it out, but if you’re not pushing me away because you think I’m an asshole or you’re not attracted to me — and don’t even think about lying and saying you aren’t because I still remember the way you lit up for me last week — then you’re not ending this, and you’re definitely not going to do it using your father as an excuse.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are.” His hand on my neck tightened. His humor evaporated until I felt the icy chill of his serious gaze. Good Lord, this must have been his game face. If I saw him on the field looking this intense, I’d pee my pants. “And I’m not letting you. More so, I bet if I went in and told Sam, he won’t let you use him as an excuse, either.”

  My hackles rose. The stupid, bossy man. “Maybe neither of you have a say in it, either. It’s my life and mine to choose to live how I want.”

  “Yeah?” he challenged. “Then when are you going to start living it?”

  His question was a slap to the face and anger from his accusation simmered in my veins. “Beaux—”

  This time my warning was exactly as I intended but he interrupted me.

  “So, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to let someone step up and help you out. You got me, the team, Mike, and the guys at the garage. You have neighbors that will help him out. You’re going to take some time off the restaurant so you can be with your dad at night, and then, you’re going to trust me to take care of the rest.”

  I shook my head. He couldn’t step in and do this. “I can’t not work, Beaux.”

  “Trust me.” His hands framed my cheeks, holding me steady. “I want to help you, Paige. Just let me.”

  “Why? Why would you do that?” No one else ever had and I’d known this guy for mere weeks.

  “Because,” his grin went wicked again, “I like you, and I’m not afraid to say it. I didn’t just enjoy our time together, I fucking loved it. I want more of it. And if you’re ending things because we don’t have a lot of time, that’s not a good reason for me to stop seeing where this could go between us.”

  I fought the urge to melt against him. Breaking it off with him was the right thing to do.

  Listening to him felt better.

  I slid my hand to his chest and up to his shoulder. His muscles tensed beneath the jacket of his suit. The man was pretty hard to say no to, especially when saying yes sounded like so much more fun.

  I brushed my fingers over the knot of his loosened black tie and tugged. “You know, you’re making it very hard to break things off with you.”

  He tipped my chin up until our gazes met. Narrowed blue eyes hit me with the force of hurricane right before he leaned in closer. “Then don’t.”

  His lips brushed against mine; stealing all my rehearsed arguments. God help me if I was becoming a mushy little girl who wanted a man to take care of her, but the hope of such a promise was too large to ignore. He kissed me again and I was gone, lost in him, the hardness of his body, the strength of his soul, the scent of his cologne and the taste of his mouth.

  “Okay,” I whispered, brushing my lips against his.

  I could kiss him until the sun rose and not regret a single moment of lost sleep.

  “Good. Now stop fighting me, let me fucking help you, and kiss me again.”

  I complied instantly.
I surrendered to my desire to lean on him and melt into him and I shifted my body until our chests aligned. I reveled in the feel of his heart beating against my chest, the calluses on his palm scraping my cheeks, the warmth of his lips as we kissed for minutes, hours.

  “Come on,” Beaux said, and he grabbed my backside, hefting me to his hips as he stood. “I’m fucking wiped.”

  My eyes popped open. “You can’t stay here.”

  “Thought you weren’t going to fight me anymore.” He kissed my nose and walked toward my front door.

  “But, my dad, and … us… and you…” I’d never brought a man home, not overnight anyway. I was pretty certain my dad would be the kind of guy to sleep with a shotgun next to him and one eye open if I did.

  I explained it to Beaux as he had his hand on the doorknob. “Trust me, Paige. He’s not going to shoot me, and I’m not going to disrespect the guy in his own home, anyway.”

  “Oh.” It made sense. I couldn’t stop the spring of disappointment. Beaux must have caught it in my tone because he kissed me again as he pulled open the door.

  “Nice to know you wanted it, though.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Sure.”

  “You’re pretty irritating when you don’t listen to me.”

  “I think you love it.”

  Crazy thing was, I was beginning to think the same thing.

  He set me on my feet once we were inside. “I’ve got a bag in the truck I’m going to go grab. Do what you need to do while I’m gone, okay?”

  “Sure, Beaux.”

  “You’re pretty beautiful when you listen to me.”

  “Irritating,” I hissed, mindful my dad was lightly snoring from his spot on the recliner just down the hall and around the corner.

  “Lovely.” He winked and kissed my nose before sauntering out to his truck.

  While he was gone, I ran to the kitchen and grabbed a couple more pain pills and a fresh glass of water. After setting them on his side table, I rearranged the blanket and gently pressed my hand to his forehead.

  He was warm, but not hot. He’d slept off and on the entire day, but hadn’t once complained about the pain in his leg. It would come though, and then my failing dad would act like it was nothing.