Playing House: A Small Town Brother’s Best Friend Romance (The Playboys of Sin Valley Book 1)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  “Is my little sister being a distraction? She been keeping you up all night?”

  When he says that, my left nut curls itself up into the fetal position and ducks into my stomach for cover. Little coward. “W-what?” I stutter out.

  “I just mean, she must be spilling her heart out, talking your ear off all day over there, huh? Rocky this and Rocky that. I know how girls get when they have a broken heart.”

  I clear my throat. “Nah, she’s been. Good. She’s…great.”

  He makes a sound in his throat. “Anyway, have you heard from her today? She’s only answering me in short little texts, and it’s driving me crazy.”

  “She was sleeping when I left this morning. Haven’t spoken to her since.” I should have called her before the game, but I wasn’t sure what to even say. My head is a mess—as evidenced by tonight’s on-field performance.

  Wyatt rambles on, thanking me again and again for helping Sera out. Guilt slaps me around like its little bitch. I feel like a damn traitor. I’m not ‘helping out’ Sera. Or even Wyatt. The only person I’ve been helping is myself.

  He’s going to kick my ass if he ever finds out.

  He entrusted his heartbroken sister to me and I crossed the line. I crossed all the lines. Wyatt and I are close but I don’t think our friendship could ever come back from this.

  “Oh, before I forget,” he blurts out as we’re wrapping up our call. “Liam and I just got invited to give some stay-in-school, don’t-do-drugs speech for the kids at the community center. You know, sort of a ‘We’re successful, and you can be too’ kind of bullshit. I want you to join us. You’re seriously an inspiration to those kids, and they’d be more excited to see you than Liam and me.”

  I snort. “I’m no role model to anybody.”

  It’s true. Wyatt’s practically a superhero, serving in the military to protect our country. Liam, he’s a freaking billionaire who owns, not only the real estate development company that is putting Sin Valley on the map, but he owns the Paragons, too. They are role models. I’m not.

  “You’re full of shit. Today was just an off day. Everyone loves you,” Wyatt encourages, assuming my comment is about today’s football game. “Think about it.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  But as I hang up, the prickly feeling lingers.

  Wyatt definitely wouldn’t consider me a role model if he knew the filthy things I want to do to his sister. No matter what I do, my gorgeous new wife just won’t leave my mind.

  I get a vivid memory of her on our wedding night. Her head down on the pillow. Her butt up in the air. My face caught between the cheeks of her ass as my tongue stroked her to an orgasm that shook the floor and the ceiling.

  Goddammit. So fucking hot.

  I scrub a hand down my face. Do the right thing, man...But despite everything that’s at stake, I really really want to do the wrong thing.

  I mean—we’re already married, the mistake has already been made. How much would it hurt to make the most of our situation? To have a little fun?

  Knox is way off base. I’m not in love with Sera and I can’t give her some storybook romance. But I can give her a heck of a good time.

  And after the crap Rocky put her through, I’d say she more than deserves some fun.

  Eight

  Sera

  I feel a ridiculous sense of triumph when I plop the basket of freshly-folded laundry onto the kitchen counter. “Look how you folded those fitted sheets!” I whisper to myself. “You showed those sheets who’s boss! You’re a badass, girl!”

  This is me celebrating the heck out of my small victory. And let’s be real—after the back-to-back epic fails of the past few days, I’ll take any wins I can get. I don’t have that much to work with.

  I was supposed to be on my honeymoon right now. And I use the term ‘honeymoon’ lightly.

  Sight-seeing with my groom? Nah.

  Soaking up poolside sun? Nope.

  Sipping on fruity cocktails? Maybe next time.

  Indulging in loud, obnoxious, around-the-clock newly wed sex? Dream on, girl.

  The plan had been for me to follow Rocky and his teammates around the country for their first few games of the season, squeezing in some alone time whenever we could get the chance.

  Very romantic.

  And I mean that in the least passive aggressive way possible. Promise.

  Anyway, that wedding didn’t happen. Instead, I ended up finding myself a different groom. And now I’m here—alone and bored—thoroughly cleaning Jace’s already-clean condo while actively trying to talk my self-esteem out of the gutter.

  Needless to say, I’m going crazy sitting around the house all day with nothing to do. Aside from the few minutes Katrina and Minka came by to drop off my car and a few clean outfits I can wear, I haven’t had any contact with the outside world.

  I’m used to having a to-do list, a schedule, a goal to work toward. And now that my life has been upended, I just don’t have a plan. I’m plain-out miserable being lost inside my web of thoughts all day. I need to keep my mind busy.

  “Stay home and clear your head,” Liam told me over text this afternoon when I reached out, begging him to let me get back to the office this week.

  Sure, I completed all my projects in advance and left detailed explanations of my work-in-progress for my coworkers just in case anything came up during my ten-day absence. (Mind you, my work-in-progress constituted mainly of all-day photocopying sprees and color-coding client binders because that’s all the higher-ups seem to think I’m capable of.) Still, that doesn’t mean I can’t find plenty to do at the office.

  But Liam’s personal assistant, Eliza, says our boss doesn’t want me falling apart in the middle of a client meeting or snapping and going bananas in the break room. Basically, he thinks I’m a freak-out risk and that’s a potential legal liability.

  Our boss doesn’t handle emotion very well.

  I just want to be acknowledged for what I bring to the table. I want my boss to notice how much of an asset I can be to the firm. But right now, Liam probably sees me as nothing more than Wyatt’s hot mess little sister. Sucks to be me.

  This ‘vacation time’ is a cruel, cruel form of torture, reminding me of the things my ex-fiancé robbed me of when he unilaterally decided I wasn’t worth his happily-ever-after.

  Damn you, Rocky Pfeiffer. I can’t believe I wasted all my vacation days on you!

  My whole life tipped sideways. Losing my fiancé, my home, and my future in a matter of days. Thank god I still have my job. Rocky always complained that I put too much into my career, but I cringe at what my life would have been now if I’d given that up for him like he wanted me to.

  I’ve seen how that turns out when a woman gives up her dreams to make the man in her life happy. My mom postponed finishing her nursing degree so she could get married and have kids. Dad was a doctor at the hospital where she was interning when they met and he promised he’d take care of her. But eventually, his love affair with Captain Morgan’s spiced rum upstaged his commitment to his family and Mom was left scrambling to find her footing, scrambling to finish nursing school as a single mother with three kids and no help and a mortgage she couldn’t afford. I couldn’t let my life turn out that way.

  I gave a lot of myself to Rocky. Too much. But thank god my career is the one area of my life where I maintained my control. Despite Rocky’s constant insistence that I didn’t need to work, I’m so grateful I never listened. He can’t take that away from me.

  I spent the morning purging the man’s existence from my life, deleting old photos of us from my camera roll, removing his favorite songs from my Spotify account, eradicating him from my social media presence.

  After I was done, I was left with an achy feeling under my ribs. That’s when I jotted down a lengthy to-do list on the back of a takeout receipt I found on Jace’s kitchen counter. I’ve already made good headway and I’m unreasonably proud. I’ve scrubbed the mosaic tile walls and the floor-to-ce
iling shower doors in the bathroom. I’ve dusted the sleek dark furniture and the massive entertainment center in the sprawling masculine living room. I’ve watered the houseplant and set it by the balcony door for some sunlight. I’ve mopped the geometric slate floors of the open-concept kitchen. I’ve arranged the extravagant collection of Jordans sneakers in Jace’s walk-in closet.

  I finished vacuuming during the Paragon’s halftime. Now, I’m sitting on the living room floor in one of Jace’s football T-shirts, watching the last couple minutes of his game.

  He’s been struggling on the field all night. My body jolts skittishly the moment he hits the ground after missing that last tackle. I practically hold my breath until I see him rise to his feet.

  I hate how watching him play football always makes me so edgy. My nervous system goes into overdrive and I sit on pins and needles the whole time, praying he won’t get hurt. I guess he’s not the only one who’s overprotective. In my own way, I am too, I suppose.

  My stomach is in knots for the last few minutes. I don’t move my eyes from the screen until Jace and the guys disappear down the tunnel.

  The Paragons lost the game.

  Somehow, I feel like I’m to blame.

  I should have taken the couch last night and let him have his bed. And all that drinking we did the other night definitely didn’t help his performance.

  Also, maybe I shouldn’t have oopsie-married the fuck out of him.

  Oh god! I am ruining the man’s life.

  He left this morning without saying a word and I spent the entire day trying to figure out what that means. Is he pissed at me? Does he want me to leave but is too polite to kick me out? Or are we really okay like he says?

  The only thing that’s clear as day is that I’ve made things super weird between us.

  I found a note on the kitchen counter this morning, telling me to make myself at home this week, along with the log-in info for his food delivery app and a pile of local takeout pamphlets. Even when Jace doesn’t want to speak to me, he’s still so protective. Always looking out for me.

  I just wish I knew where we stand.

  I leave the channel on, hoping to catch another glimpse of him. But today, he doesn’t join his teammates for the post-game interviews. His name comes up several times, but he’s noticeably absent. I cringe each time the asshole announcers have some bullshit comment about his performance

  “Where are you, Jace?” I mumble at the TV. That man loves the media cameras as much as they love him. He’s the one the reporters always seek out post-game because he’s just so damn charming.

  I allow my imagination to run free. Maybe he’s taking a shower, soaping up that spectacular body of his and washing tonight’s defeat away. Maybe he’s shovelling down a big meal, rebuilding his strength for his next game. Maybe he’s sprawled off in a hotel bed, catching up on his rest. My gut twists when I imagine a beautiful football groupie curled up on the sheets next to him.

  Jason Bellino is the eternal bachelor. Gorgeous. Charismatic. Virtually irresistible. And from all the rumors around town about him, I know that he’ll screw anything on two legs.

  I’m unjustifiably bitter at the thought. Although I have no right to be jealous, I can’t help but feel a little possessive.

  I head to his room, where everything smells like him, and get ready for bed. I close the heavy curtains on the floor-to-ceiling view of the glittering Strip in the distance.

  “Why do I even care?” I ask myself as I rip the freshly washed bedding down and crawl between the crisp sheets.

  Because Jace is my husband. My oopsie-husband but my husband nonetheless. I hear the words echo inside my head.

  It hasn’t even been forty-eight hours since the whole debacle with Rocky, and already, my ex is fading from my thoughts and I’m obsessing over a playboy who doesn’t have a commitment bone in his body.

  This is bad.

  I’ve tried. I’ve tried to mourn the life I was supposed to have with Rocky. The future we’d planned together. But what I’m going through doesn’t feel like grief. I’m not bawling my eyes out. I’m not sick with sadness. I’m not eating my feelings.

  As I was cleaning out my phone earlier, I experienced the same feeling I have when I’m doing some major spring cleaning. I feel...lighter. Relieved, in some ways.

  Now, I’m questioning whether I really loved Rocky enough to be his wife in the first place.

  Am I a horrible human being, or did Rocky and I just not connect as much as I thought we did? Or maybe it’s the fact that I now have bigger problems to worry about. Problems in the form of my unexpected husband.

  Make better life choices. I need to put that at the very top of my to-do list.

  Just as I’m plugging my phone into the charger for tonight, it lights up with a call. Shit. A video call. From said unexpected husband.

  Acting on impulse, I smooth down my hair and sit up taller. I accept the call.

  “Hey, girl.”

  He’s clearly spread out comfortably, laying across a hotel bed. He’s bare-chested with one tightly corded arm stretched up above his head, his hand resting casually on the pillows behind him. His dark hair is all wet and dripping with that fresh shower look. I can practically smell his body wash. I would know…I used it this morning when I took a shower.

  I chew on my lip, taking him in. “Hey,” I answer, feeling self-conscious. I knew I shouldn’t have washed my face so early. I look like a kid when I have zero makeup on. Wyatt’s kid sister, to be exact.

  “I just wanted to check up on you,” Jace says, wearing his signature sideways smirk. His voice sounds soft. Intimate.

  “I’m fine,” I chirp, glancing around the room because it’s too hard to look him in the eye right now.

  Good grief. Why couldn’t he have texted? Or at least sent me a normal call, like a normal person. I swear he does this crap because he knows how much I hate video calls.

  “You sure?” he questions, his voice low. It reminds me of the growl that had escaped his lips when I’d pounced on him in the courthouse lobby. My pulse immediately spikes.

  “Yup.” I’m blushing so hard. It’s pathetic.

  “Why do you look so surprised to hear from me?” He takes a sip from his bottle of Gatorade. A droplet clings to his bottom lip.

  He. Licks. It. Off.

  Somebody fan me.

  “Well, I…I just didn’t expect you to call.”

  “Why not?”

  I shrug. “I figured you’d be out, drinking your team’s loss away. Partying. With your teammates…And hot girls.” Why did I say that? Why did I say that? Now, I sound jealous and insecure over a relationship that doesn’t even exist.

  Yes, okay, fine. We’re married. Technically. But we’re not in a relationship.

  “Why would I be out with ‘hot girls’?” He puts the words in air-quotes. “I have a ‘hot wife’.” A smile sails smoothly across his lips and his dimples pop, blinding bright like a camera flash.

  “Our marriage isn’t real and you know it,” I argue weakly.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “You know what I mean,” I manage to fumble out. We’re quickly drifting into dangerous territory so I change the conversation. “How are you?” I purposely keep it casual. The sexual tension is unbelievably thick, even with a thousand miles between us.

  “Good.”

  “You seemed to have had a pretty rough game tonight.”

  He winces. “You saw that, huh? Everybody saw it. You should see the angry meme Granny sent me.”

  I laugh. “Never mind what that sassy old lady says. She’s your number one cheerleader.” I’m a big fan of the Paragon’s defensive safety but his grandmother never misses a game.

  He smiles but I notice how tired he looks.

  My heart squeezes. “Should I be worried about you?”

  “I’ll bounce back. You don’t have to worry about me, Baby Girl. I’m already spending enough time worrying about you.” He sounds super seductive. Is he try
ing to put the moves on me? No. Overactive imagination over here.

  “You are?” I croak out.

  His smile falls away and a concerned look comes over his face. “I just really don’t want things to get awkward between us, Sera. You mean so much to me and after what happened between us the other day, I’m worried that things are going to get weird with you and me. I don’t like that.”

  Dammit.

  He had to go and bring it up again.

  “Of course not,” I respond, hoping he doesn’t hear the squeak in my voice. I don’t want that either. In the matter of days, Jace has taken up a handful of roles in my life. My roommate. My shoulder to cry on. My husband.

  This is too much.

  “Look, uh,” I rush out. “I’ll start looking for a lawyer so that as soon as you get back, we can clean up this mess.”

  He cocks his head to the side. “Y’know, it’s kind of offensive that you’re in such a rush to get rid of me. You sure you wanna sign all this away?” Jace flashes a brain-melting smirk as his palm smooths down his muscled chest, over his washboard abs before his thumb hooks into the waistband of his too-low boxer-briefs.

  Smooth player.

  I roll my eyes despite the sharp pulse of arousal between my thighs. “Be serious.”

  “Lighten up, Baby Girl. If we don’t allow ourselves to laugh about this mess a little bit, it’ll drive us crazy.”

  “We need an annulment, Jason,” I whisper gravely. “The longer we wait, the harder it will be for us to dissolve this marriage. This mess will only get bigger.”

  Jace frowns, staring off to the side. “Sure. Find a lawyer.” He sounds grumpy when he says that. Suddenly, he seems even more unnerved than he did earlier on the football field.

  My heart sinks, because for a second, I actually hoped he might try to stop me. This is silly. I’m being silly. “Okay. And then we can sweep that wild night under the rug, agree that it was just a weird emotional day, and forget it ever happened.” Right now, I’m not above playing the jilted bride card to justify my actions.