Playing Hard: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (18 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

AVA

“Darling, you look lovely.”

I turn at the sound of my dad’s voice in my bedroom doorway. I’m back at his house —
our
house, the home I grew up in — getting ready to attend the black tie event for the Heartwave Children With Cancer organization. My father has been a major donor for a long time, and we always attend their events whenever they’re on in town. It’s just that this time, I’ll be going with Riley.

“Do you think so?”

I turn back to the mirror, adjusting my hair. I had it done earlier — a beauty therapist came by the house for my hair and makeup — but it’s a lot bigger than I’m used to. I think she used about three cans of hairspray in there, just to get it standing the way she wanted it, and the ringlets to fall around my face just
so.
My dress is cream-colored and long, cinched at the waist with a gold band, and gathered over one shoulder, leaving the other one bare. It’s the first time I’ve worn something so revealing to an event, not that this dress is exactly
revealing.
The diagonal slice of the bodice sits well above my breast on the sleeveless side, and over my collarbone on the other. You can’t really see anything at all.

Still, for some reason, I feel bare and exposed.

Well, I suppose it’s not really
for some reason
.

I know exactly why I’d prefer to attend tonight’s event a little more covered up than I currently am, and it begins with ‘R’ and ends in ‘iley Knox’.

“I most certainly do.”

My father enters the room, still wearing his work suit. He looks tired — there’s circles under his eyes, and a little stoop in his shoulders. I know he’s been working hard lately, and I’m a little worried about him. Maybe I shouldn’t have insisted on moving out.

But now I’m just being silly — my dad works so hard and travels so much that since I started college I barely see him anyway. Whether I’m here or in the apartment that’s a lot closer to campus makes really no difference. We’d still only see each other when he has time in between working.

I bite my lip, giving myself another look up and down in the mirror. It’s not like I have time to change or get my hair re-done though, so it’s almost completely pointless. Giving up, I turn away, picking up my purse from the desk.

“I suppose the car will be waiting,” I say. “I should probably go.”

“I’m sorry I’m not able to come with you this time,” my dad says, running his fingers over his face. There’s a scratchy sound as they brush against the stubble on his chin. “I have to be on this teleconference with Beijing. Different time zones are really chafing my as— I mean, my hide. They’re a real pain in the backside.”

I can’t help but laugh. My father might be Orson Westwood, but he was in the Marines for twenty years, and he still swears like one whenever he gets stressed, or annoyed, or tired, or… well, let’s just say he swears a lot.

“It’s okay, Murray’s not here,” I tell him. “You can say the bad word if you want to.”

“I shouldn’t swear in front of you,” Dad says, shaking his head. “It’ll get you into bad habits. I don’t want you using that kind of language.”

“Well, I think that boat has sailed. Maybe if I was five years old you might have a case, Dad.”

He shakes his head, smiling tiredly. “Sometimes I forget just how grown-up you are,” he says. “Then I see you standing here, looking so… I don’t know….”

“Like a twenty-two-year-old graduate student?” I ask him. “Like someone who’s been successfully living on her own for a couple of months now?”

“All right, all right,” my dad says, holding his hands up in defeat. “You’re right. You’re plenty old enough to take care of yourself. And speaking of that.”

My dad’s joking tone vanishes, and I tense a little, waiting for what’s coming next.

“How are things going with this Riley Knox? Murray says he’s had no complaints with you, and Coach Jackson has been keeping a close eye on things too. You’re not finding this too much of a strain?”

I hesitate only slightly before answering. “Of course not, Daddy,’” I say. “I mean, it’s to help you, right? So why would it be a problem?”

My father looks at me a moment longer, before smiling again. “That’s great. Murray tells me things are going well. I told him I didn’t really want the details… you can understand that, can’t you, sweetheart?”

I nod. I’m used to Dad being distant in my life. I mean, he’s never been anything other than loving when he
is
around, but that’s not really all that often. And sometimes I do think he forgets I’m not a little girl anymore.

“The car will be waiting,” I say again, a little reluctant to leave. I wish I could tell him I want to stay here with him, but I know I can’t — I’m expected to go, and he’ll be on his teleconference anyway.

I lean up to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

“Bye, Daddy.”

I square my shoulders as I walk through the house.

I can do this.

Just because of what happened with Riley last time doesn’t mean it’ll happen again. We’ll be at a public gathering tonight — there’s no chance for us to be alone together. 

Ergo, there’s no chance to repeat what we did in my room the other day.

I shiver a little at the memory.

Of course I’ve masturbated before — I’m not
that
much of a prude. But I’ve never come that hard from touching myself before, never had an orgasm that intense. I’ve tried to make myself come like that again in the couple of nights since, but it just hasn’t worked.

Sex pollen.

That must be it. Riley just exudes sex pollen that makes me lose my mind whenever I’m around him.

What a perfectly reasonable explanation
, I sneer at myself. Nothing at all to do with my own raging hormones. No, I can just chalk this all up to factors completely outside of my control.

Jonathan is waiting for me by the door, my winter coat in his hands.

“Have a lovely evening, miss,” he says, and I thank him, nodding and sliding my arms into my coat.

Just don’t think it,
is the best advice I can come up with for myself right now.

The key is in not being alone with Riley.

And at a charity event like this, with huge crowds around, that can’t possibly happen.

The traffic isn’t great, and I’m a little late to arrive at the venue: the hotel my family owns near the center of town. My dad has donated the use of the ballroom for the event, as well as the money he gives them each year. I’ve gotten used to seeing the large, sweeping
Westwood Hotel
sign every day on my way to campus, though I guess with the sheer number of stuff my family’s name is on, it would be hard not to.

The doorman opens the car door for me before helping me out onto the red carpet that runs from the curb and up the steps, into the grand entrance. Flashbulbs go off, hoping to capture someone a lot more famous and glamorous than me. They die out pretty quickly as I step out fully into the chill night air. Even if I’m the host’s daughter, I’m still just me — I’m not exactly a Hilton sister. When I’m not out with my dad, I keep a very low profile. It’s better that way.

Another limo pulls up as mine leaves, and I hurry up the steps and through the doors, hoping to be out of the firing line when whoever is behind me steps out. I don’t know why I’ve never liked having my photo taken — I just don’t.

Plus, I’m so nervous right now at the thought of seeing Riley again that I’m
sure
it must be showing on my face.

There’s a loud bubble of voices from the ballroom. The party must already be in full swing. I glance around, looking for Riley, but I don’t spot him in the crowd.

Maybe he didn’t come
, I think to myself. I’m not sure whether the spike of pain in my stomach is disappointment or relief.

For whatever reason, Murray didn’t want us to be photographed arriving together today; he only wanted shots actually inside the ballroom. I have no idea why, but then, I guess that’s why I don’t work in PR.

Blinking in the sudden golden glare of the ballroom, I sidle around tables filled with the who’s who of business and local celebrities, making my way toward my table. When I get there, I bite my lip, feeling that familiarly confusing sensation welling up in my chest — Riley’s place card is there, right next to mine, but he’s not in his seat. Of course, it could be that, like me, he’s stuck in traffic. But it could also mean he’s simply decided to blow me off.

Trying to look as calm as possible, I smooth my dress, taking my seat.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I say, smiling as brightly as I can at the rest of the people at the table.

They’re all people I know, though some of them only slightly. There’s Barry Alstergren, the son of the hotelier and property developer; Laura O’Grady, head of her family’s shipping empire; and Harold Lennox, the head of the Lennox conglomerate, with his son, Bryce.

I cringe inwardly — I knew Bryce a little at prep school. He’s a year younger than me, and a complete pig. He should’ve been expelled for a couple of the stunts he pulled — not the least of which was running a betting pool for who could sleep with the most female students. It was only the judicious application of his parents’ money that had saved him, but I know for a fact that I wasn’t the only one who’d hoped he’d get expelled.

Now, he’s smirking at me from across the table, looking as smug and smarmy as ever.

Between him and Riley being a no-show, I almost want to throw up.

We’re also the only people at the table under forty, so I guess I know who I’m going to spend most of the evening talking to. The other three are already sipping their wine and murmuring to each other, talking shop. I take a sip of my own wine, hoping to delay conversation for as long as possible.

“Seems like you’ve been stood up, Ava.” Bryce’s smirk has grown even wider. “Still, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

I smile tightly. “Oh, Riley texted me in the car to say he was running late,” I lie as breezily as I can. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

I take another drink, gritting my teeth. When I see Riley again, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind — not just for standing me up, but for forcing me to talk to Bryce Lennox all night.

“I have to say, I never thought I’d see you hook up with someone like Riley Knox,” Bryce continues. “I always thought you had… better taste than that.”

I just smile. What the fuck am I supposed to say to that?

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint,” I tell him in the end, my voice tight. I’m tempted to tell him that he should try slumming it sometime and see if he can get some decent dick, but of course, I don’t. I’m the famously uptight Ava Westwood, and I’d never say or do anything that could embarrass my father at an event like this.

I mean, as well as the fact that
I
haven’t gotten any dick so far either.

Not that I want to,
I hastily tell myself.
That’s in the past. Closed. Finished. Over. Period.

I wonder if I can fake a text from Riley sometime, pretend he’s just let me know he won’t be able to make it after all. I start reaching for my purse, as humiliation crawls through me.

I’ll kill you, Riley,
I think to myself — just as a hand comes down on my shoulder.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Riley’s voice behind me is casual, as if nothing’s amiss.

I look up at him, licking my lips, his hand warm against the skin of my shoulder. My skin is tingling, the warmth of his hand seeming to flow down through my whole body.

“Traffic was hell, you know how it is.”

Riley takes his seat. He’s wearing a tux, his hair combed back, and looking as impossibly sexy as he always does. He’s got the same quirk in his lips as usual — the one that makes him look as arrogant and as hot as hell.

“I wouldn’t know,” Bryce cuts in. “I came here by helicopter — beats the traffic every time.”

Riley just shrugs. “What a thrill for you,” he says laconically. “Is the food coming soon? I’m starving.”

I give him a small, tight smile. The kind of smile that should let him know that I am
far
from pleased with him. “It should be soon,” I say, before leaning in to him. “Do you mind telling me where you’ve been? I thought you’d stood me up,” I whisper.

Riley narrows his eyes. “You were late first,” he says. “I got here early — I didn’t want to make you wait. But I’m not going to sit around with that shithead and play nice. So I waited until you showed up.”

I blink in surprise. “I didn’t know you knew Bryce,” I whisper.

Riley just shrugs again. “I’ve seen him around enough to know what a piece of shit he is,” he says, his voice not quite quiet enough.

“You two keep whispering over there and I’m going to get jealous.”