Playing with Fire - A Sports Romance (12 page)

“Don’t say that. You—”

“It’s true!”

“Frankie, would you shut the fuck up already and let me talk?” Corey stiffens behind me as the eyes of the many people around us glance in our direction. When he continues, his voice is quieter. “I might not have grown up with a shit family like you. But I grew up with people who loved me. I know they love me. I know what love is, and I know I love you.”

“What?” I spin around, forcing his arms away from me. My heart is racing and my stomach starts to churn as I watch him. My legs give out, like some cheesy-ass chick flick, and Corey grabs me before I can fall to the ground. He drags me over to the edge of the building and folds his legs under me as he sets me down in his lap.

“I love you, Frankie,” Corey whispers into my ear. My heart flutters as he nuzzles my neck, and chills race down my spine. “I love you. You are good enough for me. You're more than good enough for me. Every moment of the day I think of nothing but being with you. I don't fucking care what you came from. I care what you are, and I care that you have my heart. I want you, and only you, forever.”

I sit in stunned silence. Corey doesn’t move his face from the crook of my neck, and his warm breath hitting my skin is the only thing reminding me to breathe. I can’t think. I can’t move. I feel like my body is going to explode.

“Talk to me, doll.” When I don’t respond, Corey tries again. “I just poured my heart out to you, baby. If you don’t say something, I’m going to assume you want me to jump off the building, and I don’t think I can handle that. I’m kinda afraid of heights.”

His quiet chuckle is what gets me. I turn my face towards his.

“Are you serious?”

“Well, yeah, I mean… I don't exactly quake in fear or anything, but I'd rather not hang over the side of the building. The Hancock Tower observation deck isn't horrible, but you can fucking forget about trying to get me to go out on the Grand Canyon sky—”

“Corey,” I interrupt.

He has that crazy-ass grin on his face that I love. “Yeah?”

“That’s not what I was asking about.”

“Oh.” He furrows his brow and cocks his head to the side. “What were you asking?”

“You…really love me?”

His eyes fall to the ground, and for a second my stomach goes with them. But then he grins again. “Yeah, I really do.”

I wrap my arms around his neck, and his arms go around my waist and I'm so happy I feel like I could throw up.

“I love you, Corey Lucas,” I tell him. “I love you.”

He lets out a heavy breath, like he had been holding it in, waiting for me to respond. He pulls me in tighter, then his lips find my bare neck and I can't help but throw my head back to give him access to my delicate skin.

“I love you, Frankie,” Corey mumbles between kisses. “I want you so bad.”

I can feel how bad he wants me as the ridge in his pants grows hard beneath my thigh.

“Take me,” I taunt him. “Take me, please.”

He pulls back with a growl, his hooded eyes staring me down. “I want to make love to you, doll. I want you yelling my name as I torture you with my cock inside of you.”

“Please.” I moan, desperately wanting the same thing.

“I want you in bed.”

“No!”

“Yes, baby. I want to take you back to the hotel and lay you out and make love to you the right way.”

I can see the change in his eyes. The lust is still there, but he’s found restraint I’m having trouble finding in myself. Corey pulls me off the ground and back down the elevator, settling in a cab next to me. His hand runs the length of my thigh, up and down, a slow torture, working me up. He refuses to go higher even as I wiggle in my seat, trying to get closer to him.

“When did you know?” I ask, breathless, trying to turn my thoughts to something other than what his hand is doing to me.

“You first,” he says, grinning.

“Milwaukee,” I tell him. “In the car.”

“When I told you I didn't ever want you to stop?”

I nod and cuddle closer to him. “What about you?”

“Honestly?” Corey looks out the window of the dark cab, and I watch the city lights flash across his face. When he turns back to me, his eyes are full of wonder. “It’s the same for me. But really…in the elevator that first night. I knew then I'd never be the same.”

He kisses me with gentle, soft lips against mine, his warm breath heating my skin. I slide my hand down his arm and intertwine my fingers with his. Our hands are cold from being on top of the world, and a shiver of pleasure flows through me.

“I have a surprise for you,” I tell him, quiet so the cabbie can’t hear. I drag my hand up my leg, raking his long fingers across my bare skin. Corey's eyes meet mine and melt with desire as our hands reach the apex of my thighs, skin to skin, hot to cold.

“Fuck, Frankie,” he growls. “What are you doing to me?”

F
rankie

T
hree nights
in Milwaukee and three in New York were not enough. Especially after Corey opened his heart and declared his love for me. He’d always been attentive before, but after I told him I loved him, too, Corey made sure all my needs were met, both in and out of bed.

We christened every surface in his hotel room our last day in New York. We ordered an amazing breakfast feast from room service, then proceeded to work off the calories in bed. My heart ached as he went off to the game, knowing we’d be apart for a few days. While he was catching a flight with the team to St. Louis afterwards, I stayed until the next morning and then headed home.

I tried to throw myself into my work and was able to get caught up on most of the tasks that needed my attention in those three days. Walking down the hall to grab some coffee, I overhear something that stalls my heart.

“I heard he brought her to the top of the Empire State Building one night.”

“Oh, there she is! Frankie!”

I want to run and hide. I want to fly to St. Louis, kidnap Corey, and go into hiding. Surely if my staff has heard about Corey and me, it’s only a matter of time before Marco comes beating down the door. I take my time turning back to the women, who are standing amid the grey cubicle farm between the upper level management offices and the coffee station. Ally and Janine are a few years older than me, but their smiles make them look like gossiping teenagers.

“Tell us about the ring!”

“Excuse me?” I ask, my voice strained.

“Ellen’s ring, silly!” Ally says. “What did it look like?”

It takes a few minutes of back and forth before I begin to understand. Ellen’s ring. Matt Cromwell's Ellen. He proposed to her atop the Empire State Building the night after Corey brought me up there. The girls know nothing about my own trip to the top of the world. I want to cry in relief.

“I wasn't aware he proposed.” The girls groan at the lost opportunity to gossip some more. “I was holed up in my hotel room, working.”

I smile at my underhandedness. Yes, I did spend the evening in my hotel room. Though I wasn't exactly working. The team plane took off in the middle of the night. Corey made it sound like some technical difficulty or last-minute scheduling change, and I now wonder if it had something to do with Matt’s proposal to Ellen. I spent a good deal of the night texting Corey while he waited for their flight to take off. But by merely mentioning I was working, Ally and Janine calm down and get back to work themselves.

I skip the coffee and rush back to my office. My cellphone sits on the desk where I left it, counting down the minutes until Corey is finished with the afternoon game. They’ll have a late flight back, but I'm beyond anxious to see him again.

I grab my phone and shoot off a quick text, yelling at him in all caps for not telling me about Matt’s engagement. I glance at the time and decide I've had enough for the day. I still have a few hours until I can expect a response.

I need to talk to someone. I need to tell someone about Corey, about me, about the two of us, in love, in a real honest-to-God relationship. There’s only one person I can tell, and he’s been off work the last couple nights. Tonight, though, Mitch will be at the bar at the Savory. I can't wait to talk to him.

After a quick stop at my hotel room so I can change out of my straight-laced business clothes and into a more comfortable knee-length skirt, I rush down to Riverside. It’s late enough that the bar and dance floor are packed. Mitch isn’t there. His manager, Carol, makes me a drink and tells me he’s on his dinner break but will be back within the hour.

I take a sip of my martini and set it on the bar while I turn and watch the band playing on stage. It’s the same one that was playing the night Corey and I met. I shake my head at the drummer, remembering how I was willing to bed him down to fulfill my urges. I'm so glad that didn't happen. Corey has become everything to me, has ruined me for all other men.

I’m thankful the people on either side of me at the bar are women, both chatting up the men they’re sitting next to. I’m not looking for conversation. I catch the eye of a couple gentlemen at the tables near me, but I'm not looking for that anymore, either. I turn my back to them and grab my martini, throwing back a large gulp.

“God, I miss Mitch,” I mutter under my breath. I remember now why I stopped coming here when he wasn't working. I love Carol. She’s great, she really is. But her martinis are shit. This one tastes salty, for God’s sake. I have to wonder if she dumped an entire jar of olive juice into the shaker. I push the drink aside, knowing I can't stand another sip of the swill. Mitch will make me a good one when he gets here.

I watch the band through the mirrors behind the bar. The crowd tonight must be larger than normal, too many bodies packed in, because I'm beginning to sweat. As I start getting warmer, I start getting dizzy. The pounding bass of the drums vibrates too much in my ears and soon I have a splitting headache. My hands start trembling, and I decide to step outside for some fresh air.

As I make my way to the door, the room starts to spin like a Ferris wheel. The flashing lights on the dance floor turn the faces of the crowd a vivid purple. The shadows make their eyes bulging and black. I swear it must be Halloween, because half the crowd is wearing wicked black horns on their heads. A couple dozen times, men wearing blinding yellow trench coats sweep by me, bumping me into more black-eyed, purple-skinned, demonic forms. The floor feels like a bounce house beneath my feet, and every person in the room must be jumping out of sync because my stomach starts to churn.

Suddenly, I'm standing in the middle of the boardwalk, the cold lake water lapping at my feet. My skin feels like I’ve been licked by a dog, every inch of me covered in a warm, sticky paste. I turn in circles, trying to get away from the giant orange mutt, trying to climb the steps to get on the plane as it starts to take off into the blood-red sky. The steps keep disappearing and I fall back into the lake. Each moment I can't find the stairs is like an eternity. I have to get to Corey before Marco does. I have to warn him the demons are coming.

A hand slithers across my shoulder like a snake, and I scream as I turn towards the source. The creature in front of me has Mitch’s face, but it’s covered in thick green scales that glimmer like jade in the moonlight. Beady little eyes stare back at me, and a thin red tongue flicks from its jaws between thick, black fangs.

“Frankie?” The voice sounds like Mitch. I think. I can't remember what Mitch sounds like. Then I can't remember what he looks like. My stomach’s heaving, and just as the contents empty onto the ground, my legs give out, my vision gives out, smell, taste, everything is gone. Only blackness remains.

C
orey

I
can't get
the phone call out of my mind. Not during the excruciating wait for the plane to taxi to the runway before it can begin its long ascent. Not as I wait for the team bus to make its slow crawl through the nearly non-existent, middle of the night traffic. Not as I hop in my Corvette and speed towards the Savory.

Her name popped up on my phone screen as it has so many times before.
Ashley
. My Frankie. But the voice on the other end wasn't the angel’s song I was expecting.

“Hey, doll,” I said into the phone after I got out of earshot of my teammates waiting to board the plane. “I miss you so—”

“Who's this?” The voice is rough, anxious, and most definitely male.

“‘Who’s this?’ Who the fuck are you, and what are you doing with Frankie's phone?”

“Corey?” the guy asked.

“Where’s Frankie?”

“Is this Corey Lucas?”

“Listen, asshole—”

“No, you listen,” he interrupted, yelling in my ear. “I need to get ahold of Corey. It’s important. It's about Frankie. So answer my fucking question and quit wasting my time.”

My heart lurched in my chest. “This is Corey. Where’s Frankie?”

“Frankie’s safe. Corey, she was drugged. I found her before anything could happen to her. She’s in her room at the Savory. She’s safe. But you need to get here as soon as you can. She needs you.”

“Fuck.” I grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked. “Who is this?”

“Mitch,” he told me. “The bartender from Riverside. Look, just get here, okay?”

“I’m in St. Louis. Shit. What’s she doing at the hotel? Shouldn’t she be at the hospital?”

“You know she wouldn’t want that. I know about Marco, Corey. And I know neither of you want him involved. She’s safe. Nothing’s going to happen. Just get here, okay?”

I exchange my car for a valet ticket and rush inside the Savory. The elevator has never been so slow. It’s as if time has slowed. Every step towards her hotel room door feels like there’s a wave of water pushing me back, keeping me from getting there. I pound my fist on her door and after too long, it cracks opens.

Standing in the doorway, backlit by the early morning sunlight streaming in the windows, is a half-naked man. His hair is wet, dripping water down onto the towel draped around his shoulders. The dark-wash jeans he’s wearing hang low off his hips. His bare chest is ripped, and a tattoo shows at his throat. Another snakes down his sides and disappears beneath his pants.

My eyes flash over him, taking everything in in a split second, before I peer into the room. I can make out the form of an angel, silent and unmoving on the bed. Glancing back at Mitch, my fists ball up and I feel the urge to pound them against his face.

“What the fuck is this?” I ask as I barge into the room, my suit jacket swaying around my waist.

Frankie’s lying on the bed with a sheet and blanket wrapped snug around her. She's wearing a thin black tank top, and her hair’s pulled back into a messy, off-centered ponytail at the back of her head. She turns to face me, slow, like it hurts. Her face is a mask of pain as she whispers, “I’m sorry, Corey.”

“No. No, this is not happening.” I spin away from her, my legs shaking, my heart threatening to explode. Mitch is standing beside the door. I smash my hands into his chest, throwing him back against the wall. “Fuck you,” I say in his face, my words loud and accompanied by spit.

I grab the door handle and throw it open. There’s yelling behind me, but I don’t stop. I’m halfway down the long, dim hall to the elevator when a hand clamps down on my shoulder. I can tell, by the sheer force of the grip, that it’s not Frankie. I spin back, swinging my fist as I go. Mitch dodges my swing, so I throw another with my other hand. I must be blind with rage, because it misses too. I'm trying to right myself so I can swing again when a sudden burst of pain explodes across my cheek.

“No!” Frankie’s voice yells out from nearby. “No, Mitch! Stop!” She’s there at my side, clinging to my arm. I try to shake her off, but the pain is blinding me.

“Get the fuck off of me!” As her hands disappear from my body, another set of hands grab mine. My wrists are trapped in a vise grip and my arms are pulled hard behind my back.

“Calm down,” Mitch says to me. His voice is strained and cold. He grabs the neck of my jacket and pushes me forward. I'm forced to walk, though I struggle every step of the way. Frankie runs ahead of us and pushes open the door to her room just in time for Mitch to shove me through the doorway and then fling me across the floor. I land face first on the bed, and pain lances through my cheek.

“Corey!” Frankie is by my side, clutching at my arm again, and I push her away.

“Get the fuck off of me!” I repeat.

Mitch pulls her away from me, hiding her body behind his, and my heart is shredded. “Don’t you dare talk to your woman that way,” he says in that same cold, strained voice.

I’m clutching my face in my hand, trying to ease the pain, when his words hit me.

“My woman?” I peer up at him where he stands between me and Frankie. She’s in tears, straining to get around him.

“Mitch, please!”

He releases her and she flies to my side. Her hands hover in front of me as if she’s afraid I'll break if she touches me.

“Corey, baby,” she says as her hand caresses my uninjured cheek. “Mitch,” she pleads without taking her eyes from mine, “go get him some ice.”

Mitch grabs an ice bucket off the dresser and leaves without a word. I crumple on the bed, my cheek throbbing, my body and mind rebelling against each other. Frankie’s head is on my chest as she fingers my hand, pressing until it rolls over and she’s able to slide her fingers between mine.

“I’m sorry, Corey,” Frankie says to me again.

“What’d you do, Frankie?”

“I don’t know. I did something stupid. I had to have, because I don’t remember anything. I don’t even know how I got here. The last thing I remember was texting you about Matt, then everything else is a blur.”

I’m silent a moment before I address the elephant that just left the room for a bucket of ice. “What’s Mitch doing here?”

“He said he found me walking around in the room behind the bar. He said he tried asking me what happened, but I threw up on him and passed out.” Frankie’s breath heaves out of her, her shoulders shuddering against my side. “His manager, Carol, said she made me one drink, and it was still half-full on the bar where I left it.”

Something wet leeches through my dress shirt under her head. It breaks something inside of me and I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close to me.

“I’m so stupid,” she says, sobbing against my shoulder.

“No, doll. You were drugged.”

“But I let it happen. I know better. Marco taught me better. Never leave your drink unattended. Never take your eyes off your drink. I must have done something, or this never would have happened.”

A quiet knock sounds on the door before the lock beeps and Mitch comes back in the room. He pulls a plastic bag full of ice out of a bucket and hands it to me.

“Sorry about the eye,” he says as I take the ice from him. “I was trying to stop you from hurting yourself. Guess I swung harder than I thought.”