Wild Ride (South Florida Riders Book 1)

by Breezie Bennett

  “You really are full of surprises, Leo Sterling.” She meets my gaze and keeps her eyes fixed on mine for a long time. “But I think it’s time for bed.”

  I’m hit with disappointment at the thought of this night coming to an end and the fact that that end will not include yanking off those ripped jeans and satisfying those curious green eyes. Reluctantly, I stand and hold out my hand to help her up from the beach. We walk back up to the house, our fingertips brushing with electricity every couple of steps.

  Once I shut the massive glass slider, I walk Frankie to the guest wing, carrying her bags. “You should have everything you need, but seriously just text me or holler if there’s anything at all I can get you.”

  I look at the guest bed and think of how nice it would be to have her wrapped up in my sheets. To tear each other’s clothes off and give in to all the temptation, feeling every inch of her and doing all the dirty things I’ve been dreaming about since she wore that damn lace sundress. She has to want it, too, right? She has to feel that the tension is basically fucking palpable. Maybe she’ll change her mind. Maybe she’ll give in to her own physical desires and meet me in my bed tonight. My dick twitches at the thought.

  “Night, Frankie. Get some rest.” I smile at her and turn to walk toward my own room. I’m just down the hall when I hear that sweet voice calling my name.

  “Hey, um, Leo?”

  Fuck yes. I knew she wanted it. I knew she couldn’t resist. “Yeah?” I say in return. Excitement fills my head, and my cock, at the idea of her asking to come to bed with me.

  “It’s okay if Tebow sleeps in the bed, right?”

  Goddammit. I let out some combination of a laugh and a sigh. “Yeah. That’s fine, kiddo. Good night.”

  Maybe another night. We have the whole season, after all, and I have a feeling I’m going to want her more and more every night.

  ELEVEN — Frankie

  “You ready? It’s officially game-day season, baby!” I hear Leo shout, and probably pound a fist on his chest, from the other side of my guest room door.

  “Yeah, I’m just trying to figure out these stupid shoes.” I fuss with yet another pair of strappy-heeled sandals.

  “Frankie’s having shoe struggles? I’m floored.” Leo laughs and lightly pushes the door open. “I’m coming in.”

  Cologne and masculinity fill the room as soon as he enters, wearing a white undershirt and South Florida Riders sweatpants with his jersey number, fifteen, printed on the side. Leo and his damn sweatpants. He knows exactly what he’s doing parading the outline and size of his dick around this house all the time. I just hope he doesn’t know how little self-control I have left after the past few weeks.

  “You look…wow. Perfect.” His brown eyes slide up and down my body.

  Chills creep up and down my body, following the trail of his gaze.

  I focus on Tebow so my attention doesn’t get stuck below his waistband for too long. “Would you mind taking him out to pee while I finish getting ready? He’s going to be all alone for so many hours today.”

  “Buddy!” Leo crouches down and scruffs Tebow’s short fur. The dog pants and smiles in only that specific way a pit bull can, and Leo’s adoration for my furry companion only makes me want to rip those sweatpants off even more. “Don’t worry about him getting lonely, though.” His deep-brown eyes meet my gaze. “I already called my neighbor, who’s got three dogs. Tebow won’t be lonely on game days and stuff.”

  I step back and smile. “Leo. That was so sweet and thoughtful.”

  “Hey, I don’t want you distracted when you’re attention is on your fiancé.” Leo hops up after tying a leash onto Tebow.

  But I know it’s more than that. He cares about Tebow. He cares about me. And that just somehow makes this day even more special.

  Leo pats his knees enthusiastically, getting Tebow all riled up. “Let’s go piss in the yard, little guy. It’ll be fun.”

  I laugh as he walks out of the room with the dog, turning to the full-length mirror to check out my fuchsia and aqua sundress, appropriately South Florida colors. This time, the wedges are blue and don’t seem to hurt as much. I finish my look with a huge white sun hat, courtesy of Erica Anderson’s taste and Leo’s credit card, and can’t help but smile. It may not be my familiar sneakers and oversize T-shirt, but I feel kinda…adorable. I saw his eyes on me, too. The front door slams shut, and Leo’s voice somehow fills the giant house.

  “All right, we’re back.” He switches to a hilariously endearing baby-talk voice directed toward Tebow. “Isn’t that right, buddy? We peed outside, and we’re just lovin’ life, aren’t we?”

  “Both of you?” I tease, walking into the marble-floored foyer, holding yet another Louis Vuitton bag.

  “Obviously.” He looks up at me and winks, while unclipping the leash from Tebow’s collar.

  The dog bounds off, seemingly excited for a day of solitude and napping that normally would make me kinda jealous.

  Leo turns to me and places a warm and sexy hand on my right shoulder. More chills. “Are you ready, kiddo? First game of the season. There’s gonna be press out the ass, especially on me, and us.” He gives my shoulder a light squeeze with the word us.

  I try to ignore the voice in my head begging me to lean in and push my lips against his, just to feel those explosive sparks. Maybe he’ll kiss me again today. For the cameras.

  I shake off my fantasy and push reality to the forefront of my mind. Trying to compensate for the depth of my desire for him, I straighten my shoulder. “I’m getting paid to be your fake fiancée, so that’s exactly what I’ll do. Don’t worry about me.” The words come out a little colder than I expected.

  Leo takes his hand off me and steps back. “Okay, then. Good deal. Let’s go.”

  He spends the car ride to the stadium making stupid jokes and rapping every verse of the crazy trap music on his Get Fucking Hyped playlist. The bass shakes the Mercedes, and I can’t help but laugh and enjoy my own, weird fairy tale.

  He whips into a parking spot in the athlete’s VIP garage that I didn’t even know existed, and I feel some nerves beginning to creep up at the sight of the reporters and media.

  Leo walks around the car and helps me out, and I wince at the instant flash of a camera. He holds his strong hands on my waist, drawing me closer.

  “All right, I gotta get to the locker room. I’ll look for you when I’m on the field.” He presses his forehead against mine, just like after the first kiss. I keep my eyes locked on his.

  “You won’t see me in the box seats, dumbass.” I smile at him and try to keep my breathing steady, his lips just inches from me, tickling the tip of my nose.

  “I’ll look anyway. I’ll find you.” He kisses me lightly.

  I feel my body weaken in his arms as I taste his soft and warm and sexy lips. His fingertips pull me into his embrace, butterflies swirling through my body, my head swimming. It’s not real. It means nothing. There are cameras everywhere, I remind myself as I reluctantly pull away.

  He slings a number 15 duffel bag over his shoulder and backs away slowly, still facing me. I feel the pressure of the microphones and the reporters. I have to say something before he goes into the locker room. He’s getting farther away. Something snarky or funny? No. Loving and playful. Shit, Monroe say something! All that comes out is:

  “Uh, catch the ball!” Moron.

  Leo lets out a hearty laugh and raises his eyebrows, winking at me. “I’ll do my best, kiddo.”

  He’s gone, and now is when the real acting has to start. I take a deep breath and pick up my Louis Vuitton bag. Take a shot! And, God, I’ll need a few if I’m gonna get through today.

  “Frankie, honey!” I hear the familiar Southern drawl from across the garage. I turn to see piles of shiny blonde extensions and cleavage that you could store a wallet in bouncing in my direction.

  “Erica, hey!”

  She throws her arms around me, and I’m flooded with familiarity and relief. Erica A
nderson is by far the most unlikely friend I’ve ever had, but having her by my side makes the idea of this whole first game day a lot less stressful.

  She leans back, keeping her arms wrapped around me, and gives me a wildly exaggerated up-and-down with her eyes. “Girl. Who are you? Who am I looking at? Because I know for a damn fact this ain’t the same little tomboy who was wearing Old Navy jeans and Chucks a couple weeks ago.”

  I play along and let her gushing ease my nerves. I twirl around in the dress. “You’re a makeover goddess. You really ought to have a TV show or something,” I tease.

  “Ooh, I like the sound of that.” Erica shakes her butt and turns around to shout at her husband. “Good luck, baby! Go kill ’em like always!” She wraps her arm around me. “I’m on newbie duty.”

  “Hey, AJ.” I wave at Erica’s husband, someone who would have had me completely star struck three weeks ago. I mean, he’s AJ Anderson, arguably one of the best football players in the NFL, maybe of all time. But here I am, standing in the VIP garage, palling around with his wife, totally immersed in this bizarre new world.

  “Looking good there, Mrs. Sterling.” He winks at me.

  Erica leans in close and whispers, “Don’t worry. We’re great secret keepers. Just stick with me.” She shimmies the neckline of my sundress down a few inches. “It’s summer in Florida. Let the girls out for once.”

  Screw it. I hold my chin up high and stand up straight enough to match Erica’s posture. She’s right. I might as well have fun with the whole thing.

  “Okay, so where are our seats?” I ask her.

  She loops her arm through mine and essentially ignores the question. “Hope you like margs.”

  The thought of tequila sends my brain racing back to the first night I stayed at Leo’s taking shots together, and I’m filled with schoolgirl-crush butterflies yet again.

  “Now you’re speaking my language.” I laugh, and Erica and I walk arm in arm out of the garage.

  “So, what’s it like? I mean, you’re living in his mansion, aren’t you? That’s gotta be a lot to deal with,” she says, arching a brow.

  I think of Leo’s sweatpants. Yeah, a lot to deal with. “It is, but I’ve been staying in the guest wing, and he works out and has practice constantly. I’ve been able to work remotely, so it’s all good. You know what it’s like.”

  She leans in and lowers her voice. “Of course I know what being an athlete’s wife is like. I mean, honey, hello. What is it like faking it? You’re not catching feelings, are you?” Erica playfully jabs my side with her index finger.

  “No, no. God, no. This is Leo we’re talking about. He’s a world-class player. It’s part of my job, and I’m just helping him out.” I glance around. Even though we’re speaking in hushed voices as we walk through an empty corridor of the stadium, you can never be too careful.

  “All right.” She draws the words out slowly. “I’m just sayin’ that I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Can’t fake that shit.”

  I wave off the comment. “Leo can. Trust me.”

  Relieved to be done with the interrogation, I let out a sigh as Erica and I walk into a glass elevator, which shoots us up to the box-level seats.

  “Remember what I told you.” She squeezes my hand while we stand in the elevator. “You are a direct reflection of your man. Your past, your personality, anything weird or different or imperfect about you—leave it in this elevator, honey. Today, you are the beautiful future Mrs. Leo Sterling.”

  I nod quickly and let her words sink in.

  “Oh, and Frankie?” She turns to me just as the elevator doors glide open. “You are working the sun hat.”

  I laugh and tip the brim of the hat toward her. Clinging to the confidence granted to me by Erica’s compliment, I stride into the box seats. A blast of icy air-conditioning settles on my skin, and I let my eyes scan the room. Holy shit. Each woman is more beautiful than the next. The money has gone far beyond dripping, it’s actually pouring off them in tidal waves. A few hold small children or babies, and servers hustle around with trays of fancy-looking drinks.

  “Let’s meet some ladies.” Erica drags me to a woman standing alone in the corner of the room, sipping something pink and fruity. “Eb, this is Frankie. She’s Leo’s fiancée.”

  “Hi, it’s great to meet you.” I offer her a genuine smile.

  The woman, with skin the color of chocolate and braids down to her butt, is possibly the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen in real life. She smiles kindly at me. “I’m Damien’s wife.”

  Suddenly, I realize I recognize those braids and stunning brown eyes. “Oh my gosh, you’re Ebony Cordell. Of course.” I resist the urge to excitedly blurt out that I closely followed their entire relationship and was devastated by their temporary breakup four seasons ago, which might make me sound more like a stalker than an avid fan. “I’ve been a Riders fan for a long time,” I explain.

  Ebony waves her hand toward one of the servers. “Sweetie, could we get another drink over here?” She turns back to me and raises her nearly empty cocktail glass. “Game doesn’t even start for another hour. Better to get a head start.”

  The server hands me a drink that tastes like fruit and summer and sweetness and the smoothest liquor I’ve ever tasted.

  “Careful, hun.” Erica gives me a playful elbow bump. “They go down pretty easy.”

  I spend the next hour or so mingling with some more wives and families and even meet Elliot Danes’ adorable four-year-old son, Asher, who clung to the hand of his nanny at the time. A single NFL dad? Now there’s something you don’t see every day.

  Everyone settles into their seats while a clock counts down the minutes until kickoff. Feeling relaxed from the drinks and comfortable with Erica and Ebony on either side of me, I am filled with excitement to see Leo on the field.

  Ebony nudges me. “First time seeing your man play from up here is priceless. Enjoy it.”

  “We sure do love our boys, don’t we?” Erica laughs, finishing the last bit of a drink and letting out a “Whoop!” as the kickoff countdown reaches zero.

  The stadium erupts in cheers as the Riders emerge from the tunnel on the side of the end zone. My eyes search frantically for number 15.

  “These really are incredible seats,” I say to Erica, without taking my gaze off the mob of athletes. Where are you, 15?

  Suddenly, I spot him. He pulls his helmet off and turns to face the box seats behind the end zone, waving with both arms. Oh my God, he’s waving at me. I laugh, knowing there’s absolutely no way he can see me in the box. It doesn’t matter. He knows I’m watching. His voice creeps back into my mind…

  I’ll look anyway. I’ll find you.

  Is this for the press? Probably. I still can’t hide my childish smile.

  “How precious is he?” Ebony teases.

  “You’ve got Sterling whipped!” another woman shouts to me.

  Erica reaches over, squeezes my leg, and whispers into my ear, “No feelings? I’m not buying it.”

  I lean close and whisper, “Absolutely not. He is so not my type.” Rather, he’s the exact type I swore I’d stay far, far away from.

  Even still, I’m unable to take my eyes off of that damn number 15.

  Leo has an incredible game, scoring two touchdowns and completing some great passes. The Riders are looking like they’re going to have a winning season, and I really can’t complain about the fact that I’ll be spending it in air-conditioned box seats sipping cocktails. My brother Drew was right—it’s not a bad gig.

  As the game comes to a close, the Riders are crushing the Bears, thirty-one to seventeen. I can tell by his walk and the way he’s nodding to the other players and hyping up the crowd, Leo is feeling very confident, and rightfully so.

  During the Riders’ final possession, the ball is thrown to him again. Just what his ego needs, another perfect play. But this time, Leo makes a mistake that nine out of ten people wouldn’t notice.

  I lean to the edge of my
seat. “Watch the safety,” I whisper under my breath. I can see what the defense is doing and that the safety is going to get right on Leo. He doesn’t read it, though, and the pass is incomplete. Damn.

  Doesn’t matter in the end, he still had an unreal first game, and the team is going to be wildly amped up. The other women and families in the box are cheering and laughing, some clearly a few too many pink drinks deep. Suddenly, everyone is rushing to get to the elevator and down onto the field. I follow the crowd, and Erica squeezes my arm.

  “This is the best part.” She grins at me. “All that sweat and dirt, yum. And after a win like that? Oooh, honey, you won’t be walking straight tomorrow, if you know what I mean.”

  I try, and fail, to push away the images of Leo evoked by that comment and stick with the rest of the family members as we’re ushered down to the side of the field.

  Amidst a blur of white-and-aqua-colored jerseys, hugs, fist bumps, and hell yeahs, I feel my heart racing in my chest as I search frantically again for that number 15. What is this going to be like? I watch the other women getting swept up and falling into the passionate embraces of their husbands and boyfriends.

  Erica darts into AJ’s arms and wraps her legs around him. “That’s my baby!” I can hear her screaming and laughing as he devours her with a kiss.

  Interviewers and cameramen buzz around the chaos, and suddenly I see him. Brown eyes locked on me, a smile playing at his mouth as he jogs in my direction, holding his helmet at his side. I can fake this. I have to fake this. I can pretend to melt into the powerful and victorious and testosterone-pumped arms of Leo Sterling. It’s all just pretend.

  “Hey, kiddo.”

  Before I have a chance to fully inhale the perfection of the man standing in front of me, his lips are on mine, and he drops his helmet onto the grass. He presses into my mouth with the same fiery aggression that fueled two back-to-back touchdowns. His hands are everywhere at once, my waist…my hair…my ass.