Playing Hard: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (11 page)

But for Ava….

The thought is in my head before I can stop it.

But for Ava what?
I ask myself with irritation. She’s just some girl. She drives me nuts — worse than any other girl I’ve ever met. And I don’t do relationships. Not even with girls I actually get along well with, like Kara. Kara’s easy-going, she has no expectations of me, and I have none of her. I don’t for one second imagine it’d be the same with Ava.

The only thing we have in common is this frankly ridiculous situation. Except for that, I never would have even met her.

Except that I did, the day I singled her out after I made the winning run.

There were plenty of people around I could’ve run to, but she’d been there, standing in the winter sunshine like some kind of angel sent down from Heaven to reward me for winning the game. I’d remembered her even before Coach Jackson brought her up again.

Somehow, she’d gotten under my skin from the very first moment I saw her.

And I can’t say I’m loving it.

“Look,” she says suddenly, breaking into my thoughts and grabbing the iPad out of my hand. “If you’re completely finished with your interrogation about my love life, we have to choose somewhere to eat, whether you like it or not.” She quickly skims through a few of the places I vetoed. “This one looks fine. We’re going here. You can get your pizza.”

She tosses the iPad back into my lap, and I pick it up to see one of the fancy places I rejected up on the screen — Balotelli’s.

“Whatever,” I mutter, suddenly not in the mood to argue anymore. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

AVA

Riley goes quiet — for once — after the revelation that I’m a virgin.

He doesn’t even argue when I pick out Balotelli’s as the place we’re going on our date.

I can feel a blush creeping up my throat for about the fiftieth time since I’ve met Riley Knox.

I don’t know why I let him do this to me. We don’t really even know each other, yet I can’t get him out of my head. If Murray had chosen literally anyone else for this stupid publicity stunt, I’m sure I would’ve been able to keep it together, keep it professional, and just do what had to be done. But instead, I’m sitting in the back of a limo with, heaven help me, the only man I’d actually ever consider having sex in the back of a limo with.

Ever since Riley mentioned it I haven’t been able to get the idea out of my head. He couldn’t stop talking about it.

And now, he’s gone all quiet. Like he’s thinking. I’m not sure if I like that or not. I don’t know if I ever want any insight into what goes on in his head. It’s probably all ‘sports, sports, sports, vaginas, getting laid, blow jobs, sports, sports, sports’. Not a lot of mystery.

And for some reason, I still want him to fuck me senseless, the way he says he can.

I don’t doubt it for a moment.

Except now he’s gone from trying to get into my pants — and very nearly convincing me to let him — to total silence.

“I chose it because you said you like pizza,” I offer lamely after a moment or two of continued lack of conversation.

He glances at me. “I do like pizza,” he says. “I eat it every chance I get in the offseason. Coach won’t let us when we’re playing — he’s a hardass about that kind of thing. Not that I usually listen. I’ll just go sweat it out at an extra gym session or something.”

I nod. “Okay.” I have no idea about what footballers do to stay in shape. “I mean… I guess that makes sense. You guys seem pretty fit.”

I remember Riley’s rippling muscles: his taut, toned abs and biceps that bulged beneath his tanned skin. Thighs thicker than my waist.
Pretty fit
doesn’t exactly do it justice.

Riley laughs. “Yeah. We do.”

We lapse back into awkward silence. Or it’s awkward for me, anyway. When I glance across at Riley, he seems totally at his ease, still spread out across the majority of the limo’s back seat, thighs open wide. 

“So what the hell am I supposed to wear to this place, anyway?” he asks, making me jump as I realize I’ve been staring. Who can blame me, though? The man’s a Greek god made flesh.

“A suit would be nice,” I tell him. “You don’t have to have a tie, but it has to be a nice suit. And no flip-flops. You have to wear proper shoes.”

“Thanks, but I got the memo about not wearing flip-flops in winter,” he says, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “I take it my denim cutoffs are also out?”

I stare at him. “You do
not
own denim cutoffs.”

Riley just laughs again. A shiver runs down my spine, and I feel heat pooling between my legs. God, his laugh is sexy.

Why oh why did I have to blurt out that I was a virgin?

I could’ve been having hot sex in the back of this limo right now if I hadn’t done that. I could’ve been feeling Riley’s tongue between my thighs, his strong hands holding my legs open, one of them creeping up my body to hold my breast….

Except, of course I couldn’t. My dad or Murray would definitely find out, and then everything would be over. It’s better I just do my best to keep things as professional as possible, now that I know Murray’s never going to be convinced to let me out of this stupid arrangement.

“I might,” Riley says, and I swear I see him wink. “You could come over and find out. I’d model them for you. Of course, I haven’t worn them since I was about twelve. I’ve filled out a little since then. But
you
could probably still squeeze into them. Might be a bit small, though.”

“Small, huh?” I
never
would have predicted five minutes ago I’d want to hear another flirtatious word out of Riley’s mouth ever again. But after the weird silence, this is almost a relief. I don’t even know why — I’ve wavered between wanting to fuck him and wanting to punch him since the moment we met. My life would be a lot easier if he
would
just shut up, and stay shut up. Or if he
has
to talk, that he would stop making the kind of suggestive remarks that keep reminding me of everything I can’t have. 

Riley smirks. “
Not
in the crotch area. But your ass might not have much coverage. Not that I’d be complaining.”

“Well, keep dreaming. Because I am
not
wearing anything like that, ever,” I say.

His eyes rake up and down my body.

“Yeah, I got that. So it’s just sexy librarian then, is it? You never cut loose?”

“I am
not
trying to be a sexy librarian,” I tell him indignantly. “This is how I look.”

“Like I said, sexy librarian. Are you wearing a sexy little thong under there? I bet you are.”

“No!” I say, scandalized. “Don’t be so crude. How would
you
like it if I asked about
your
underpants?”

Riley shrugs, eyes twinkling. “I wouldn’t care. In fact, I’d encourage it. Anyway, you spend enough time walking around naked in front of like, thirty other guys, and you start to lose your modesty.”

Don’t think about Riley naked,
I think desperately, but it’s too late. I’m already picturing him in the showers after a game, all steamy and wet, lathering soap over his chest, working his hands slowly down across his abs, working lower and lower toward his —

I cough, cutting off my own thoughts.

Inappropriate. Utterly inappropriate.

“I can show you them now, if you want.”

“What?”

I can’t have heard that right.

But then, I don’t know why I should be surprised. Riley’s done nothing but make crude suggestions and sexual innuendoes in every conversation we’ve had. Why on earth
wouldn’t
he offer to show me his jockstrap, or whatever he’s wearing?

“Come on,” he says, turning to me. “But it has to be even. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“What?” I say again, feeling stupid. “I’m
not
showing you my underpants. What the hell are you talking about?”

“Are they discolored or something?” Riley asks. “Are they your grandma’s panties?”

“No,” I snap, as I try desperately to remember what underpants I even put on this morning. It’s not like it matters, I suppose — I only have one kind, which are nice cotton ones with little bows on the front. I like them. They’re comfy and soft. Not like the lacy things made of string that Darcey wears, which I can’t even imagine would be anything other than torture to wear, crawling up your buttcrack or chafing your vulva.  

“Then what’s the problem?” Riley’s grin has turned positively wicked. It’s making the heat that has been growing in my belly and between my legs almost unbearable. I can feel myself throbbing against my own thighs. I have to resist the urge to rub them together, to try to create a little friction.

“Uh, maybe I don’t want to show my panties to an almost complete stranger in the back of a car?” I say. “Maybe that?”

“C’mon, Ava, we’re not strangers. We’re
dating
.”

“Not in real life,” I point out for what seems like the thousandth time.

“You
have
to loosen up,” Riley says, leaning back and somehow seeming to fill even more space in the limo than he does already. I mean, he’s big and he’s tall, but somehow he’s defying the laws of physics here, and seeming to take up the whole car. “No one’s going to think we’re dating if you look so on edge the whole time when we’re together. Or we have the world’s most miserable relationship.”

“Well, I’ve got that in common with whatever other girlfriends you’ve had in the past,” I snap, and immediately regret it — if only slightly. Riley doesn’t seem offended, though.

“I told you, I don’t do the whole ‘girlfriend’ thing,” he says. “You’re my first, sweetheart.”

I know I’m blushing scarlet all over again. I know he’s trying to
make
me blush.

Why did I tell him I’m a virgin? I’ll never hear the end of it now.

“And your proposal to get me to relax is, what, show you my underpants?”

“Do you have a better idea?” he asks. “Look. It’s no big deal.”

He unzips his jeans, lifting himself up from the seat of the limo with his powerful thighs.

I want to tell him to stop, but my throat’s gone dry, and any words I know have temporarily left my head. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. As he slowly unzips his fly, my eyes fall irresistibly to his crotch. I don’t want to look — at least, that’s what I tell myself. But I can’t seem to help myself.

After he finishes with the zip, he pops open the button at the waistband, before opening his jeans.

He’s wearing white boxer briefs, so at least it isn’t silk shorts with women’s lips on them or anything. A small trail of very short, dark hair runs down from his navel to the elastic waistband, before disappearing underneath it. He must shave, but that doesn’t surprise me. I guess manscaping is all part of being the kind of guy Riley is.

I swallow, letting my eyes drift lower down. And pause.

Okay, those rumors about what Riley’s packing are
definitely
not just rumors. I can only see a little where his jeans part, but it’s enough. I can see the outline of his cock — of his
enormous
cock — through the cotton of his boxers. It’s not like I’ve seen a
ton
of cocks in my life. All right, I’ve seen exactly one. On a boy in prep school who flashed me as a prank. I don’t even think that counts. And it certainly didn’t make my mouth water the way Riley’s is right now, even though I can’t even
see
it properly — just the outline of it where it rests against his thigh. Like a dormant snake. Or something equally long and thick and powerful.

I gulp in air like I’ve just run a mile.

And then, all too quickly, he’s pulling his jeans back up again, tucking himself away, zipping his fly back up. When I can bring myself to meet his eyes again, he’s smirking in that way that makes me want to either kiss him or slap him. Or maybe both. Possibly at the same time.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asks. “No shame in it. Now you.”

“
What?
” I squeak, my voice coming out all high-pitched. “No way. I never agreed to that.”

“Fair’s fair,” Riley says, as if it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. “I did it. Now you have to.”

“What are you, five?” I ask, incredulous. “I didn’t ask to see your di— your underpants. You did that by yourself. You were just being an exhibitionist.”

“So? You still owe me.” Riley leans forward. “Come on, is it really such a big deal?”

Is it?

I purse my lips, all ready to tell Riley that yes, it
is
a big deal, and I am
not
, under any circumstances, going to flash him.

But then, a voice in my head asks me — is it
really
that big of a deal?

Riley’s already said he’s not going to tell anyone anything about us. And it’s only material — it’s not like he’ll be seeing anything important. I’ve been to the beach in a bikini before, so people have seen me in less.

This is wrong.

As I contemplate it though, a little angel appears out of nowhere to land on my shoulder and balance out the devil who spoke up before.

You’re not supposed to actually do anything with him. This is all a publicity stunt.

The angel is right. I should keep this professional. If my dad knew about this, he’d hit the roof, and I’d certainly never see Riley again.

But he’d never know. Murray would never know. No one would ever know….

I lick my lips.

Before I know what I’m doing, my fingers are creeping down to the hem of my skirt, where it sits just above my knees. It’s a tartan wool skirt, nice and warm for winter, and I like it. It’s vintage Ralph Lauren, not that I’ve ever really cared about fashion labels, but at least I know there I can usually buy something that won’t leave my tits hanging out and my ass exposed to the world.

I mean, unless I actually lift my skirt and show it off.

Like I’m about to do now.

Just as I grip the hem of my skirt, I’m interrupted by the sound of the driver’s voice over the intercom. I nearly jump out of my seat, my heart thumping. Even Riley looks a little surprised.

“Miss, we’re almost there. Would you like to be dropped at one of the campus gates, or at your apartment?”

Taking a moment to still my breathing, I bite my lip before I press the intercom button. “Could you drop me at my apartment? Thanks.”