Play Me (16 page)

“No one else.”

He slaps my ass hard. “Say it again.”

“You. Only you,” I whimper.

He growls and pumps into me harder before grabbing one side of my leg, twisting me around and lowering me to the ground without removing himself from me. Pressing my face against the shower wall, I fill fuller than before. Weston breathes in my scent and slides all the way into me.

I cry out and clench my sex muscles around his width as he continues to pump into me from behind. I strain on my tip-toes and brace myself for each painfully blissful pump. He talks dirty in my ear as he grips my waist and pulls me back harder onto him. Then harder again until I’m coming around him … again.

Weston grips the front of my neck and pushes any hair away before nipping where neck meets shoulder. “That’s right,” he whispers, pumping in and out of me two more times before coming inside of me. “Fucckk,” he groans.

Soft lips trail down my neck to my shoulder. “I want to stay inside of you,” he whispers before slowly pulling himself out of me.

I turn around and lean against the wet shower wall while Weston leans over me, one hand resting beside his head and the other stroking my cheek. “Good thing you don’t have to leave then, huh?” I whisper.

A devious smile curls on Weston’s lip. “Good thing.”

Chapter
Twelve

Roxy

“Shit.”

The box of new athletic tape drops from the top of the cabinet and hits the floor with a thud. Groaning, I sweep down to grab it and feel every inch of my soreness. Heat crawls up my neck thinking about last night. He was everything I’d been needing—wanting—and I didn’t even realize it. And he was right … I feel him every time I move.

“Hey,
Chica
.”

Shit.
The athletic tape falls from my hands again. This time I don’t swoop down to pick it up. I carefully turn on my heel and look over at Blake. He’s shirtless, a wild look in his eyes. “Hey, Blake. What’s up?”

He pulls his hair back into a ponytail. “Not much. Are you mad at me,
Mami
?”

I shake my head fiercely and scratch the back of my neck. “No—No, not at all. I’ve just been busy.”

Blake narrows his eyes and takes another step putting him in the room. “You feeling better? You were sick the other night, right?”

I swear my mouth is dry. What is this the third degree? “Yes.”

He leans against the counter and screws his mouth up. “Did you leave with Weston the other night?”

God. How does he even know?
I swallow a large lump in my throat and look up from the tile floor. “Listen Blake—,”

He holds his hand up in front of his face. “I already know you did. One of my buddies saw you leave with him.”

I sigh. “It’s not what it looks like,” I whisper. “I mean—it wasn’t, but now…”

He scoffs and stands straight up. He’s mad. The vein in his forehead is bulging outward. “Do you know how this makes me look?” he yells, pointing a finger at me. “For you to leave me for—fucking Weston! He fucks girls and leaves them.” He tosses his hands in the air. “Do you think you’re any different?”

“Actually—,”

“Actually nothing!” he shouts and by now we have a few players’ attention from out in the hallway. Dom peaks his head around the corner and his eyes widen. But he disappears before I can ask for help.

“Blake. We went out once and I had fun but it’s …”

He leans forward, furrowing his brow. “It’s what? Finish your sentence. Stupid,
puta
,” he spits. I’m not Spanish but I know what that means.

Embarrassment shoots up my throat and strangles me.
How dare he?
We just went out once and it wasn’t
that
much fun anyway. I clench my fingers into tight fists at my side. I open my mouth but shut it tight. Several more players are now staring in at us.

“Move,” I hear. Then I see Weston barge through the crowd of football players. His cutoff white shirt, the sexy ones that players wear while they’re practicing, is hanging down just below his ribs. The tight blue football pants are unlaced in the front.
God, if he didn’t look like death I’d rape him.

“You got a fuckin’ problem, homie?” Weston asks stepping in front of me.

Blake laughs. “Look who it is, the fucking cock-blocker. You think you can do whatever the fuck you want to do, don’t you?”

Weston steps forward. “You sorry-ass mother fucker. You call her a bitch?” he asks, pointing back at me.

Blake’s gaze drifts to me but Weston shoves him in the chest. “Don’t fuckin’ look at her. Did you call her a bitch?”

Blake tilts his head backwards and gives him a smart ass smirk. “Yeah, I fucking called her—“

Bam. Weston’s arm shoots back and knocks Blake square in the jaw. A loud crack pops and then the entire room shoots into chaos. Coach Turner is trying to shove his way into the room while the other players scramble to get in.

Blake runs toward Weston, knocking him into the cabinet beside me. I yelp and duck behind one of the tables. “Stupid, mother fucker,” Weston yells slamming his fists into Blake’s side over and over while Blake tries to get his arms locked around Weston.

Finally two players pull them off of each other. Weston’s eyes are dark and glossy. They both stare at each other while struggling to get loose.

“What in the flying fuck is going on in here?!” Coach yells, tossing his hat onto the ground. “Someone better get to talking or everyone is running drills, goddammit!”

For a crowded room you sure could hear a damn pin drop. Dammit. So, I step forward. “Um, Blake and I had an altercation. He called me a bitch and Weston stuck up for me.”

Coach narrows his gaze at me. “Everyone get out,” he says over his shoulder but it’s clearly not meant for us. When the door clicks¸ he looks up and slams his hands down on his waist. “I already have one fucked up player and I don’t need another one! Now,” he points toward all three of us. “What is going on?”

Weston’s heavy gaze settles on me for the first time and my thighs ache for him. A dark heated expression travels over his face. “Roxy and I are dating.”

Oh, wow.
The two people staring at me feels more like twenty right now. Coach lifts an eyebrow like he doesn’t believe Weston but he’ll take the bait. “Okay, so what does that have to do with you?” he points toward Blake.

“Weston followed us to our date and took Roxy home with him.”

Coach coughs into his hand and begins to choke. Weston rolls his eyes. “Look, it doesn’t matter. I’m with Roxy now and I don’t appreciate you calling her a bitch. And if you do it again I swear I’ll—,”

Coach shoots his arm out. “No name calling and no date crashing. Stay away from each other,” Coach says. “Blake, go get ready for the game and Weston put on your jersey. If this happens again you’re both on suspension.”

They both disappear and leave us alone. Once the door shuts Weston turns to me and cups my face. “Are you okay?”

I nod. “I’m fine. Just pissed off. That was so fucking embarrassing. The entire football team saw.”

He hushes me and runs the pad of his thumb against my bottom lip. “Don’t worry about the football team. Did he hurt you?”

“No, he didn’t touch me.”

All the tension from his shoulders relaxes and he leans his head against mine. “Goddammit, when Dom came and got me I was—I wanted to murder him.” He sighs.

I shake my head. “Don’t worry about Blake.”

The truth is, I’m really not worried about him. I’ve had way too many things happen to me and things to worry about. Blake’s temper tantrum is the least of my worries.

Weston kisses me gently and then nips at my bottom lip. “I’m not. I’d wipe the floor with his ass.”

And I don’t doubt it, even with a bum leg. I give him my best sexy smile and place my hands on the hard ridges of his stomach. Then I giggle. Weston lifts a brow. “And what in the hell is so funny?”

“I never thought Weston Garrison would be coming to my rescue on his big white horse.”

Weston drags his lips over mine and groans underneath his breath. “I’m no prince charming, baby.”

I press my hands against his stomach and lean my head back away from him. “And why not?”

He gives me a wicked grin. “Because bad boys don’t get the princess, baby,” he says, his voice gruff. Placing his hands on my hips he holsters me up and onto his waist. “But I never wanted one,” he whispers against my throat. “Because we both know you’re not a princess and there isn’t one thing in this goddamn world I want more than you.”

That’s the best damn answer I’ve ever gotten.

***

The bleachers are packed. Our band plays as the player’s warm-up on the field. I haven’t been to a football game in two years. Erica drug me to one my first semester here. The familiar homey feeling of a small-town football game sinks over me. The smells of concessions stand food. Bright lights. The band playing. Amazing bandstand music. Screaming fans. It’s a feeling that can’t be mimicked.

Weston has Maddox on his shoulders while Maddox waves a big blue foam finger in the air. A loud giggle catches my attention. The group of girls sitting diagonal from us are staring up at us. My neck turns hot and a lump begins to grow in my throat.

I feel Weston’s finger move my chin up. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

I lick my lips and nervously glance around. “Everyone is staring,” I whisper. Weston looks away from me and I see his eyes slowly roll over the stands. Each one of the rude asses whip their heads back around as soon as they make contact.

He lifts an eyebrow at a group of girls sitting diagonal from us and looks back at me. A blonde sneers my way and cups her hand around her mouth to talk. But before I can hide my face Weston grabs my chin and forces his mouth on mine.

It’s not as innocent as it should be in a stand full of people but the building pressure in my lower stomach makes me forget about everyone else.

“Ew,” Maddox yells. Weston bites my lower lip before pulling away. “It’s starting! It’s starting!” Maddox starts to bounce on Weston’s shoulders and Weston latches onto his legs to keep him from falling.

But he keeps his eyes on me. Even after the timer starts and the game begins. Both of those dark stormy eyes grope me with each second of eye contact. When the crowd starts to scream I turn my head toward the front.

The Muleriders aren’t playing any games. By halftime they’re leading 35 to 16.

“You want something to drink?”

I shake my head. “No thanks.”

With Maddox on his back, they make their way down the bleachers and toward the concession stand. The stadium lights zoom in on the cheerleaders who start their halftime dance.

The same giggles from before start in again and the blonde that sneered at me earlier stands up in the group of girls. “Ah, shit,” I whisper underneath my breath. She walks up the first few steps and taps me on the shoulder.

I glance over my shoulder and narrow my gaze. She looks oddly familiar. “Can I help you?” I ask.

Giving me a small smile she takes a seat beside me. “I’m Rebecca.”

“Okay.”

She tosses her hair over her shoulder and crosses her legs. “Are you and Weston,” she tries to hide her smile, “
dating
?”

She lifts both brows and purses her lips.

“And what if we are?”

She shrugs. “Oh, nothing. I just wouldn’t want you to get your hopes up with him. He’s not dating material.”

Grinding my molars together, I take a calming breath. “Why are you so worried about it then, Rebecca? If he isn’t worth the time, why come over here in a pathetic attempt to scare me away.”

“Listen,” she snaps, all the fake blonde bullshit flying out the window. “I don’t know what the fuck he is doing but it’s not him. And believe me, I know. Just give him a couple of weeks and he’ll be finished with this little game.” She waves her hand at me like I’m trash.

My vision is hinting red. If this is what The Hulk feels like then I feel fucking sorry for him. “Look, bitch,” I say. “I suggest you take your little debutant attending ass back over there to the bobble head clan before I kick it.”

Her eyes widen. “Don’t threaten me.”

“Don’t annoy me.”

She glares at me and then her eyes jerk upwards. “What are you doin’, Rebecca?” She quickly stands and gives Weston a small finger wave.

“Hey, darlin’,” she says. “I was just talking to—,” she trails off because obviously she doesn’t know my name.

“Roxy,” he finishes her sentence. “Why don’t you go sit down and leave us alone.”

Her face darkens to a deep shade of red. Her gaze flickers back and forth between the three of us before she turns and marches back down the bleachers.

The game buzzer rings loudly but I don’t glance at the game. I stare at my interlaced fingers in my lap. Weston sits Maddox on the other side of him and turns toward me.

“What did the fuckin’ viper say?”

Tears build in my eyes. Even though I know she was coming over here to try and scare me away, something inside of me twists and turns in my gut. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

He stares at me for a long while before turning back to the game. I watch the game like a zombie. As badly as I want to forget that stupid blonde bimbo, I can’t. That exact reason was my dilemma in the first place. I knew about Weston’s reputation from the beginning. I knew it then and I know it now. I shouldn’t let this get to me, but it cuts me to the core. And not for the reason I thought it would. But because I really care for him.

The crowd jumps up from the stands and throws their hands in the air. I guess we won. The scoreboard reads 45 to 25. Maddox taps me on the top of the head and I look up at him. “Momma. We won! We won!” He fists pumps into the air.

Weston stares down at me but doesn’t say anything.

We rode to the game with Weston so he drops us off. Before I can tell him goodnight he jumps out of the truck and comes in with us. Maddox is asleep in my arms.

Placing him in his bed, I tug off his shoes, jeans and shirt before tucking him in tight. Weston is leaning against the hallway wall watching me when I walk out of Maddox’s room. We don’t speak but I can feel him on my heels. Each quick step I make is matched with his heavy stomp. I can feel the pressure of his presence as I grab the bathroom door.