Playing with Fire - A Sports Romance (6 page)

“I'm going to go grab a table,” Jen says, yelling to be heard over the pounding bass. “Get me a drink?”

I nod and turn towards the bar as Jen slips off into the crowd. I'm half-convinced I’ll see Frankie there, like sex in heels, like she was weeks ago. It’s not until I realize she’s not that I force myself to walk forward.

It takes a while to get our drinks and push through the crowd. Jen’s found a table in the middle of the room, and she grabs a bottle of beer from my hand as I slide into my chair.

“Isn't this great? There’s so much energy here!”

I smile and tip my beer bottle in her direction before taking a long pull. No matter how I feel about being here, it’s nice to see my sister having fun. It’s been years since we were able to hang out like this. So much has changed since we were young, and it’s strange to see her so grown up. The last time we hung out together, she wasn’t old enough to drink.

We both sit back in our chairs and listen to the band. Jen’s bopping her head to the music and practically dancing in her chair. I laugh at her, and she smacks the back of her hand against my shoulder. She scowls, but it soon turns to a wide grin.

After a few songs, I can see Jen getting anxious. I'm about to tell her to get out on the dance floor when some guy bends down next to her and says something into her ear. Jen glances over at me with her eyebrows raised and tilts her head towards the dance floor. I tip my bottle towards her and nod, and she jumps out of her chair and makes her way through the crowd with her new friend.

I’ve flagged down a waitress twice to order more beer by the time Jen comes back. The band has finished their set and is packing up, and the dance floor has started to clear. A mix of club-like dance music is pulsing through the air. I feel like I can breathe again.

“Where’s your friend?” I ask as Jen plops down across from me and snags my beer from the table.

“Eh, he took off a bit ago. I was having too much fun to stop.”

“Of course you were.” I smile and shake my head. She always was the outgoing type. I'm about to suggest we take off, maybe find another club where she can dance some more, when a guy lands in the seat beside Jen.

“There you are, love. I’ve been looking for you.”

Jen beams and leans towards him. “Well, hi there.” It’s the same guy she ran off with earlier, and he’s clearly made an impression. He sweeps his blond hair out of his eyes, then leans in close and whispers something in her ear.

“Hey, Vinny!”

The guy, Jen, and I all turn towards the voice. The woman who spoke is beautiful, absolutely stunning. She puts Madison, Red, and nearly every other woman I’ve met to shame. Long, tanned legs that are covered to mid-thigh by her skintight red dress. A plunging neckline that shows off so much of her chest I’m afraid she’ll fall right out. And her face, surrounded by waves of brown, highlighted hair, is beyond compare. I'm stunned, less by her utter beauty than by the guy’s reaction.

“Yeah, what do you want?” He yells it over his shoulder without even looking at the woman.

I whip my head back to this idiot, wondering why he would speak so disrespectfully to someone who looks like that. But in the next instance, she answers my question.

“There you are, brother! Here, I finally got our drinks.” The woman hands over a glass of amber colored liquid and takes a seat next to Vinny.

“Thanks, Viv.” Vinny turns back to Jen and grabs her hand. “Jen, this is my sister, Vivian.”

“Nice to meet you.” Jen says.

Vivian looks Jen over with a dazzling smile on her face before turning her eyes to me. Before she can say a word, she glances up towards the dance floor. She slaps her brother’s shoulder with the back of her hand and he follows her gaze.

“There you are!” Vinny jumps out of his chair and Vivian follows. I turn to see who they’re looking at and find exactly what I’d hoped to avoid tonight.

Frankie.

Only, it’s worse than just Frankie. Behind her, with his hands on her hips and his face buried in her neck, is some other guy. He’s tall, dark, muscular, and holding her like she belongs to him. When Frankie looks up and sees me, she freezes in her place. The guy looks at our table, taking in me and Jen. He buries his face in Frankie’s hair, and my gut feels like someone has it clutched in their fist. I lean forward, closer to Jen, ready to tell her we’re leaving. Before I can say anything, the guy with Frankie gives her a slight push towards the table and disappears into the crowd.

Frankie drags her eyes away from me, but I can't stop looking at her. Vinny introduces Jen to her. The next thing I know, Vivian is leaning in close to me, dragging her finger along my forearm.

“And what’s your name, handsome?”

I have to clear my throat, and I glance at Vivian and Vinny before speaking. “Corey,” I say. I lean back in my chair, away from Vivian, and return my eyes to Frankie. She’s ignoring me, like she has been the past month. She pulls a chair out at the table behind Vivian and takes a seat, keeping her eyes off me.

“So, love,” Vinny says, leaning in towards Jen, “you want to dance again?”

Jen looks at me. I can tell she knows something is wrong. Her eyes have narrowed and her lips are turned down at the corners.

“What do you say, Tiger? Mind if I dance?”

I narrow my eyes back at her, then glance around at Vinny, Vivian, and Frankie. “Sure, go ahead. But Jen?” I say as she stands up. “Be careful out there. People around here aren't always who they say they are.”

I don't see Jen’s reaction, though I'm sure she’s rolling her eyes at me. But I do see Frankie. Upon hearing me, she looks over at me and frowns. Jen and Vinny walk off, and moments later, Frankie jumps up from her seat.

“I'm getting a drink,” she announces before storming away towards the bar.

God, she is sex on heels. Her golden hair swings behind her, revealing her naked back. The dark blue dress she’s wearing caresses her body in a way that makes my hands tingle with jealousy. The skirt of her dress is as short as the one she wore the other night and I wonder if she’s wearing underwear tonight. I've never wanted anyone as bad as I want her right now, and it pisses me off.

“You’re a brave man,” Vivian says, leaning close to me.  

I force my eyes away from Frankie, where she’s talking up the bartender, the guy whose hands were all over her a few minutes ago. “What do you mean?” I ask.

Vivian motions to the dance floor. “Letting my brother take your girl out dancing.”

I stare at her dumbfounded for a moment before I catch what she's saying. Then I laugh. “Jen’s my sister.”

“Oh?” Vivian leans closer, dragging her fingers along my forearm again. “So, not your girl?”

“No, not my girl.” I glance out at the dance floor, where Jen and Vinny look like they’re having a grand old time. God, it turns my stomach to see my little sister like that, pressed up against some guy she’s just met. I look away, only to find Frankie walking back towards us, a martini in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. Seeing her is as bad as watching Jen, even if she doesn't look like she’s trying to have sex standing up.

I take a pull of my beer and look back to the dance floor, over in the corner to a group of people I've never seen before. Vivian removes her hand from my arm and turns away. There are hushed whispers between her and Frankie at the table where Frankie sits, and I do everything in my power to ignore them both. This night has gone on too long, and from the looks of it, Jen isn't going to want to leave anytime soon.

My beer is long empty when a movement at the corner of my eye catches my attention. The bartender is back. I glance over at him, trying not to show my interest. He’s holding a tray of drinks - beer bottles, a couple tumblers of clear and amber liquid, and a half-dozen shot glasses full of yellow liquid. He sets it on the table in front of Frankie and leans down to whisper in her ear. He watches me as he does it, and in that moment I recognize him. It’s the same guy who worked here a month ago. The one who called her “darlin’.” The one I wrote off as a non-concern once I had Frankie in my arms.

The guy doesn't linger, but disappears back to the bar. I look back to the dance floor, and a minute later Frankie is standing at my side.

“Mitch thought you might like a drink.” She’s brought a bottle of beer and one of the shot glasses. The yellow liquid glimmers in the lights from the dance floor and it takes a second for me to realize what it is. Patron. It’s the same thing we drank the night we were together.

“What is this, a fucking joke?” I demand, pissed at her callousness.

“It’s just a drink, Corey.” Frankie sets it on the table in front of me, her face a model of innocence.

I stand and pull my wallet out of my back pocket, taking out a hundred dollar bill. I move in close to Frankie. She doesn't back down, and the heat rising off her skin radiates towards me. I reach up and slide the bill into the neckline of her dress, and say just loud enough for her to hear, “You can keep your fucking drink.”

I'm across the dance floor and at Jen’s side before Frankie can react.

“Come on, we’re leaving,” I tell my sister as I grab her elbow.

“Corey!” Jen rips her arm away from me. “I'm dancing!”

“And I’m leaving,” I say back.

“Well, I’m not.”

I glance at Vinny, who’s staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Fine,” I say. “Find your own way home.”

I turn and leave, not bothering to look back as Jen calls after me. I’m being a dick, but I don't care. My sister’s a big girl, she can handle herself. I need to get out of here. I'm fed up with Frankie and I don't need her shit. I don't need mind games and reminders of a night that changed my life, not if it won't happen again.

I don't remember getting into my Corvette and driving across town. Parking the car and riding the elevator up to my floor is just a blur. I brush by Madison in the hall without a word, slamming the door in her face.

F
rankie

I
t’s time
. I can't put off seeing Corey any longer. If I do, the bios won't get written, the programs won't be ready for the season opener, and I’ll look like a fool. It’s my project, my name on the line, and I won't let him stand in the way of me getting the job done.

I'm ill thinking about this. Just like the other night when I saw him at the bar, with Jen in tow. My heart raced when I saw him, and a wave of unexpected jealousy surged through me when I saw her next to him. I thought I was going to puke when Jen called him Tiger. The nickname brought unbidden memories of his naked body under mine, of the tiger tattoo on his arm. I knew, then, she’d seen the tattoo. And I thought I knew why.

The relief I felt when Vivian told me Jen was his sister, not his lover, knocked me upside the head. Hadn’t I wanted him to move on? It would make it so I could move on, too. That relief told me something I didn't want, didn't want to know, couldn't believe: I had feelings for this man.

I knew that wouldn't do. Marco would ruin him. I couldn't allow that. I couldn't be the one who brought Corey Lucas to his knees. I had to let this go.

The drinks - the beer and the shot of Patron - while Mitch’s idea, were supposed to be an olive branch, a peace offering. I don't know what went wrong. I wanted to drop the animosity we held towards each other, try to go about our own separate lives. I never could have foreseen Corey’s reaction. I was left shaken and confused by his outburst. And the money he tucked into my dress made me feel, for the first time in my life, like a whore.

Vivian, Jen, and Vinny were appalled by Corey’s behavior. I couldn't explain to them what happened. None of them know about us. No one does, as far as I can tell. No one but Mitch, and he felt guilty for getting involved. He seemed to know before I did that I felt something for Corey. He also knew why it couldn't work.

I pull my head out of my arms on the desktop when a knock sounds at the door to my Arizona office. I've been here so much, it’s easy to forget this isn't a permanent setup. The dim light coming through the window, and the harsh fluorescent lighting overhead, has nothing on my office back home. But the setup works for my purposes here.

“Come in,” I say as I straighten my jacket and the papers on my small desk. For every other player I’ve interviewed for this, I’ve gone down to the practice field and pulled them to the side. It gave me a chance to watch them in their element and offered a string of conversation to help make these awkward interactions more bearable. After what happened the other night, I didn't want to be caught in public with Corey. I was afraid of his reaction, afraid he would do or say something that would end up hurting him in the end. So I asked one of the trainers I found in the hall to relay the message that he was to come here to my office.

After a moment of organizing the papers on the desk, I realize whoever knocked never entered. I'm not sure if they didn't hear me or if the knock was accidental. But Corey should be here by now. The coach and his staff are on board with this project. They haven't given any players passes to get out if this. They expect the team to show up when requested.

I step around my desk and go to the door. When I open it, I find Corey standing in the hall, his back to me as he stares out the wall of windows into the city. He turns to face me, his face devoid of emotion.

“You can come in,” I say.

“Really?” he asks, glaring at me. “I wasn't sure I was allowed. Wouldn't want to get slapped and thrown out.”

I take a step back at his words, feeling like I’ve been slapped. “Alright, I deserve that.” I motion for him to enter and he squeezes by me. The heat of his body hits me, even though there are inches between us. His smell wafts towards me, bringing back haunting memories of his naked, sweaty body laid out underneath me as we both tried hard to catch our breath. I shake my head and try to push aside my errant thoughts.

Corey takes a seat on one side of the black faux leather sofa, one arm on the armrest, the other draped over the back. He crosses a leg, putting his ankle on his knee, and stares at me. He’s the first player to choose the couch instead of one of the matching leather chairs that sit on either side of it. I've come to think of it as mine, and having him sit there, all gorgeous and defiant, like he can come in and claim whatever he wants, makes my stomach drop.

I walk around to my desk and pick up the bio that was put together when Corey joined the team a year ago. I turn and look at him, unsure of how to begin. All of the other players were open and talkative. Some even tried to hit on me. But Corey is so closed off, and talking about the weather or his game feels wrong.

I summon up my courage and take a seat on the opposite side of the couch. I lean against the armrest and tuck a leg underneath me, trying to look casual even though I've never felt more awkward.

“Look, Corey, I'm sorry—”

“No,” he interrupts, and for a moment I think he’s going to yell at me again. He reaches his hand towards me and I flinch away from him. The skin around his eyes scrunches up as he pauses with his hand hovering in mid-air. When he sits back, he shakes his head. “I'm… I'm the one who should apologize. I was out of line and I never… I’m sorry.”

I'm stunned by his apology and unsure how to respond. Before I do, Corey turns on the couch, pulling his leg up on the seat next to him and facing me.

“I didn't mean to insinuate anything with the money,” he says. His dark blue eyes are locked on mine with such intensity it takes me a moment to understand what he means.

“You talked to Jen.”

He drops his head down and looks up at me through his thick lashes. “It was for the drinks. My tab, the other night and last month.”

“You didn't have to pay me back for that,” I tell him. “It was supposed to be my treat.”

A wide smile breaks out on his face. “If I remember right, you gave me quite the treat later. Quite a few times.”

My cheeks heat up and I look away from him. When I glance back, he’s rubbing the palm of his hand with his thumb. I've never seen him like this, so quiet and unsure.

“You’re not what I expected,” I say.

He looks up at me with a crooked smile on his lips. “The best you’ve ever had?”

I laugh and he joins in. “Hmm, maybe.” I smile back. I don't dare let him know how right he is. “You’re different.”

“Different how?”

I search for the words to explain for a moment. “You’re caring. You really love your sister, don't you?”

Corey grimaces. “What’d she tell you?”

“Nothing too awful,” I assure him, still smiling. “But you’d have to be, what you did for her. Letting her stay at your place, taking her shopping and out to a bar so she can have fun on your one day off in the month. I wouldn't have expected that out of you.”

He shrugs as if it’s no big deal, but by the way he’s avoiding my gaze, I can tell it is. It’s heartwarming how much he cares for his sister. I can tell there’s a story in there somewhere, and I wonder if I’ll ever learn it.

After a moment, I scoot closer to him on the couch and hand him his bio. “This one isn't that bad. I don't think it needs to change, unless you want it to.”

He grins at me and leans a little closer. “That's because I wrote it.”

“You?” I say with a laugh.

“Hey, I majored in business in college. We had to take all those writing and marketing classes, too.”

“Is that your backup plan? Corey Lucas, businessman?”

“One can never be too careful. If nothing else, I can make a living off the interest on all the money I can invest from my baseball salary. You know, maybe I can afford a rowboat by the time I can't play ball anymore. Or maybe a canoe.”

We laugh together at his expense. I didn't realize how much I missed this part of him. The day we spent together in my hotel room, we laughed a lot, more than I remember laughing in my lifetime. Corey is so much more than great sex. He’s more than a caring brother. Or a great ball player. He’s a breath of fresh air in a room lacking oxygen.

He hands me back his bio, but as his fingers graze mine, it slips from my grasp and tumbles to the ground. Before I can move to pick it up, Corey’s fingers grip mine. The warmth and tenderness are as unexpected to me as so much of his personality. I want so badly to move in closer to him, to touch his face, brush his lips with mine. I want to climb on top of him and meld my flesh to his. But I can't.

“I'm nothing but trouble for you, Corey.”

He squeezes my fingers, running his thumb across my knuckles. His dark eyes simmer in the light streaming through my window. “A little trouble never hurt no one.”

I shake my head and pull my hand away from his grasp. “You don't know my brand of trouble.”

“Is this about that bartender?” he asks.

“Mitch? No. No, he’s just a friend.”

“Really?” Corey leans forward again, brushing his fingers against my knee. “You treat all your friends like that?” My cheeks heat and he laughs a deep rumble when he sees it. “If so, I’d like to be your friend, Frankie.”

“Friends, huh?” I ask as I eye his hand taking a slow path up my thigh. I want to stop him. I put my hand over his and he stills. But his eyes are calling to me, and I'm hopelessly moving closer to him.

“I want to taste you again,” he says, and his lips brush mine. “I want to touch you again.”

I move my hand to his face as he kisses me, gentle at first and then with more urgency. His hands are exploring my body as our tongues dance together. This dance, his taste, is so familiar, as if I’ve been drinking it in my entire life.

I pull back and work my lips over his jaw. He pulls me into his lap and I straddle him, moving against him. I grab a fistful of hair and tug, exposing his neck, and I nip it, lick it, kiss it, until my lips are burning with need.

I need this.

I can't have this.

I have to stop.

I don't want to.

“I can't do this,” I pant as my lips find his again. “I can't… Oh, God, Corey.”

Corey’s hands are on my hips, pressing me down on top of him as he grinds his erection into me. “I know, doll. I know.”

Those words undo me. I've never wanted anyone so much. And yet I know I can't have him. I slow my assault on his mouth, then loosen my grip on his hair. He feels the change, too, and loosens his grasp on me.

“I'm sorry,” I tell him, kissing him once more, then again. “I'm sorry, Corey, I can't. I can't, I'm sorry.”

I pry myself off of him and walk to the windows to get away from his smell. I clutch my fingers against my lips, holding in the memory of his taste. I lean against the window, desperate to catch my breath and find some semblance of control. Corey comes up behind me, the heat from his body offsetting the cold from the glass against my forehead. His hands rest on my shoulders for a moment, then he pulls me back into him.

I turn and face him and allow him to kiss me when he bends his face to mine. The heat is still there, but the urgency is gone. There's just a slow, sensual dance as lips caress lips.

He pulls away and runs the tip of his nose along my nose before he rests his forehead against mine. I slide my arms around his waist and he does the same to me.

“You need to go,” I tell him, my quiet words not wanting to come out. I slide my hands to his chest and push ever so slightly. My body is rebelling against my mind, wanting him close to me when I know I can't allow it. “I can't be with you.”

“Frankie, doll, please,” Corey says back, his voice low and pleading.

“I'm sorry.” I kiss him on the lips before pushing him away. “Please, don't pursue me. This won't end well.”

All his fight leaves him. His shoulders slump like a balloon with a slow leak. He looks deep into my eyes and I'm lost in the dark looking back at me. With one last gesture, his fingers brushing down my cheek and neck, Corey turns and leaves me there. My body aches for his touch while my mind tells me I did the right thing. It's for the best. It's the only way to keep him safe.

* * *

“
W
hat are you doing here
?” Vivian asks as she walks across the tile floor of my uncle's plush living room and sits down on the soft, cream-colored leather chair across from me.

I look up from my spot where I’m curled up on the sofa with a thick blanket wrapped tight around me. I give my best attempt at a smile, but judging by the look on Vivian’s face, I’m sure I haven’t succeeded.

“I thought I’d come home for the weekend,” I tell her. I realize after I say it that my lousy attempt at a smile came off better than my explanation. Vivian knows better.

Even though I’ve lived here in Marco’s house since before my teenage years, I’ve never felt like this was home. I grew up in my grandmother’s house and chose to stay there after my mother died. It was one of the only times Marco listened to my wishes for my life. But then again, he wasn’t one to cross his mother. I’ve felt homeless since I was twelve, when my grandmother passed and I was forced to come live with Marco. Not homeless, as in living on the streets. But homeless, without a place I can call home, where I can be myself, do what I want, and enjoy the simple things in life.