Dirty Player: A Rough Riders Novel (20 page)

“Oliver.” 

“Fucking hell.” He thrust into me, taking his hand off my clit and clamping it around my hip to hold me still while he chased his own orgasm, pumping into me with a precision and power I would think he’d reserve for the football field before he let loose his own groan. He pushed me forward so hard we both collapsed into the bed. His forehead rested against the back of my head and his groan made my scalp tingle. “Shannon, holy shit, honey.”

I trembled at the endearment that fell from his lips.

When he’d caught his breath he slowly pulled out, rolled me over, and pressed his lips to mine, ignoring the fact that I had always hated morning breath and sweat. “Good morning.”

“Mornin’,” I muttered against his lips.

He gave me a squeeze before he rolled off me and headed toward the bathroom. “When do you need to leave? Do you have to set up your booth this morning?”

I brushed my hair off my face, reality setting in. Based on the light from behind the closed curtains, I had to get moving. It was the second day of the street fair and yesterday had been crazy busy, bigger and better than anything I could have imagined.

Last night when I’d finished closing everything up, I’d met him at the hotel for dinner and ended up staying.

“Yeah.” I sighed and stretched my well-abused limbs. I had my hands above my head, pressing against the headboard and my body in a long, lean line when he walked out of the bathroom.

“Someday, I’m going to tie you to the bed, just like that and fuck you till you can’t take any more.”

My hips rolled, jumping at the thought. Oliver caught it and then swore before turning back to the bathroom, groaning and pressing his fingers to his eyes.

“What are you doing?” I asked, pushing myself to sitting and swallowing a groan. My muscles were uncomfortable and tight, a combination of sitting in the heat all day yesterday and the athletic sex sessions.

“Taking out my contacts. I keep fucking falling asleep in them and my eyes are killing me.”

He wore…glasses?

I jumped from the bed, grabbing a shirt I’d tossed to the floor before, and met him in the bathroom. He splashed more water on his face before he patted it dry with a towel and removed a pair of glasses from the drawer next to him.

And holy shit. It changed the look of him. Took him from monstrous, sexy football player to sexy, forgetful professor in a heartbeat.

My lips parted. “You’re going to have to fuck me with those on.”

His eyes crinkled and he met my gaze in the mirror. He ran a hand through his hair, messing up the shaggy top and making it wilder. “What?”

A gazillion fantasies flashed in my mind and I nodded, breathless as I answered. “Oh. Yeah.”

“You’ll get your wish. Tonight.” He turned then and pressed his lips to my cheek. “But I can’t have you late for the festival today, and I have practice. I’ll meet you in the kitchen once you’re dressed, so get moving.”

I hurried. The promise of tonight sparked all sorts of wicked thoughts in my head.

***

The sun beat down on my shoulders despite the tent covering overhead. It was going to take me months, if not years, to get used to the constant heat that made the pavement so hot that it steamed all day long.

The crowd was packed along the street, vendors set along the curbs of the arts district Festival like we were sardines.

I was hot and sweaty. I was miserable from being in the sun for the last two days.

I was also having the time of my life.

My jewelry was selling faster than I had thought possible. I’d made enough money in the last two days alone to begin to set aside a decent amount to continue not only making more jewelry, but to begin paying Beaux back for the paid lease on my building.

A week from Wednesday, my furniture would arrive from Iowa and I could finally move into my own place.

The past week had been insanely busy while the Rough Riders had been preparing for another preseason game coming up the next day. They were preparing to play last year’s Super Bowl champions, and Oliver and Beaux had both spent the week acting like this preseason game was the AFC Championship game.

Not that I could blame them. The Seahawks had beaten the Rough Riders in the final playoff game last year, pushing them toward their Super Bowl win. The men—the entire team, it sounded like—were out for blood, and Beaux’s natural competitive instincts wanted to be the one to take them there.

I had barely seen Oliver all week long, but the night before he’d stopped by Stamped, insisting I stop working after I’d been at the street fair all day and was still burning the midnight oil, making more jewelry to have a bigger selection to sell on the two following days.

My fingers were blistered and sore, my hands cramped from the work.

I was still smiling, handing out business cards, letting everyone who stopped by know of my new business that would have its grand opening in two weeks, just before the first home game of the real season.

Melissa was flying out for it, and I couldn’t wait to see her, but I also couldn’t wait to show off my new home, my new life…my new man.

I grinned at the thought as a small cluster of women slowed down and approached my table.

They whispered their appreciation of the jewelry as one of the women picked up one of the leather braided cuff bracelets. Those had yet to sell. A part of me still didn’t like the way Oliver had mentioned that a friend of his would love them, and then dropped it without explaining who it was.

Not that it should have mattered—in the past week he’d shown me that when he decided to go all in for a relationship, to see what happened without a timeline ending things, he was really good at it.

It wasn’t just in bed, either. On the nights we didn’t see each other, he called and checked in. We didn’t talk long, but he still made the effort—something that surprised me. But he was showing me, slowly, that he was the guy I’d seen beneath the hard layer of arrogance he easily wore like a well-tailored coat.

He was the guy I’d seen whispering to his horses, taking care of them, and being at ease on the farm.

Not that I’d been back there. The week before we’d spent most of the time at his crash pad and not his home, needing to be out of the apartment when Beaux was around.

Beaux might have been okay with me dating Oliver, but I certainly wasn’t going to force him to hear about it at all hours. 

“These are beautiful,” one of the women said, lifting a set of copper-colored bangles and inspecting the charms on each:
love, faith, hope, peace, kindness
… They sparkled from the sun hitting them before she placed them back down. “You make all of these?”

“I do.” I slid a business card toward her. “Stamped is the name of my business. It opens officially in two weeks, just a few doors down on this side of the street.”

I pointed toward the red brick building.

She took the card and smiled at me. She wouldn’t buy today, but I knew, based on the smile on her face, that she’d remember me. The way she gently seemed to brush her finger along the copper told me she was being genuine.

“These are impressive, truly. I love every single one of them.”

“Serena,” another woman’s voice called to her. “You have to come here.”

The woman jerked her head, and I frowned at the mention of her name. I’d heard it before, but couldn’t remember.

“What is it?” she asked, turning her head. Her face paled as the crowd seemed to part behind her.

My lips spread into a wide grin as Beaux and Oliver and three other men towered over most of the other patrons. Their bulk and their height made their presence noticeable to everyone around them.

Beaux was grinning, laughing at something someone behind him had said, when Oliver’s eyes met mine before narrowing on the woman in front of me.

“What in the fuck are you doing here?” He practically snarled, propping his hands on his hips as he walked straight up to her. “What shit are you pulling now, Serena?”

She smiled sweetly, a different smile from the one she’d given me earlier. If I wasn’t mistaken, she also pushed her ample breasts forward and cocked her hip. “Oliver. So good to see you again. How are you?”

“Cut the shit, Serena. What are you doing talking to Shannon?”

Her head whipped back before she turned to me, that catty smile still in place. “How do you two know each other? You know Oliver? My husband?”

My mouth opened and closed with no words escaping. I flashed wide eyes to Oliver.

“Ex,” he growled and didn’t look at me. “And our meeting with the lawyers isn’t until Monday, so what are you doing here?”

“Can’t a girl come to town to visit friends? I do have them, you know.”

A muscle jumped in his cheek, making his lips twist. “Leave. Now.”

She walked up to him, and I curled my hands into fists. I wanted to reach out and tell her to stop, but I was frozen solid.

He jerked away, pushing Rudolph back a step. He had the same scowl on his face Oliver and Beaux had.

“Don’t touch me. You lost that right and you know it.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, but not so quiet I couldn’t still hear her. “I’m sorry for everything. For hurting you and leaving you. I’m sorry I was too young to be able to handle everything we went through. But if I’m honest, I’m glad I ran into you. Was going to call you before Monday. I’d like to get together and talk. See if we can maybe set some of this anger between us aside? I’ve missed you, Oliver.”

Her voice softened further, almost pleading. It was gentle and sweet and sounded like a beautiful song—one that made me want to vomit.

Oliver swallowed. The world seemed to shake beneath my feet when he looked at her, something in his eyes shining that I hadn’t seen before—not directed at me, anyway.

This was his ex-wife. Essentially throwing herself at him. And he was standing there considering it.

He stepped back then, looked over her shoulder, and avoided my gaze. “I’ll see you Monday.”

She licked her lips and stepped back, turning to me as she did. The wounded expression in her light brown eyes evened out as she caught my gaze.

“It was lovely to meet you, Shannon. How do you know Oliver?”

“The new quarterback for the Rough Riders, Beaux, is my brother,” I explained, my mouth feeling parched and thick. 

Behind her, Oliver didn’t argue. He didn’t say a thing. He didn’t tell her that I was with him now, or that he’d moved on from her.

It hurt more than it should have. More than it had the right to. When Serena’s gaze traveled over my face and then lower before she looked me back in the eyes, something like relief shined in them. “Oh. That makes sense then. Hopefully we’ll be seeing more of each other soon.”

Still, Oliver said nothing. Did nothing. Didn’t tell her she was wrong, or that she was outside her ever-loving mind if he thought for one second I’d have anything to do with her and why.

I couldn’t respond to her, and she didn’t wait for me to, anyway. Instead, she waved my card in the air before sliding it into her purse and telling me she’d see me soon.

Oliver turned and watched her walk away.

Conflict darkened his hazel eyes when he scrubbed a hand down his face. “We need to talk, Shannon.”

An ice cold shiver rolled through me, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “I’m busy.”

“Later then.” He dragged his eyes to mine then, as if he was forcing himself to look at me instead of watching his ex-wife walk away.

Ex. The word seemed to grow louder inside my mind with every passing moment.

My lips were too dry to speak, too cracked and chapped. I could only stare at him while Beaux pushed himself through the tent until he was next to me.

I jumped when he put his hand on my shoulder, squeezing it.

“I don’t know when I’ll be done, Oliver.”

I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t want to hear any of it. Beaux stood next to me, radiating the need to protect me, but I didn’t want that either.

I wanted to go back to this morning—or two weeks ago when Oliver and I had met, and I wanted to do everything different. The look he’d just given Serena wasn’t the look of a man who was over his wife, but a look that screamed he still loved her, still wanted her, and would take her if given the chance. The fact that Beaux seemed to pick up on it as quick as I had made it more obvious. Not to mention humiliating.

“Call me when you’re done here?”

It wasn’t so much a question, but a demand. 

When I nodded, he lifted his gaze to Beaux’s and then looked at Rudolph. “I need to go,” he muttered, pushing past Rudolph.

“Powell,” he called out, but Oliver didn’t turn around. He didn’t look back.

He just followed the same path Serena had taken moments before, like a man trailing after the woman he’d lost once and refused to lose again.

“Shit.” Rudolph groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “I gotta go get him. See you later?”

He looked at Beaux, and I assumed he nodded, but I didn’t hear if he said anything. Blood rushed through my veins as I sat there, frozen, wondering what in the hell had just happened.