#playerdown: Players to Men Page 7

  War walked out, leaving me alone.

  Sighing, I rubbed my gritty eyes then dropped my tote and my sloth on the armchair near the window. Despite the modern décor, there was a homey feel to the place, unlike the mausoleum I currently lived in. I glanced out the huge window wall, taking in the picturesque view—

  “Here.”

  Startled, I spun around at the sound of War’s voice.

  He held out a t-shirt and an unopened pack of cotton boxers. “They’re small. Wrong size. Never returned them.”

  In a daze, I accepted them. “Thank you.”

  He nodded and left the room, shutting the door softly.

  I stood in the elegant bedroom, staring at the spot where War had been. I didn’t understand him, not at all. He frustrated me to no end with his careless disregard about us being a couple. Most guys would run in the opposite direction at being corralled, but then he took me to the amusement park because I said I missed it, and now, here he was, taking care of me after he’d seen the blowup with my mother.

  Desperate for a shower, this time to ease the tension within me weighing me down like lead, I entered the spacious bathroom done in light gray and deep green, stripped, and stepped into the shower stall.

  A half hour later, clad in blue and gray check boxers and an overlarge, gray t-shirt almost concealing said shorts, I felt as if I could breathe a little easier now. I grabbed my clothes, along with the things I wore during the day, and wrapped them in the towel. With the bundle tucked under one arm, I padded along the corridor to the spacious living room on bare feet. The faint scent of coffee and something grilling teased my nose.

  War stood near the stove, his back to me. The black sweats he wore hung low on his lean hips, and his shirtless body displayed a tonal gray and black tatt across his tan back, depicting an eerie night with a tombstone and birds—ravens perhaps?—flying to a dead tree. Chaotic abstracts were inked on his thick biceps.

  And to a girl like me—an emotional mess with her protective walls down—he was too tempting.

  My grip tightened on my bundle. I made my way past the sleek chrome and glass dining table, to the long, dark-gray marble island separating the gleaming modern kitchen from the rest of the place.

  “Er, can I use your washer and dryer?” I asked.

  He pivoted so fast, one would think he’d forgotten I was there, revealing his tattooed chest with macabre skeleton heads. But the inked, demonic lion’s head, sporting red eyes on his left pec, had my smile trembling awake. It was so him.

  He rubbed his chest, drawing my attention to his roller-brush abs and the light trail of hair disappearing into his sweats.

  “Yeah, sure. C’mon,” he said, tone gruff. He dropped his hand and led me through the kitchen to another door.

  The space in the laundry was narrow, with the washer and dryer on one side and cupboards on the other. He took the clothes and towel I held, put them in the washer, then got the detergent.

  “I can do that,” I offered.

  “So can I. Just because I have a dick doesn’t mean I don’t know how to use one.” After the enlightening remark, he powdered up, shut the dispenser, and switched on the machine.

  I bit my lip to stop my smile.

  He glanced back, amusement twitching his mouth. “I meant a washer.”

  I burst out laughing. “I know.”

  His smile faded. “It’s good to see you smile again.”

  And that brought me right back to why I was here.

  “Come.” His big palm spanning the small of my back, he moved me to the door and out of the suddenly too-small space. My breath hitched, feeling his body heat wrap around me, and I remembered him sucking on my earlobe. My stomach tensed, coiling me like a rubber band as desire stirred.

  Oh, man. I hastily lowered my gaze, trying to get my equilibrium back.

  “I made coffee. It’s decaf,” he clarified. “Don’t want you climbing the walls. Then I just might have to reroute that energy to me.”

  I heard the teasing in his voice, and a part of me was so tempted. God knew, the last two years, with my withdrawal from dating, it made me conscious of how much I longed for what my friends had. Not marriage, but someone to love, and who loved me back unconditionally, and who didn’t let their dick lead them away the moment a new, more exciting face showed up.

  And then there was War.

  As much as I was drawn to him, I couldn’t let it happen. I was the type to fall heart-first into love. But love was just an illusion, as I learned the painful way, a fact my mother reinforced after every divorce.

  War was the male version of her. He hooked up with any woman swishing her skirt in his direction, and then walked away. She fooled around with the good-looking, poorer men, then left.

  Pressing a hand to my rioting stomach, I sat on the barstool War had pulled out at the counter for me before he went to the coffee machine.

  Watching him pour the beverage, the tug toward him that had started deep in my chest, swamped me again.

  I forced my attention away from him to stare at my clenched hands on the counter. If I decided on a one-night stand with him, to ease these feelings inside me, it would jeopardize everything I treasured. He was best friends with my two best friends’ husbands. And I loved Ila and Ray far too much to want to risk it—

  “Charli?”

  His voice jarred me out of my churning thoughts to meet his blue, blue stare, and I realized he’d asked me a question. He nodded to the coffee mug on the counter.

  I swallowed, my throat dry. “Little milk, no sugar.”

  His gaze skimmed my face briefly before he turned to the fridge. Christ. I rubbed my eyes. My troubles had left me in a mess, my walls down. The mug slid in front of me a moment later, along with a grilled sandwich on a plate. “It’s chicken.”

  “Thanks,” I murmured, wrapping my fingers around the porcelain, letting its heat warm my cold fingers. “But I’m not hungry.”

  “Eat,” he ordered. “The sandwich you had for lunch and the hotdog at the amusement park are not enough when you worked the entire day.” He set a napkin at the side of my plate, then he palmed his mug and sipped his beverage, his stare fixing on me from above the rim, his own meal forgotten.

  Uneasy at the way he watched me like he would devour me, my heart thudded hard as if it would burst through my ribs. I hastily picked up the sandwich and bit into the roast chicken with the hint of mayo. Trying for a calmness I didn’t feel, I said, “So, no weeds here, huh?”

  Clever save, Charli. Ugh.

  He lowered his mug, the corner of his eyes crinkling.

  “I have plants.” He nodded to the living room behind me with the terra-cotta pots. “Weeds are pests. They pop up anywhere. Maybe after your week’s up, you could work here?” His teasing expression morphed to heated, darkening his stare. “I want you, Charli, just so you know that up-front.”

  I nearly choked on my food, and a coughing spasm broke free. He set his mug down, came around to helpfully thump my back until my hacking eased, and I managed to breathe again.

  I dropped the sandwich, grabbed the end of my t-shirt, and wiped my watering eyes, aware War stood too close, with his palm rubbing the length of my spine in a slow caress. His warmth, his scent of woodsy pine wrapped around me, making me too aware of him, especially after what he just revealed. It took every bit of willpower I possessed not to lean into him.

  “I’m okay,” I rasped.

  Apparently satisfied I wouldn’t die, he calmly strolled back to his coffee on the other side of the counter while I struggled to pull air into my bruised lungs, his words ricocheting in my head.

  “Tomorrow, put on more sunscreen. You’re too flushed,” he said casually, like he didn’t just send my mind spinning and my face burning. “I don’t want you getting sunstroke.”

  The urge to groan took hold, but if I commented on what he said, then it was open season. Nope, I’m going to pretend it never happened. I don’t care that I hacked loud enough to be
heard in the next state or that I was attracted to him, too.

  “We’ll leave a little later tomorrow.” He glanced at his cell on the counter. “Or rather, later today.”

  Only then did I realize it was probably past midnight. I pushed the plate aside. “Thank you for…” I licked my suddenly dry lips and looked up, knowing he deserved an explanation about what he undoubtedly witnessed outside my home, especially since he hadn’t asked anything. “For being there and bringing me away from what would have turned into a disaster.”

  He said nothing, merely sipped his coffee, his palm curved around the mug once more.

  “Who is she?” he asked. “The woman on the street.”

  Christ, I didn’t want to talk about her, nor could I avoid it. “Camile Dupont.”

  His brow creasing, he lowered his mug down. “The socialite?”

  Oh, dear God, I rubbed my burning cheeks. If he knew the name… My stomach churned.

  “You know her?” I had to push out the words from a throat thick with dread, and watched him for a flicker, for any damn clue that he did.

  His frown remained. “She was at one of the parties I attended. How do you know her?”

  Of course. “She…” I swallowed, lacing and unlacing my fingers. “She’s my mother.”

  He went dead still.

  Yeah, I often got that look when people found out the truth. I took after my dad. The only things I inherited from her were her eyes and slender build. My caramel skin came from a fusion of their genes. Then something else struck me with the impact of a hammer to my chest.

  “Did…did she hit on you?” The words came out as if gravel paved my throat. If she had, I was leaving. I couldn’t bear this. Not with the guy I was crushing on. How could I ever look him in the face again?

  Hell, he was famous and rich enough to be the type she liked to dally with or marry.

  When he remained silent, my heart sank into the abyss forming inside me.

  I slid off the barstool. It took everything inside me to hold it all together and speak coolly. “I’m tired. Thank you for letting me stay. I’ll be out of your hair in the morning.”

  I pivoted, tears stinging my eyes. It didn’t matter I wasn’t going to have anything to do with him. But…why did it have to be him?

  His warm hand caught mine before I even took a step, spinning me around.

  Why her? I wanted to yell at him. “What do you want?” I rasped instead, my emotions all over the place.

  “Just you, Charli.” Those blue eyes darkened, his sun-kissed hair flopping over his brow. He gently ran his knuckles down my cheek, and I leaned into his touch—then I remembered, and a whimper of pain crept up my throat. I pushed him away.

  “Charli, wait. Let’s talk about this.”

  “No!” I spun away.

  “Charli—” He reached for me.

  I grabbed the first thing I found, his hockey stick near the side table, and brandished it in front of me. “I don’t want you. Just leave me alone!”

  His chest heaving, he stared at me, and something flashed in his eyes. Regret?

  Pain snarled my heart. “You and she hooked up, didn’t you?” I breathed, my fingers squeezing the stick.

  “No.”

  Relief flowed, but hard on its heel, shame and embarrassment reared their ugly heads, engulfing me. “She came onto you?” Oh, God. How could this get any worse? The hockey stick fell from my hands in a clatter. I wheeled around and darted for the room I used, opening the door.

  “Charli, wait—” He was there, putting a palm on the wood, stopping me from shutting it. “She kissed me. We’d just won the semifinals.”

  “I don’t care!”

  “Nothing happened, dammit! Even if she was interested, I wasn’t. She said congratulations and moved on.”

  I wiped my swimming eyes with the back of my hand, unable to stop my tears. But this, everything hurt so damn much. “I can’t deal with this right now. I just can’t. Please go.”

  A tick worked his jaw, but he stepped back.

  I shut the door and sank to the floor, thumping my head against the wood. I could move past his slanks, but my mother?

  How could everything end this way?

  The last couple of days, the taunting, the teasing was fun, and the few hours at the amusement park made something within me stir alive once more. It made me feel.

  My mother kissed him. The thought, like a dark rope, tightened and tightened inside me, threatening to strangle me.

  I can’t do this.

  I crawled to my feet, retrieved my cell from my tote, ignored the many missed calls from my mother, and texted my realtor.

  Take the brownstone off the market.

  I was going to New York, away from my mother’s drama and away from him as soon as I’d finished weeding his damn garden.

  WAR

  Dammit! I thrust my fingers through my hair, glaring at her shut door.

  How the hell could this day end so badly?

  How the fuck was I to know that one of the parties the team sometimes attended after a win would come back to bite me in the ass? Women constantly flirted with me. No matter how drunk I was, my hook-ups were usually with groupies, all out for a good time.

  Hell, I hadn’t recognized Charli’s mother in the darkened Pacific Heights street as the tipsy woman who’d come on to me back then. She had taken me by surprise. I’d been as sober as a damn judge, with Miles on my ass to reel in my shit since he’d been in the middle of negotiating a deal with a big-name sports company at the time.

  She wasn’t the type I used to hook up with anyway. I knew predatory females when I saw them; it didn’t matter how elegantly packaged they were. And I’d come across a few.

  Anger churning, I strode back to the living room and paced in front of the window, hooking my hands around my neck.

  Whatever this was between Charli and me, it was new and very real, emerging from deep within me, unlike anything I ever felt with a woman before. Hell, for me, it had started four months ago, the moment I saw her in Mulligan’s bar. I might not have known it back then, until recently, but she drew me in a visceral way like no one else ever had.

  Jaw tight, I stopped my pacing to glare out at the bay.

  I wasn’t giving up on this, on us. I had to get her to listen.

  No, my reputation didn’t do me any favors right now, but I’d find a way to make this right.

  The times I spent with her made me forget the shitfest of my past that hung over me like an albatross and eased the constant anger within me. I’d taken her to the amusement park after I heard the sadness in her voice when she spoke about it and mentioned her father—a father she adored and who loved her.

  Unlike me.

  My childhood was stained in blood.

  Shutting out the dark past that would take me under, I pivoted and scrubbed my face, exhaustion tugging me down. But with sleep nowhere in sight, I swiped my phone off the kitchen counter. Messages flooded the display, and several missed calls. Then it vibrated since I’d turned off the volume for the ringtone.

  Miles Davis. My agent and current pain in my ass.

  I answered. “Yeah?”

  “You’re damn hard to get a hold of,” he grumbled. “You’re the talk on social media. Is it true?”

  Fuck. I raked back my overgrown hair and stared out the window. “What do you want, Davis?”

  “The girl?” He got straight to the point. “I looked into her background. She returned from Germany a few months ago. Worked in an art gallery there. Hangs with the elite crowd of San Francisco. Hell, she comes from the elite side, too. Charles Dupont, the publishing mogul, was her stepfather,” he said pointedly. “No recent entanglement, and an introvert. She’ll do perfectly to boost your public image, one you mess up every other day.”

  And there it was.

  I ground down on my teeth to stop from telling him to leave her the fuck alone, but he was like a dog with a bone. Shit. I paid him big bucks to be that fucking d
og.

  “Either cut her loose now because we definitely don’t want a scandal if you screw and ditch her. They’re old school,” he warned. “If you don’t, then make sure she’s with you often. It will boost your public image. Don’t forget those sponsors looking at you for the new deal.”

  Right then, I cared little about all that. “Yeah. Whatever.”

  “Darn it, War—”

  “I gotta go.” I switched off my cell, dropped it on the table, then slumped down on the couch, my head pillowed on the armrest.

  I glared at the ceiling. All my life I’d felt alone, hollow, especially through my teen years, never really fitting anywhere until I met Max and Jack, and their friendship filled a tiny space in the vast emptiness. Then Charli appeared, and a small spark flared within me.

  In the passing few days, it burned brighter, warming me, and I’d experienced glimpses of happiness even with her taunting, baiting, or arguing with me. And more, the smile I saw on her face at the amusement park told me she liked me, too…even if it was just a little.

  She could have refused the bet and walked away, and I would have let it go, but she hadn’t, and that alone gave me hope.

  I would fix this mess.

  Because if I didn’t, then this vacuum within me would suck me deeper into the abyss. I couldn’t endure the emptiness again, not when I’d finally found my spark.

  7

  CHARLI

  Heck, pacing and watching the seagulls squawk and dive into the bay for their morning meal wasn’t helping. I needed my clothes from the dryer so I could change. It was long past nine.

  The night had left me in a mess, unable to sleep, along with a throbbing head. An Advil had eased the ache a bit, but the day still had to be faced. And War. And my mother. Christ! I didn’t want to think about that.

  I straightened my spine and left the guest room, focusing on my new job instead. It reminded me I had to get my laptop and tablet from home. Not something I wanted to do either, but I had no choice.