Playing Hard: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (14 page)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

RILEY

I can tell something’s up with Ava.

She barely touched her food, and now she’s saying she doesn’t want dessert.

I’ve seen some of the desserts here as waiters carry them to other tables, and they look
insane
— not the kind of thing you’d pass up. But then again, this is probably just a normal night out for Ava. She could probably eat here every day if she wanted to.

I can see her looking down into her lap after my last comment, and it’s painfully obvious she’s trying not to show me just how much she’s turned on right now. The same way it was obvious in the limo that she was staring at my cock. Or all the hundreds of other times I’ve caught her staring with undisguised lust in her eyes, before she’s seemed to realize what she’s doing and cover it up.

She’s never
quite
quick enough, though.

“So,” I say, trying to start the conversation again. “I’ve told you why
I’m
at Blaketon. Why are you there? What’re you studying?”

“I’m doing graduate study,” she says, then hesitates. “My dad wants me to get my MBA, or something like that. But I chose not to.”

“You actually stood up to him on something?” I ask, realizing I could get it in the neck for this, but figuring it’s worth the risk. I just can’t help myself — when Ava’s eyes flash in anger and she lets her true emotions show through, even for a second, it gets me hotter than anything else I’ve ever experienced.

And true to form, I watch her blue eyes suddenly light up, blazing like the flame of the candle on the table between us.

“It’s not like I do
everything
he says,” she snaps. “You make it sound like I don’t have a will of my own.”

I grin a little, knowing I look like a cocky prick, but unable to help pushing my luck. “Well, do you?” I ask. “Because honestly, I couldn’t tell. At least not from the way you’ve been acting around me.”

Ava narrows her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that every time we’ve been together, it’s been obvious that you want me. But you always deny it because your dad wouldn’t approve, or it’s against the rules or some bullshit like that.”

She blinks, her mouth popping open in outrage. “Is it
that
hard for you to believe that a girl might just not want to jump into bed with you?”

I shrug. “No — not that it’s ever been a problem. I just mean that’s not the case with you.
You
want me. But you won’t admit it. And you’re refusing to act on it.”

Ava stares at me a moment longer, before she picks her napkin up off her lap, dumping it on the table in front of her.

“Excuse me,” she says. “I am
not
discussing this right now.” She stands up.

“Where are you going?”

“To the bathroom,” she hisses. “If that’s all right with you.”

She turns and walks away from me, and I’m left with the delectable view of her long legs and the curve of her ass beneath the dress. She never did tell me who she borrowed it from, but whoever they are, they have amazing taste. The dress is perfect for Ava. It accentuates her curves, and makes her legs seem even longer than they already are. It hugs her ass in a way that makes it look incredible. 

And at that moment, I know I can’t let her walk away.

When she comes back she’ll have had time to pull herself together, convince herself that whatever she’s feeling for me, she can ignore it or push it aside.

And that’s the last thing I want.

Putting my own napkin down on the table, I stand and start to follow her.

I catch up to her just as she enters the doorway that separates the hall leading to the bathrooms from the rest of the place, putting my hand on her arm.

She jumps around at the touch, but when she turns her head, she doesn’t seem all that surprised to see me.

“I
said
I was going to the bathroom,” she says, her voice even. “Can I have some privacy?”

“We need to talk.”

She looks at me stubbornly. “In a bathroom?”

“Maybe.”

I lean past her to push the door open, and then we’re in a dimly-lit corridor. The women’s bathroom is a short walk away, but I’m sure she doesn’t actually need to use it — getting up was just an excuse to get away from the uncomfortable truths I was telling her at the table.

Like how much she wants me.

Ava doesn’t make any move to push me away or continue on to the bathroom once we’re out of view of the rest of the restaurant’s customers, but she does glance down at where her dress has crept up her perfect thighs. She makes a move to pull it down again, and I catch her hand.

“What’re you doing?” she asks, looking up at me. Her face is flushed again, the way it always is whenever I touch her, or even get too close to her. It’s a dead giveaway.

“Stopping you from covering up your legs,” I say. “I want to see them.”

She cocks her head. “It didn’t sound like it when I arrived,” she says. “You just asked where I got the dress.”

I have to stop myself from shaking my head. “I was just surprised!” I say. “You have to admit, you don’t normally dress like that.”

She licks her lips. “I thought you didn’t like it. I felt stupid for wearing it.”

“
What?
” This girl is insane. “Of
course
I like it. How the hell could I
not
like it? I just meant I also like how you usually dress.”

“You said I look like a Catholic schoolgirl!” she protests.

“Like that’s a
bad
thing? I meant you look sexy. In a weird kind of way.”

She narrows her eyes. “Weird?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake….”

It seems like I can’t say anything right with this girl.

So instead, I kiss her.

I have one hand on the nape of her neck, the other on her waist, pulling her against me as our lips meet.

Oh, fuck
me….

Her lips are like fire against mine, our tongues pressing against each other like they were made for each other, her mouth opening without a second’s hesitation.

I’ve kissed girls before — dozens of girls. But it’s never been like this before. It’s never felt like this perfect fit, this feeling of being totally in synch with each other.

Her body is flush with mine and I’m sure she can feel the growing hardness of my cock against her thigh, pressing into her soft skin. I’m holding her against me, but I can feel her arms on mine, trying to pull me closer. She moves her hips, grinding against my hardness in a totally unpracticed move, and which must be pure instinct on her part.

She already knows just what to do to drive me out of my mind.

She’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen — even with her cotton panties and her knee-length skirts and sweaters that hide everything. She’s hot wearing this slinky dress. Fuck, she’d be hot in a potato sack. The only thing I care about is that I’m kissing her, and she’s kissing me back. I hear a small moan escape her lips, her hands fluttering against my biceps before squeezing them hard, as if she can’t decide which part of me she wants to touch first.

I want to burn the memory of this moment into my brain forever. Because I know, even now, that I’ll never kiss another girl the way I’m kissing this one — that this is the best I’ll ever get, this kiss, in this moment, and nothing else will ever come close.

Maybe I should be worried about that, because my plans for the future involve kissing a lot —
a lot
— of girls, but right now, I don’t care. All I want is to keep kissing Ava, and keep her held close against me like this for as long as I can.

When I finally pull back, I feel like my lips are on fire — hers are pink and swollen, her eyes half-lidded, face flushed.

She’s the sexiest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen.

“Riley,” she breathes, her voice coming out as a whisper. I’ve kissed her breathless.

I lean in to kiss her again. As sexy as it is to hear her saying my name, the only thing I can think of right now is feeling her lips on mine.

But before I can, her hand comes up, her fingertips covering my mouth.

“We can’t,” she whispers. “We’re not — this isn’t —”

I don’t want to hear it. I
refuse
to hear it.

I know what she’s going to say anyway — that this isn’t really a date, and we’re not actually boyfriend and girlfriend.

That her perfect fucking family won’t approve. We shouldn’t be doing this.

Well, fuck that.

I pull her hand away from my lips and crush her mouth with mine again. She doesn’t even make a token effort to resist. Her arms wrap themselves around my head, pulling me closer to her.

My hands drift slowly down her body, caressing her lightly through the skin-tight material of her dress. I can feel her writhing against me, her body making slow rolls against my hips. She gasps into my mouth when my fingers reach the hem of her dress, tugging it up and exposing the soft skin of her thighs above her stockings. Without pausing, I trace over them, my fingers skating lightly over her bare skin.

“Riley,” she says again, my name just a moan on her lips.

I slide my fingers over her thigh. She parts her legs for me even before I get to where I’m going, spreading her thighs willingly for my hand.

Fuck.

She’s not wearing those little cotton panties today — it’s silk and lace, soft under my fingers.

And absolutely soaking wet.

She lets out a tiny cry as my fingers stroke against her pussy lips, her body shaking.

“Riley,” she says again, her arms tightening around my neck. “Riley, we’re — this isn’t the right place —”

She’s right. Someone could come in at any moment to use the bathroom. But the thought of how easily we could get caught only makes me harder. My cock is straining against my pants. I want her. I
need
her.

“I don’t care,” I mutter into her throat as my fingers brush over her again. She quakes, her hips jerking.

“We shouldn’t do this now,” she whispers. “It’s not —
I’m
not —”

And then, all at once, I remember that she’s a virgin.

She’s not like the girls I usually get with, who know what they’re doing and are just as experienced as I am.

Ava’s not like that. She’s made it clear. I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anyone else in my whole life, but if I seduce her now, that’s what it’ll be — a seduction, not something we know is just for fun.

And that’s not me. I like showing girls a good time. I love making them come. But I know and they know that that’s all it is: fun.

I swallow heavily, forcing myself to pull back. My cock is sticking straight out, obvious even in the half-light of the corridor we’re standing in.

“Fuck,” I swear, looking down at it. I really don’t want to have to jerk off in the stalls at a fancy restaurant, but I can’t see it going down by itself anytime soon. Ava has me too worked up. I’ll be dead of blue balls if I wait for it to go down on its own.

“I’m sorry,” Ava says. “I just — I don’t know if…” she trails off, her eyes downcast.

I shake my head. “No, it’s fine,” I tell her. “I was out of line. You told me to stop.”

Ava opens her mouth a little. Her hands play along the hem of her dress, as if she’s not sure what to do with them.

“I wanted you to,” she finally says, looking me in the eye. “I mean, I
didn’t
want you to. Stop, I mean. I wanted you to keep going.”

We stare at each other across the corridor for a long moment.

“You said we can’t,” I say, feeling numb.

She nods. “We can’t,” she says. “This is all supposed to be… fake. It’s not real. We can’t actually do this.”

“I know.” It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to say in my life.

Ava’s eyes drift down to where my massive erection is still obviously straining against my pants.

“I, uh…” she starts. She shakes herself a little, obviously trying to get her thoughts together. “We should clean up,” she says.

She gives me one last, long look, before she pulls herself away from the wall, and walks past me into the women’s bathroom.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

AVA

“You look like hell. Did you get drunk on your date last night?”

Darcey’s voice is
way
too loud for this early in the morning.

“It wasn’t a date,” I mutter. “And for your information, no, I didn’t.”

It’s true. I’d decided I didn’t need to add alcohol to the already potent mix of hormones coursing through my body. What I
don’t
tell Darcey, however, is that I was up all night, too awake and turned on to sleep. I spent most of it with my hand between my legs, making myself come over and over again, and imagining it was Riley.

But no matter what I tried, none of it felt as good as the few brief seconds he’d been touching me.

That had felt… incredible. Better than anything else I’ve ever felt in my whole life. I’d never been that interested in sex, but now I’m starting to think that maybe that was a mistake.

Then again, maybe it’s not all sex that feels that good.

Maybe it’s just sex with Riley.

I open a cupboard, grabbing a packet of cereal down from the shelf.

“Did Riley like the dress?” Darcey asks, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“I don’t know.”

That’s a lie.
Obviously, he liked it. Despite what he said about me usually looking like a Catholic schoolgirl.

Darcey sighs impatiently. “Look, this would be a lot easier if you just told me about what happened, instead of me having to interrogate you,” she says. “I mean, you must like him, otherwise why would you have asked to borrow my stuff?”

“I thought people were supposed to look nice for dates,” I point out.

“Yeah, but like you keep insisting, you’re
not
dating. So what gives?” Darcey spoons some cereal into her mouth, watching me like a hawk.

I try to evade her gaze, turning away to pour my own bowl of cereal. I almost want to tell her about what happened between Riley and me at the restaurant, but I’m not sure I have the words. Darcey will only tell me I should sleep with him anyway, which is the last thing I want to hear right now.

I need wise counsel. Darcey is pretty much the opposite of that.

“I know something happened between the two of you,” she says casually. “I can see the back of your neck turning pink.”

Fuck.

I forgot about Darcey’s sixth sense for other people’s business, and her inability to keep her nose out of it.

I turn back to her, dumping my bowl of cereal down on the table before sitting down. “If I tell you, you
have
to keep it to yourself.”

“I
knew
it!” she crows, waving her spoon in the air in some kind of victory dance. “Now come on. Tell me
everything
.”

“We kissed,” I admit, feeling a new wave of shame wash over me.

“That’s
awesome
.” Darcey nods enthusiastically. “What’s that — like, your second kiss ever?”

“Third,” I tell her indignantly. “I kissed Peter Grange at Helen’s seventeenth birthday party during spin the bottle.”

“That was a peck on the cheek, doesn’t count,” Darcey informs me. “Anyway, go on. Was he good? No, let me revise that.
Of course
he was good.” She looks away, apparently devising some other question to torture me with. “What happened after?”

I swallow. “I told him we couldn’t do that,” I say. “We had to stop.”

Darcey shakes her head. “Are you serious? You were about to get some hot Riley Knox dick and you told him
no?
”

“It’s not like that,” I try to argue. “We’re not supposed to be really dating. You know my dad would hit the roof. And anyway, I don’t want to just get laid for the sake of getting laid. I know it may seem antiquated to worldly old you, but I’d actually like to lose it to someone I like.”

“I suppose I can see that,” Darcey says. “But he likes you, yeah?”

I eat some more cereal in order to delay answering. The truth is, I don’t know. He obviously wants to
fuck
me, but that’s a very different thing.

“I don’t know,” I finally admit. “I don’t think he does. I think he thinks I’m a conquest. He only wants me because he’s been told he can’t have me.”

“Hmmm.” Darcey nods, chewing reflectively. “Riley hasn’t exactly got a reputation for sticking around after. I guess if you want a wild night in the sack with no strings attached, he’s your boy. But if you’re going to insist on being so
old-fashioned
about it….”

“Some might call it romantic,” I say.

“Romance is dead,” Darcey tells me. “I checked.”

I sigh. Maybe Darcey is right. I wouldn’t exactly call receiving the first significant kiss of my life in a corridor leading a bathroom
romantic.

At least, I wouldn’t have if anyone had told me that was how it was going to go down.

But in the moment — Riley’s lips on mine, his fingers tracing over my skin — it was perfect.

No. Not perfect. Don’t think that.

I shake my head. I can’t think that way about what happened. Mainly because it can
never
happen again.

I’ll just have to forget about it. Somehow.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” I tell Darcey warningly. “I mean it. No one can know.”

“I get it,” Darcey says. “You already told me about how there can't be any stories that Murray hasn’t personally approved. You can trust me. Anyway, if I’m the only person you told, then I think you’d know who to strangle if it gets out.” She pauses, cocking her head to think. “Unless someone saw you, of course.”

I swallow my mouthful of cereal way too fast.

“No one saw us,” I say, a little too quickly.

And I wish I could feel the same amount of certainty as I hear in my voice.

I jump when my cell phone rings.

We have no classes today, so Darcey invited Megan and Tyler around for a study session. We’re all sitting in our lounge, our books spread out around us.

Looking over at my phone, I feel a sinking sensation in my stomach when I see Murray’s name on the screen.

All day I’ve been thinking about what Darcey said about how someone could have seen me and Riley kissing at Balotelli’s. I didn’t see anyone come out of the bathrooms or into the corridor while we were there — but if I’m being honest with myself, I know I wouldn’t have noticed even if they had.

“Excuse me,” I mutter, grabbing the phone and standing, running into the kitchen to take the call.

“Good morning, Ava,” Murray says pleasantly when I pick up. “Are you somewhere private where we can have a conversation?”

“Uh, yeah,” I tell him, retreating slightly farther into the kitchen. I can hear Megan, Tyler and Darcey laughing and talking in the lounge. I’m sure they don’t care about my phone call.

“Good,” Murray says, and then pauses. I hold my breath, waiting for him to start the interrogation, even though I have no idea how he’d even start a conversation about me and Riley having been seen kissing — he’s not my
dad
after all. He’s just a guy my dad hired to run his pre-election campaign.

Still, it’s awkward. And if he knows, it can’t be long ’til my dad knows.

“I’ve seen the photos of the two of you arriving at the restaurant, and they look good. Local interest is picking up, and from there we can launch something a bit more widespread. As the season gets closer there’ll be more interest, as it’s the last year Riley can play college athletics, and he’ll be eligible for the draft.”

“Right, okay,” I say, not sure I really understand anything that Murray’s saying. “What does that mean for us? I mean, me. What does it mean for me?” I bite my lip, realizing that my hasty cover just makes me sound even more suspicious.

Murray doesn’t seem to notice, however.

“Well, it just means we need to make sure the two of you are seen out together,” he continues smoothly. “Perhaps at some more high-profile events — a political event, even. We want to try to tie this into your father’s plans, if we can. Coach Jackson tells me that Riley is willing to do what it takes to repair his reputation and ensure that his chance at the draft isn’t jeopardized.”

I
really
want to ask Riley what the fuck he’s playing at. I get that he — or at least his coach — is concerned about his footballing future, but this is just going too far. Is he really willing to stick with this? And what happens if what happened last night happens again?

Stop. Focus.

Last I checked, I was a fully grown adult with a voice and the ability to say ‘no’. If it happens again, I use those abilities, and I leave. That’s the only way to deal with it. Everything will be professional from now on. This is just something I’m doing to help out my dad. Riley’s boner doesn’t come into it.

“Okay,” I say, proud of myself for successfully keeping any hint of a quaver out of my voice. “I guess I can do that.”

“Excellent.” I can almost hear Murray nodding with approval. “I can text the details to you. I’m sure this will all go smoothly.”

“I’m sure,” I agree, trying to sound breezy, as if all of this is no big deal. I wait for Murray to say goodbye and hang up, but instead he stays on the line. There’s a long silence. 

“And Riley's behavior hasn’t been at all untoward?” Murray finally asks me, somewhat cautiously. “He understands that this is strictly an arrangement, not a genuine relationship?”

I swallow. Hard. “Yes, Murray,” I say. “He understands.”