#playerdown: Players to Men Read online

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  The sounds of cars driving past and people chattering crowded my ears as I made my way up the street in SoMa toward the address War had given me. I wasn’t sure if the ad was for a magazine or TV. Guess I’d find out soon enough.

  “Charlotte—Charli!” someone yelled.

  Frowning, I glanced back down the sidewalk and bit off a groan as Craig dashed over like a ghost I wished would remain in the past.

  “Good, I caught you, babes.” He grasped my arms and kissed me on the lips.

  Ugh! I shoved him away and wiped my mouth with my hand. “What the hell, Craig?”

  He smiled a little, his hazel eyes soft, as if that would work on me. “Sorry, old habit.”

  My left butt cheek! How was I ever drawn to this narcissistic ass?

  “I don’t want your whoring mouth near me.”

  A grimace curled his lips. “I’m sorry about the last time—”

  “Which? When I found you with some slank on one of your stopovers, or at the bar where you ambushed me?”

  “Both.” His gaze drifted over my face. “Charlotte, I regret what happened between us. I made a mistake.”

  I lifted an eyebrow at the blatant lie. He’d probably never apologized for whoring his way across the globe in his life. And I didn’t trust him. When the rose-tinted glasses came off, the truth glared right at me. God, I was such a fool, looking for acceptance with all the wrong idiots.

  And something was up with this one. “What do you want, Craig?”

  “Look.” He stepped closer, moving out of the path of people heading for the warehouse. “Can we go have coffee and talk?”

  Dammit, I should have been inside by now. I put space between us. “No.”

  He sighed, smoothing back his perfectly styled hair. “I don’t blame you. Just so you know, I do love you—”

  “You wouldn’t know the meaning of the word if it bit you in your ass.”

  “Ah, you still think of my ass. I know you loved me in uniform. Charlotte—” He reached for my hand then stopped when he met my glare. “The reason I came to the bar was to talk to you. Give me another chance, and I’ll prove myself to you.”

  Oh, my God! It surprised me his big head actually had any space left for his brain when it was crowded with his own ego. Did he think I’d go running back to him if he uttered the L-word again?

  I glanced at the warehouse, wanting to get moving. “You’re wasting your time. I gotta go.”

  “Oh, right, the hockey player.” His mouth turned down as if hurt. His gaze drifted to a tall redhead sashaying past us, lingered, then came back to me. The louse. “You thought I cheated—okay, it was one mistake on my part which I deeply regret. Do you know the rep hockey players have? Him, especially?”

  “Craig, I don’t care. So what if he has a reputation? He’s still a far better man than you!” Pivoting, I stormed off.

  After several deep breaths, and as I approached the massive warehouse where War was with the advertising people, I managed to calm down.

  The shaven-head security guy at the entrance gave me a dispassionate look as if to say, keep moving.

  Too bad for him.

  “I’m here to see War—”

  “You and every female in the city. Move along.”

  Dammit. I scowled, never expecting this hindrance.

  “Don’t force me to make you do so.” The security’s annoyed stare snapped back to me.

  “He gave me a card with this address,” I gritted out in frustration, searching in my bag for said damn card.

  His partner looked up from his cell, then back at his device.

  “My name’s Charlotte Jones,” I said, trying to keep my cool. “War put me on the list so you can let me through.”

  “You’re hot, but so are the dozen I turned away who are after him, too, using the same name.”

  My jaw clenched at his bullheadedness. “Look—”

  “Wow, you’re @charlij?” the other security said. “Hashtag paintwars from Instagram?”

  “Yes,” I muttered, pulling out my cell to call War, and I stilled. If he knew that, then…

  “Let her through,” he told Bullhead. “That’s his chick.”

  The guy stared, then his jaw dropped. “Hell, sorry. You’re good to go.” He quickly opened the massive metal door. Sliding my tote back on my shoulder, I walked into the vast warehouse.

  People were everywhere. Noise and chatter crowded my ears, along with blindingly bright, enormous overhead lights and movie cameras. At the far side was a spacious shower setup.

  I glanced around and found War talking to a guy in a baseball cap.

  His head lowered, he nodded at whatever Ballcap said. “Fine.”

  “Great job on the photoshoot and rehearsals today,” Ballcap said. “We’ll email you the shooting schedule.” He reached out to pat War but dropped his hand. “Lara,” he called out to someone. “We need to discuss—”

  “In a minute, Joe.” A redhead wiggled her fingers at Ballcap. She sauntered up to War, who’d removed his cell from his pocket and was frowning at it.

  I halted, my smile slipping, my heart starting to pound.

  “War…” she purred, and I narrowed my eyes. I knew women like her, out on the prowl for their next famous or rich conquest. My mother had made it into an artform.

  He turned. Since his back was to me, I couldn’t see his expression. I had no idea what he said, then he pivoted. And she scowled.

  War’s gaze snapped toward the entrance, blue eyes searching. People moved in front of me, briefly blocking me from his sight, then he saw me. He stared for a second, and then he was walking, crossing the floor to me like a man on a mission, slowing a foot away from me. “You came.”

  “Yes.” I smiled up at him. “I wanted to see what a bigshot hockey player did when not chasing after a puck like a madman.”

  A ghost of a smile appeared, reflecting in his eyes.

  “What he does is a job. Sure, it’s one he likes,” he murmured. “But what he wants is this…” He slid his palm to my nape, drew me closer, his mouth brushing mine in a soft kiss. “I’m glad you came. Let’s get out of here.”

  And my wariness and anxiety faded. The redhead didn’t matter. He never saw her. Just me.

  “Jeez, you certainly play the field, don’t you?” a woman muttered as she passed us.

  Heck, think of the devil.

  “Lara.” War snapped.

  The woman pivoted, her expression morphing to one of pity. “Sorry, my bad. I guess you guys have an open relationship then.”

  What the hell was she going on about?

  She laid on a totally fake pout of overly collagen-injected lips. “It’s not something I’d condone when my other half was seen smooching someone else just moments ago.”

  War’s eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared.

  Her green eyes gleamed with triumph before she strolled off, and then it hit me. The redhead from outside. Shit! She’d seen Craig kiss me.

  13

  WAR

  Lara’s comment irritated me since I’d told her upfront I wasn’t interested and that I had a girlfriend, but at Charli’s wary expression, I stilled. It was like a fist had rammed into my chest. “What did she mean?” I asked her.

  “Look, don’t get mad, okay?”

  “That’s the wrong thing to say.”

  She gnawed her lower lip. “I bumped into Craig on my way here. She must have seen him greet me.”

  “Greet you how?” My gut twisted because I knew.

  “War, it wasn’t anything really.”

  “Tell. Me.”

  Her lips parted. She inhaled deeply, her guarded gaze fixing on mine. “He, er, kissed me.”

  I had to push out the words through clenched teeth. “What did he want?”

  “To get back with me, and I told him not a chance in hell,” she rushed out in one breath. “He insisted I was making a big mistake being with a hockey player, and that they were notorious cheaters.
I told him you were a far better man than he’d ever was.”

  How was it she could take me from raging anger to being so damn grateful I had her. Charli didn’t lie. Every word she said was true. However, it didn’t stop me from wanting to smash the pilot’s teeth down his throat.

  If Lara, or that dumbshit who wanted her back, thought to cause trouble, they were barking up the wrong damn tree. Charli was mine. And seeing her here, knowing she’d taken that step to seek me out without me pushing…and the turmoil within me eased a little.

  “C’mon.” I put a hand on her lower back and ushered her out of the building.

  Her gaze skimmed my face. “Are you okay?”

  She might be referring to what just occurred or to the damn text message I’d received earlier in the day. I nodded. “Yeah.”

  Her ex, I could deal with, if he came sniffing around her again. But deeper, dread lingered over what I’d revealed in a moment of anger and frustration about my trailer park start to life and having a stalker. She could very well just up and leave to get away from danger and my sordid past.

  As we made our way to the warehouse’s parking lot, she glanced up at me, those liquid brown eyes searching mine anxiously. “You’re quiet.”

  “It’s nothing.” Then it struck me how she’d take it, that I was angry over her dickhead ex stalking her. “Just thinking,” I murmured, opening the Escalade door. “I thought you’d high-tail it out of my apartment after this morning.”

  About to get in, she pivoted. Her smooth brow creased. “Why would I—ohhh. Because of what you revealed about where you grew up? Do you honestly think I’m that shallow?”

  I lifted my hand and stroked the silky locks escaping their confinement. “You, no.”

  “War, let me set this misunderstanding straight, okay?” Her back went stiff, shoulders straightened. “My father was a struggling lecturer, still paying off his student loans when he suddenly died of a brain aneurysm. I was eight. It left us with barely anything to live on after the attorneys wound up his estate.”

  “He was a lecturer.” I shook my head. “Mine, when he wasn’t holding a job, was a raving drunk and gambler.”

  “Stop it.” She pressed her palm to my chest. “I don’t care where your life started off as a child, I choose to be with you,” she said softly. “And, just so you know, I’m here if you need to talk. I promise nothing you say will make me want to leave. Well, except for one thing.”

  Yeah, if I dicked around.

  This girl had no idea just how profoundly she’d wedged herself into my heart. “Charli, I don’t care about anyone else, never had. From the moment I saw you, it was like a glimmer of a moonbeam in the darkness, a light I couldn’t turn away from. And as I got to know you, you revealed your innate kindness behind that sarcastic tongue.” She blinked and huffed out a laugh. “And I knew I would do anything to have you in my life.”

  A soft smile curved her lips. “Then I’ll be your moonlight.”

  Ah, shit. I hugged her tightly, trying to cope with all these feelings overwhelming me. “Want to go for a late lunch?”

  “How about we go back to your place. I’ll make us something to eat that is not frozen,” she narrowed her eyes, making me smile.

  “You know I spent money getting someone to cook my balanced meals, right? I don’t always have the time.”

  “Well, I like cooking, so I’m going to make us something healthy.” She rolled her eyes. “And we can watch a movie afterward, maybe Ice Age, and you can meet the original Sid the Sloth. How’s that?”

  “Sounds good,” I said, helping her up onto the seat and shutting the door.

  As we headed out of the parking lot, I could feel Charli’s furtive glances aimed my way one too many times for my comfort, and it set me on edge once more. Whatever was on her mind wouldn’t be good.

  Close to an hour later, back at my apartment building, and as we entered the elevator, she faced me.

  “War,” she began, repeatedly tugging the straps of her bag, and my heart ping-ponged hard against my ribs as the cage bore us up to my apartment.

  Expression cool, I leaned against the metal wall and waited.

  “Staying with you was only temporary. You knew this, right?”

  “Back when we were frenemies, yes,” I tossed her words back at her. “We’re in a relationship now…” And I couldn’t force her about this. “Charli, look—” I straightened. “I’m going to be working on the beach house and will only return to the city full-time when the preseason games start in mid-September. Make a decision about a new place then.”

  Frowning, she shifted her tote to her other shoulder. While she contemplated the pros and cons of living with me or at least sharing my apartment or beach house for now, I ushered her into the foyer, hoping she’d choose me.

  Back in the apartment, she made her way to her room. I tossed my keys on the entrance table and headed for the kitchen to put the coffee machine on, restlessness keeping me on edge, wishing she’d just say yes, or no, and for me to simply fuck off.

  I didn’t hear her footsteps in so much as I felt her presence, like a gentle stroke over my skin, just as I did back when she came to see me in SoMa.

  I glanced over my shoulder. She’d changed into one of those short skirts she favored, teamed with a faded, navy university t-shirt and thick gray socks. No shoes. Her hair still piled into a messy knot. My heart clipped hard knowing she was mine. Not totally yet—we still had ways to go with her being a little skittish when it came to relationships—but she was mine.

  “By the way,” I said, removing two mugs from the cupboard. “I have a hockey engagement on Saturday.”

  “Oh?” She leaned against the counter opposite me, her brow furrowing.

  “It means you’re my date.”

  “Is it lavish?” she asked warily.

  “You don’t like crowds much, do you?”

  “No. I’m sorry.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s just that it makes me feel like I don’t belong there. When I’m with Ila or Ray, then it’s not so overwhelming.”

  Yeah, I could understand where she was coming from. I wasn’t an introvert, more a recluse. Except playing hockey made that impossible. “It’s okay. But when I travel for the game, I would like you to come with me. Think about it.”

  She stared at me for a second, then slowly nodded. “I’ll do that.”

  Thank fuck. At least it wasn’t an outright no. “As for Saturday morning, I’m coaching kids in hockey.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful.” Her smile went from forced to spotlight-bright in ten seconds flat. This girl sure hated the limelight, and I was in it most of the time. It would make our dating tricky. But it was okay, I would be there with her.

  “You are aware we have to attend Ila’s showing at the gallery tomorrow evening, right?” I asked.

  Aaaaand bam, back to her looking at me like I told her we should elope to Vegas.

  She pursed her lips then shrugged. “Yes, I know. Ila and Ray will be there, too.”

  Her anchors. But I want to be that for her. “And me.”

  She blinked, then a smile curved her mouth. “Yes, you will be. So, what shall we have for our early supper?” she asked, changing the conversation.

  Hell. I didn’t want to push her, but whatever this was about crowds that had her almost hyperventilating, I wanted her to talk to me about it.

  Really? When you keep all your shit locked inside?

  I shut out the thought. “Let me order in—”

  “No.” She trailed past me like a stubborn little butterfly, opened the freezer, rummaged through it, and pulled out salmon fillets.

  I leaned against the counter, arms folded over my chest as the coffee sputtered and spat into the pot, its rich fragrance saturating the kitchen. “What can I do to help?”

  She hip-bumped the freezer door shut and set the fish in the sink. “You sit there.” She pointed to the barstool on the opposite side of the counter. “And just be pretty while I take car
e of our meal.”

  I narrowed my eyes. She grinned and put the fillets on a plate, popped it into the microwave for a quick defrost, then got out asparagus from the fridge.

  Before she turned, I slipped my hands around her waist. She shrieked as I picked her up and planted her delectable ass on the counter. “You tug a lion’s mane—”

  “And get eaten?” she taunted.

  “Yes.”

  Then a true smile started, lighting her from the inside out, reflecting in her eyes. “Let me down. I need to get our meal ready.”

  “No.”

  “War,” she groaned, smacking my arm with the asparagus tips.

  “Yes?”

  “You’re being difficult, right?”

  “No.”

  “Then let me off this counter so I can get started.”

  “No.”

  “Jesus! What’s with the one-word answers?”

  I rested my hands near her hips, caging her. “What do you think?”

  Her gaze searched mine. A smile hovered. Slowly, she set the stalks on the counter, and trailed her fingers down my chest to my abs, then pushed her hands under my tee. And I let her, waiting to see what she’d do.

  A finger tauntingly stroked my skin above the fastening of my jeans—fuck!

  I only intended to kiss her for her teasing, but she turned the tables on me like a damn pro. Her fingers dipped under the waistband of my jeans, teasing the edges of my boxer briefs, never touching me where I desperately wanted her to. Instead, the little tease removed her hand and rubbed my denim-covered cock.

  “If you want to do something like touch my dick, then do it properly,” I growled. “Because when I suck your lips, and I don’t mean these.” I brushed my digits over her mouth. “I fucking feast on you—”

  She licked my fingers. Hell!

  This girl would kill me.

  The microwave beeped in an unwanted intrusion. I reached back and shut it off.

  Smirking, she undid the button and zipper on my jeans, shoved my boxers lower, and my cock sprung out. She wrapped her fingers around my erection and, as if that alone didn’t feel fucking good enough, her fingers tightened, squeezing my dick as she stroked me.