#playerdown: Players to Men Read online

  Charli undid her seat belt and faced me.

  I put the Escalade into park, waited.

  “Did you see Instagram?” she demanded, back to her sparring self.

  “I don’t have any social media accounts.” She frowned at that. “Don’t care for them. Why, what’s there?” I had an idea.

  “Seriously? After what happened today, you ask me that?” Her eyebrows tipped together. She removed her cell from her bag, swiped through it, stabbed something with a finger, then she stuck her phone in my face, revealing the snapshot of me holding her outside the Cheetah’s training facilities. “I’m your damn girlfriend, your forever girl—Jesus Christ!” She flopped back in her seat. “Now, everyone thinks I am. You have to fix this.”

  “Why? Are you seeing anyone?” I asked, not caring for the constriction in my gut that she could be. “Is it why you’re throwing a tantrum?”

  “I am not throwing a tantrum,” she grumbled. “My mother. She sees this, she’s either going to go ape-shit crazy or drag you into my life.”

  Yeah, I doubted the latter very much. I shrugged, finding I could breathe easier.

  She sat up, looking like a coiled spring about to snap. “So, you won’t fix this, then?”

  If glares could kill, she would have skewered me many times over by now.

  “Why are you so pissed,” I countered. “Most girls would jump at the chance for this to be real and take advantage of the situation.”

  “I. Am. Not. Most. Girls!” She punctuated each word through gritted teeth. How she managed that, I had no idea. “I’m not interested in relationships. Jesus! I can’t even seem to get rid of the one I had and don’t want, and the jerk somehow tracked me to the bar—oh, shit!” Her eyes widened. “The damn photo! It must be why Craig found me and is on my backside again. Dammit!”

  “You shouldn’t cuss like some drunk, Blue,” I murmured, stifling a smile at her crankiness.

  A growl broke free—the girl was ace at it—then she leaned into me. I expected another telling off up close—

  She kissed me.

  On the mouth.

  Stunning me senseless.

  My mind spun at the contact—soft, luscious lips pressing on mine—then rebounded fast to not letting her escape. I grasped her silky hair to keep her there, but before I could deepen the kiss, she dropped back in her seat, chest heaving.

  Dammit.

  She blinked several times as if dazed, then her head snapped to me. “I’ll ask you once more. Will you get your agent, publicist, or whoever the heck it is, to get the snapshot taken down?”

  My mind still caught in the moment of the unexpected kiss, I shrugged. Hell, it was a momentary contact of mouths, and I felt as if I’d been sucker punched.

  Her eyes narrowed, her lips thinned.

  “Fine.” Then she was back on her phone, her fingers flying. “Done! We are now officially a couple.” She shoved her cell in my face again. I switched the interior light on, took the device, and glanced at the Instagram post, my mind finally connecting with what I was seeing.

  She’d taken a shot of us kissing. No one would know she’d instigated it because we both seemed to be into it. And she’d hashtagged it, too: #warcharli #foreverhisgirl #playerdown.

  “I would have added the position you play and your number,” she took pleasure in telling me. “But I don’t like sports. And I don’t know anything about you!”

  I lifted my gaze to her blistering stare, and I knew she was waiting for a reaction. So I gave her one. “That’s sad, Blue. Very well…” My attention back on her phone, I went into edit mode, made the addition, and returned her cell.

  She glanced at the pic. Her eyes popped wide, and her mouth dropped at the added hashtag: #centerman #19 #cheetahs.

  “Noooo!” she groaned, like it was the end of the world. “It just hit two hundred likes in two minutes, and it’s increasing!”

  “Is that any way to treat the love of your life?” I teased.

  She glared at me then flung her door open. Before I could go around to help her down, she was out of the truck, bag in hand, slamming the door and storming off once again. Damn, she was fast.

  I sat there, watching her disappear through the gate. She might have kissed me out of frustration, but something had flared between us. Lust, yes…and a deep-seated awareness. And I knew she felt it, too.

  So, no, I wasn’t releasing a press statement of any sort. Since she started this, I would go along with it. Besides, if being with Charli kept the damn groupies away, and Amber, the team’s PR and my agent off my back, then I wasn’t saying shit.

  Because right now, my chest still felt like a vise had flattened my lungs, and breathing was a damn effort. Usually, I fucked and left, no regrets. Hell, most times I didn’t even recall my encounters, being in a drunken fog.

  But this?

  This encounter left me reeling, stirring everything in me awake. And I wanted a chance to explore whatever this thing was between us.

  4

  CHARLI

  A strident blast hauled me upright and awake.

  What the—? I blinked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Groaning, I dove for my ringing cell on the bedside table. Darn it! It was still dark outside. Who would be this cruel to disturb my final, dreamless slumber after it had taken me hours to fall asleep?

  “What?” I growled, answering the call.

  “Blue, get your gorgeous ass moving. I’ll be there at seven sharp.” The call ended.

  War? Ugh. I was going to throttle him and his early morning joviality.

  Man, I sooo regretted Ila giving him my number during the wedding rehearsals when she hadn’t been able to pick me up. I could have easily gotten a cab, but nooo, she just had to give him my number…because he asked so he could warn me that he was picking me up!

  I lay there for a moment, eyes shut, debating if I should ignore his warning this time. Then what I did last night struck me like a crowbar to my head, remembering the reason for my current sleep-deprived misery.

  That kiss.

  The one that made it hard to fall asleep, the one intended to make a point, to force his hand and make him get someone, anyone to take down that first pic of us.

  Slowly, I touched my mouth. My stomach heaved, recalling the feel of his warm lips on mine. It was a fleeting connection of mouths, but it spun my mind and left me in a daze. My breath hitched, wishing—

  Hell no! I’d sworn off men. I did not want or need a guy in my life right now, no matter how hot my tormentor was.

  Remembering the reason for my current dilemma, I hastily opened my Instagram account.

  At the massive number of notifications—in the thousands!—awaiting me, I gaped. I never had more than twenty or thirty likes for my pics, which were mostly of scenic sights, books I was reading, or the gallery showing, but this? For the kiss pic?

  Because it’s War. Duh, my annoying conscience decided to perk up and remind me.

  The air trapped in my lungs escaped and had me panting in huge gulps. With the original photo of us outside the Cheetah’s training facilities still out there on the internet and hanging over my head—God! Who knew how many times it had been copied and shared by now? Ugh! I flung my phone aside, flopped on my belly, and moaned into my pillow.

  Why, why did I kiss him?

  Because the guy could test the patience of a saint. Not that I had said patience.

  Exhaling resignedly, I forced myself to crawl out of bed at this butt-crack of dawn, knowing a little of the fault was mine.

  Washed and changed into gray shorts, black sneakers, and the first t-shirt I could find, I grabbed another change of clothes, my sunscreen, shades, and ball cap, stuffed the whole lot into my tote, then made my way down the back stairs to the ground floor.

  In the spacious kitchen, fragrant with the tempting aroma of something baking, I followed my nose to the coffee machine, needing my caffeine fix to function.

  Gina, our housekeeper, glanced up from filling a muffin t
ray with cake mixture and smiled. “Good morning, Charli.”

  “I wish it was,” I grumbled.

  Her dark eyes twinkled, the corners creasing. “Bad night?”

  “Bad company.”

  She laughed, turning to pop the tray in the oven.

  I liked Gina, and yet it still felt uncomfortable having people catering to me in my own home. I never grew up with a housekeeper or house staff until Mom started marrying rich.

  My childhood was a happy, normal one, living in an older house in New Jersey with my parents. And Mom used to smile in those days. Really smile.

  Sighing, I shut out the past and poured a mug full of coffee, then added a splash of milk. I chugged down some—needing the caffeine to stop from killing War—ow! I winced, the steaming coffee scorching my tongue and probably peeling a layer off my throat.

  This was all War’s fault, declaring that we were a couple to those groupies!

  Trying not to swallow and give my poor, brutalized throat a chance to recover, I grabbed a magazine from the counter. My cell indicated I had five minutes to moan my fate, finish my coffee, and beat feet to the door before that impossible man arrived.

  I absently paged through the magazine—

  What the heck? I blinked, then hastily backtracked to the page I just passed.

  And there he was.

  A smirk on those sensual lips I’d kissed last night, he stared at me from the glossy pages for…my gaze snagged on the name for a top sportswear brand.

  Shirtless, and a revealing lickable, muscled chest with tattoos sprawling across his defined pecs to his thick biceps, he lazily palmed his hockey stick. Black sweats covered his long legs with the brand name in white on his muscular thigh. On his feet, he sported a pair of black sneakers with neon green edging and the brand symbol, ones he apparently used on his time off, too, since I saw him wearing them at the training facilities yesterday.

  I rolled my eyes and slammed the cover of Cosmo shut. “Gina, can I borrow this?”

  She looked up from cleaning the countertop. “Yes. It just arrived. I was supposed to take it up to your mother’s room.”

  “Well, she’s not here.” Smiling, I palmed my ammunition—er, mag. How I would use it, I had no idea. “I’ll return it to her.”

  “No worries, dear.”

  Five minutes later, magazine shoved in my tote, I pulled on my hoodie to fend off the morning chill, and stood outside the gate, bouncing on my toes, trying to keep warm while the sun crept up the sky. Seven on the dot and the big black monster of a truck he drove cruised up the road, stopping opposite me.

  His eyebrows popped above the Ray-Ban’s he wore, but I just knew those devilish blue eyes sported a gleam of triumph. I scowled.

  Slipping my shades on, I strode across the quiet street to the elevated truck, opened the door, and then had to scramble up the running board—

  Then he was there, hands on my waist, giving me a boost to the seat. “It’s good you’re punctual.”

  “I didn’t trust you not to crash your way into my house and drag me out of the bed.”

  “I don’t crash houses, Blue. I’m invited inside,” he drawled, buckling my seatbelt. “But I might just make an exception for you.”

  My jaw nearly smacked my chest.

  Smirking now that he’d got me gaping like an idiot, he shut the door and rounded the hood to the driver’s side.

  How could he be this hot and so aggravating?

  Guess he had to have some annoying traits to balance out his looks.

  He got in, and as we left Pacific Heights, I recalled he had an apartment.

  “So how exactly do we weed at an apartment?” I cocked an eyebrow, a wasted effort since he was watching the street.

  A ghost of a smile appeared. And my heart tripped.

  He is not for us, I warned that traitorous organ. You need to just pump blood, so I can be the calm, reasonable person I know I am. Not one who fell headlong into a trap.

  “I bought a place a few months ago,” he said.

  Aaand nothing else.

  Jesus, would it cost him to expand a little more? Since he didn’t, and I refused to ask where, I lapsed into silence, enjoying the warm morning sun filtering through the windows. He switched on the radio. I expected some sports station. Instead, music flowed into the interior.

  The lengthy drive south, then the turn onto Highway 17, headed in the direction of the ocean, piqued my curiosity. Did he get a mansion on the beach or something?

  “So, what kind of place is it?” I finally gave in and broke the stand-off.

  His lips quirked as if aware I was dying of curiosity. Grr.

  “It’s a DIY.”

  “Oh? You have plans to flip houses once the knees buckle? You know, when your joints give up because of advanced old age and such, and you can’t strut it on the ice any longer?” I taunted.

  A tug of my hair had me gaping at him, my breath catching in my throat.

  “I don’t strut on ice, I ram anything in my way.” A smirk tugged one side of his mouth. I rolled my eyes behind my shades. “And not old age, Blue, while I’m still young and have use of said limbs.”

  That had me frowning. “I thought you liked hockey?”

  “I live and breathe it,” he said. “But when I retire, I want to do something away from the public eye.”

  Hence the lack of social media accounts. Jeez, he really was a private person, not counting all his fighting and hookups.

  “But flipping houses?” I asked, because coaching or whatever other sports-related thing star hockey players did after retirement apparently wasn’t on his to-do list.

  A shrug. “Right now, I love using my hands and getting down and dirty…” His voice lowered to a husky whisper, his shaded eyes flicking my way.

  Heat streaked my face in a rush, and I hastily glanced out through the open side window. Yup, I totally deserved it, trying to dig for information. Soft laughter reached me, but he lapsed into silence again. Lesson learned. I mimicked him and just enjoyed the morning breeze.

  Eventually, he took the turn to Santa Cruz. I sat up, the sight of the calm ocean and salty air caressing my face. Man, if only I could pass the day soaking up some rays and swimming instead of pulling freakin’ weeds.

  The approaching vista of the boardwalk amusement park had me staring like a kid. Since my dad passed, I hadn’t been to one. My mother didn’t care for things like that. I sighed, sinking back in my seat again.

  “What? Journey’s too tiring already?”

  I twisted a lock of my curly hair around my finger. “Just thinking.”

  “I’d ask about what, but you’d likely shut me down.”

  I frowned. “I haven’t been to one of those since I was a kid.” I pointed at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk as we drove past it.

  “Why would you want to go there? It’s noisy.”

  “What?” I jerked upright, my jaw dropping. “Of course, it’s noisy. It’s all part of the fun. You don’t know what you’re missing.” I cast him a pitying look, but then I slumped in my seat once more, a sense of melancholy sweeping through me. “My late dad used to take me. He made it so much fun. The rides, the arcade games…” I could feel War’s stare, so I shut it.

  “Very well, we have a date.”

  “What? How is that a date?” I stared at him above my lowered shades.

  “I’ve never been, and you miss it, so we’ll go together. A date.”

  Darn. I rubbed my brow. Nope, I wasn’t going to fight him about this. He thrived on conflict. Besides, I really liked amusement parks.

  A while later, War turned into a gravelly slip road, bordered by trees and underbrush on either side. Then he slowed the truck, and the massive gates to a tree-hidden property slid open. He drove along the curving driveway to a two-story house snuggled amidst a jungle, with a sloped roof of washed-out red tiles, darkened windows, and faded cream walls.

  This place must have been on the market for a while. It appeared as if na
ture was determined to reclaim her space. The tangle of trees over the garage and the side and front of the house worried me a great deal. I dreaded to think what the back must look like. The enormous garden seriously needed landscaping people who knew their shit, not me.

  “The jungle versus haunted house,” I murmured, lifting my hands like a scale, then dropping one. “Yep, the jungle’s on a definite victory path.”

  “It’s not haunted.” He huffed out a laugh. “All’s good inside. Did my homework before buying. Solid foundation, no wall rot or loose electrical wires, plumbing’s in working order, etc. Nothing a little cutting back of branches and a slap of paint won’t fix.”

  I narrowed my eyes at his airy attitude, but I was starting to learn little details about him. He went through every situation carefully, methodically, leaving no stones unturned in his quest to win. Hence payback for a stupid bet. Oddly enough, no matter his baiting manner, I enjoyed the drive with him.

  The double garage door rolled open, distracting me from dangerous thoughts, and he smoothly maneuvered the truck inside. Shelves lined the wall in front and to the right, stacked with tools, tins of paint, bags of God knew what, and a surfboard. I removed my sunglasses and slipped them into my tote. He switched off the engine, tossed his shades on the dash, and got out, and suddenly, I became aware of the forest surrounding us—

  Shit. I didn’t move, my ass nailed to the seat, my phobia freezing me.

  My door opened. “C’mon, Blue, the day’s a-wasting.”

  “Did you not see this place before you bought it?” I squeaked, trying to shut the door, but he was in the way. “Trees everywhere. It’s a jungle!”

  “Yeah, I did, and I know. It’s why I bought it. Privacy—”

  “Snakes,” I panted.

  “Don’t be a baby. Come on.” When I didn’t move, he eyed me for the length of a breath. “Okay, I’ll save you. Be your knight and all that.”

  I shot him a dark glare.

  He gave me that panty-melting smile that usually made my ovaries stand to attention.

  It didn’t move me an inch right now.

  Since I was a little girl, I suffered a creepy-crawly phobia after encountering a black snake in our backyard. The terror of being unable to move, to breathe, as the serpent slithered toward me…until my dad, who was cleaning out the garden rubble, grabbed me and ran. We watched from a safe distance on the back porch as the snake slithered off into the bushes.