I Bet You

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  “Captain Obvious.”

  “It wasn’t cool. I was trying to explain to you that I don’t give a shit about Sasha.”

  Her eyes fly to mine. “Really? I figured you were into her…all big boobs and bunny-like. That isn’t me.”

  “I know you’re not like that. It’s what I like about you.”

  She bites her lip, and my eyes linger there, wondering how it would feel if I kissed her again, this time hard and intense and with so much feeling…

  She exhales. “Look, can we forget about everything and just dance?”

  “Hi. My name is Ryker. I play football. I love piña coladas and getting caught in the rain. I like making love at midnight, and…I can’t remember the rest of it. What’s your name?”

  She giggles, and I know I’ve won her over. “Piña coladas?”

  I pop an eyebrow. “Just going with the flow here. Don’t dis coconut and rum until you’ve tasted it.”

  She laughs. “Okay. I’m Penelope, and I also love getting caught in the rain…and yoga?” She smiles. “Sorry. I can’t remember that song either.”

  “I’m the football player you’ve looked for…”

  “Come with me and escape.”

  We both laugh.

  “See, this is easy,” I say as I pull her closer, until her breasts are pressed against my chest. “I like getting to know you,” I murmur in her ear.

  She tilts her head back, gray eyes glinting up at me. “Is that so?”

  “Mmhmmm.”

  Her lashes flutter down as if she’s hiding her emotions, and my hands tighten around her, my fingers trailing over the soft fabric of her skirt. I’m itching to run my hand over her ass and claim it as mine.

  “I have a question for you,” I say.

  “Yeah?”

  “Did you come hoping to see Connor?”

  She shrugs.

  “Did you come hoping to see me?”

  Those long lashes lie against her cheeks.

  “Penelope?”

  “Hmm?”

  I want to say Let’s get out of here.

  Let me get to know you…let me unwrap that skirt and show you exactly what it feels like when a man gives you an orgasm.

  The air in the room changes, and I look up and see Archer coming down the stairs with a few other defensive players. Our eyes meet across the floor, and his lips tighten as he rakes his gaze over Penelope.

  He turns back to one of the guys and points at us. They laugh and sneer.

  My gut churns. Dammit. I don’t want him watching us together, wondering if I’m dancing with her just to win the bet.

  “What is it?” she says, looking up at me. “You got quiet.”

  I smile down at her. “Nothing, Red. Look, I’m sorry about today. I shouldn’t have let Sasha say some of that shit in front of you.”

  “She was staking her claim. She wanted me to know she’d had you.” Her lips compress.

  “Well, she won’t have me again.”

  She doesn’t look sure as she watches me, and there’s a thoughtful look on her face like she’s going to say more, but she settles on, “Okay.”

  As soon as the song is over, I walk with her back to her group and say my goodbyes. She watches me with a frown and perhaps disappointment. Maybe.

  I imagine I feel her gaze on me as I walk across the basement and head to the stairs.

  I pass by Archer on the way out, and he can’t help but make a comment. “Leaving so soon, golden boy?”

  I shrug. “Nothing for me here.”

  His eyes drift over to Penelope, a hardness there. “Got turned down, huh?”

  “Fuck off.”

  And before he can reply, I’m out the door.

  Ryker

  The Sunday after our next win, I make plans to meet up with Maverick at the Waverly Hotel, our usual place. We don’t have any classes together this year and now that he’s living off campus with Delaney and his sister, it’s like he’s on another planet. I’m stoked today because there’s only one game left on his suspension. Pretty soon, we’ll be back in the saddle and running things like we used to.

  It’s about to storm outside as I waltz in the door of the hotel, a rather swanky place for a small college town like Magnolia.

  The maroon-clad doorman greets me with a slap on my back. “Ryker! Hot damn! Badass game Friday night,” he tells me with a broad grin. “I couldn’t get a ticket, but I watched it on ESPN. You think you’ll be a first-round draft pick in April?” Looking flushed and excited, he’s probably still in high school.

  “One can hope,” I say as I autograph a piece of paper he has tucked in his pocket.

  “I can’t wait, man. Wherever you go, I’ll be following.”

  He gives me a fist bump. He’s a true fan, and I dig that.

  I stride across the room, and Maverick waves at me from a table near the bar. He’s a tall guy with brownish blond hair and a handsome face, and people sometimes confuse us for brothers—except I’m more handsome. I smirk as he tilts his head toward the big screen behind the bar that’s showing the highlight reel from Friday.

  I grin and head his way.

  When I arrive at the table, he’s got a Guinness waiting for me.

  I take a seat, get a full view of his body, and feel the blood drain from my face. “What the fuck happened to you?” I’m staring at the dark-colored arm sling he’s wearing.

  He gives me a don’t freak out look. “Broke my collarbone running yesterday.” He grimaces. “Might have been a rock on the sidewalk.”

  No. Just no. I shake my head. “What kind of athlete breaks his collarbone running?”

  “The kind who runs in the dark.”

  I rub my forehead. “How many weeks will you be out? Does Coach know?”

  He gets a tight look on his face. “He knows. I saw him yesterday. It’s a minor fracture, and I won’t be out long, just three weeks.”

  Grimness blankets me. “Your suspension was almost up.”

  He sighs, a look of resignation on his face. “I’ll be back with half a season left.”

  My teeth grind. With our bye week coming up, that will give me a small break, but I’ll still have two additional games with Archer as captain. I give him a steely look. “You know those late-night jogs are shitty. I’ve told you a million times not to do it.”

  He huffs out a laugh.

  “Why?” I hold my hands up in the air.

  “Okay, Mom, stop your bitching.” He smirks. “Delaney’s already given me a good talking to.”

  I sigh. “I’m glad you’re happy, man, and I’m glad everything’s worked out, but I wish you were on the field.” I think about Archer. “At least when you were captain of the defense, Archer kept his mouth in check. And this betting thing…” I drift off.

  He chuckles. “Remember that time I bet Blaze he couldn’t eat all those corndogs at the county fair? Dude puked for an hour.” A sigh comes from him.

  “Those were the good ol’ days,” I say. “Things are different now.”

  We move on and talk about Friday’s game, picking it apart and discussing strategy for next week. Even though he isn’t on the team right now, I depend on him.

  After we order and finish our burgers, Maverick’s phone pings with a text, and when I see him smile down at his cell, I figure it’s Delaney—and probably time for me to head out.

  For some reason, Penelope comes to mind. I pick at the label on my beer.

  “Dude. Where’s your head tonight?” Maverick’s voice brings me back. He’s off the phone and watching me.

  “Nowhere,” I say.

  Maverick smirks. “You need a girl.”

  “I’m sick of jersey chasers,” I mutter.

  “Been there.” He nods and laughs. “Let Delaney set you up with one of her friends.”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  Maverick asks for the check, and when the server leaves, I watch him walk away, my gaze looking around and stopping on a hot girl with auburn hair.


  Penelope? I squint, my eyes narrowed in on a couple at a small round table tucked away in a dim alcove with a candle in the middle.

  Is she on a date?

  It’s not Connor she’s with and it’s not her dad, so who the hell is it? He’s older, maybe mid-30s, with thinning sandy hair and glasses. As I watch, he leans in over the table, and their discussion appears intense.

  My eyes go back to her face. Where are her glasses?

  My lips flatten. Fucking date.

  “Who’s that?” Maverick asks, following my gaze.

  “Penelope.” I tilt my head toward their table. “You know her—or him?” I ask.

  He furtively checks them out. “Nah, but I don’t get out much.”

  I tell him about the piece she wrote for the Wildcat Weekly last year, not really surprised he doesn’t remember her or the article. He’s from Magnolia too, but he went to public school while Penelope attended the private school. As far as the article, Delaney kept him isolated from most of the bad press, and Penelope’s was just a tiny ripple.

  I mention the bet, and he raises an eyebrow.

  “You into her?” he asks ruefully. “That makes the bet easier.”

  “That’s not my style, man.”

  I look away from him when Penelope stands up from the table. My eyes widen. She’s wearing a white dress with splashes of roses on it, and her auburn hair is twisted up in some kind of fancy knot. The dress clings to her curves, accentuating her hips, her long legs. She’s wearing more makeup than usual, her eyes thickly lashed, her lips a deep red.

  The man stands as well, his hand on her shoulder. She says something, picks up a portfolio off the table, and hugs it to her chest. I watch as she flips around and darts to the exit. I think I see a tear running down her face.

  Oh, hell no.

  Before I know it, I’m throwing cash at Maverick to pay for dinner and saying goodbye.

  I stand up.

  “It’s interesting that I’ve never seen you jump up to chase a girl so fast,” he murmurs as I walk briskly away. I wave him off and catch up with the asshole she was with, easing up next to him as he’s hot on her tail. I nudge him with my shoulder.

  “What the heck?” He catches himself, his eyes darting to me and then widening. “Oh, excuse me.”

  “Yeah. Excuse you. By the way, don’t follow her. I insist.”

  He blinks and follows my gaze. “Penelope?”

  “You catch on fast.”

  He stutters and mumbles something about “agent”, but I’m already gone and rushing to catch up with her.

  The doorman greets me with a grin and pops out an umbrella since it’s started to rain. Big drops fall steadily on the hot concrete as I look up and down the street.

  “Where did the girl in the white dress go?” I ask.

  He points to the alley next to the hotel. “She darted down that way. There’s a free parking lot in the back.”

  I know the one. With a sharp turn, I take off after her and see a flash of her skirt as she turns behind another building.

  I call out her name, but the steady rain has morphed into a downpour and thunder rumbles in the sky.

  I run down the alley and take the same right she did. Finally, she’s stopped next to her car.

  “Penelope!” I call out and jog over to her, sidestepping puddles.

  I reach her and she looks up at me, a frown on her face as she huddles in the rain that’s drenched her dress. I do my best to keep my eyes off the lace bra she has on underneath.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask just as a strong wind blows. I take a step closer to her. Mississippi is known for its thunderstorms and sometimes a tornado or two, even in the fall.

  “I’m soaked, for one, and I have a flat tire. Again!” Her lips compress as she glares down at the slumping car. “It was just a spare, and I kept meaning to get a new one, but I never had the time. Just a great ending to an already crappy day.”

  With a brief look down, I see the dismal-looking spare. “Come on,” I say. “My car’s this way.” I nod my head toward the other side of the street where the covered parking is. I reach for her hand and clasp it firmly. “We’ll worry about your car later.”

  A flash of indecision flicks across her face for half a second before she nods. She clutches her portfolio to her chest, and we take off running.

  She nearly trips and I pause as she bends over and tries to adjust her heels.

  Fuck that.

  We’re only about twenty feet away from the covered parking lot, so I sweep her up and take off.

  “What on earth are you doing?” she calls out over the downpour as I adjust her, cradling her in my arms. She isn’t a lightweight, but she’s light enough for me to run with. Her free hand that isn’t clutching her folder curls around my neck.

  “Trying to keep you from breaking your neck,” I say back gruffly.

  I look down at her, and I’m feeling…protective. Again. I’m a caveman when she’s around.

  I dodge a mud puddle, and she slips a little until I hitch her up closer. “You’re going to kill us,” she yells out, and I laugh.

  Hell, this is more fun than I’ve had in weeks.

  We enter the parking garage, and I set her down on her feet. She sways back and forth a bit, and I steady her as she huffs out a little laugh. “That was exciting. No one’s ever run with me in their arms before. I’m not a small person.”

  “You’re welcome.” I smirk, doing a futile job of trying to get the rain off my clothes.

  We’re both soaked, and I watch as she uses her free hand to wipe the dampness from her face. She pushes her hair back off her forehead.

  I take in her plastered hair and smeared mascara. I grin. “You look like a drowned raccoon.”

  Her eyes drift over my damp clothes, lingering on the V-neck of my button-down. “You look like a wet…football player.”

  I laugh and step closer, tilting her chin up. “Hey, who was that guy?”

  Her lashes flutter against pale cheeks. “No one important.”

  Uh-huh.

  I open the passenger side of my truck and shove over books and a few practice jerseys. She gets inside and I help her with the seat belt even when she insists she can do it. “Just let me do it. This one gets stuck.”

  “Okay.” She sighs, her hands folded in her lap.

  I get the buckle done and look at her.

  “Was it a date?” I ask, circling back to the mystery dude.

  She smirks. “Hardly. He’s at least ten years older than me.”

  A few ticks of silence stretch between us and I sigh. Her door is open and I’m standing in front of her. “I’m not starting this truck until I know who he is and why you were upset.”

  Her eyes flash up at me. “Has anyone ever told you how stubborn you are?”

  “So are you, babe.”

  She stares down at her hands. “He’s a literary agent.”

  I straighten my shoulders, coming to attention. “You’re writing a book?”

  She nods. “I write about everything.”

  “Well, if it’s anything like football, to even get an agent to meet with you is a big deal.”

  Her shoulders slump. “My dad set up the meeting for me.” She shrugs. “I sent him some samples to read, and he called and asked to talk with me. I thought he was going to offer me a big deal with a signing bonus…” She pauses, and her hands twist in her lap. “He only came because he’s friends with my dad.” She swallows and shoots a rueful look at me. “He said my work has promise but isn’t for him. I want to write romance.”

  My cock twitches, recalling her romance.

  “I’m sorry.” I hold my hands out. “Not sorry that you want to write romance—that sounds great—but sorry he didn’t work out.”

  She nods.

  “There are other agents,” I tell her. “You just have to find the right one.” I lean over and my lips touch hers, an indulgent graze where my tongue licks her bottom lip. I straighten back up,
taking in her scent, lemony and sweet.

  We stare at each other until a horn blast makes us both start.

  She swallows. “Thank you for the pep talk.”

  Right. Back to business.

  I shut her door and run around to my side, crawling in and cranking up the engine. I turn right out onto the main drag.

  “My house is the other way,” she says.

  I shoot her a long look. “I know. We’re going to Cadillac’s so I can teach you how to play pool.”

  Her eyes flare. “Okay.”

  I reach over and toss her two of my jerseys. “Here, these are clean. You can use one to dry off and put the other one on over your dress. I can see your nipples.”

  She flushes.

  “They’re pink,” I say tightly.

  “Oh.”

  I clear my throat. “As opposed to being, you know, another color.”

  God. I’m an idiot.

  She’s silent as she moves around in the cab, drying off. She takes a makeup mirror out of her purse and reapplies her lipstick then dabs at her eyes. From the depths of her bag, she finds a brush and lets her hair down. My senses tingle as she brushes it out, the smell of her permeating the small space. Finally, she’s satisfied with her appearance and takes the bigger jersey, puts her arms in, and slips it over her head.

  “How’s this?” she asks, her voice uncertain.

  I flick my eyes over at her and my heart stops. I swallow. Her hair is down and curling up around her face. A soft bloom tints her cheeks, and her lips are deep red.

  I’d like to pull this truck over and fuck her long and hard—

  “You’ll do,” I mutter.

  Penelope

  Cadillac’s is a tradition with Waylon students. A dimly lit laid-back place, the walls are lined with photographic memorabilia from old cars and Marilyn Monroe and James Dean headshots. There’s even a signed photo of Elvis on the wall, and it makes me laugh, recalling my ridiculous conversation with Connor. Some claim the original owner was a onetime movie agent who retired to Magnolia in his 60s. That was years ago and I don’t know who owns it now, but it’s a fun place to hang out in, a diner with a long bar and eating area, pool tables, and an arcade in the back with video games and bowling. The diner section is my favorite with its 50s-style car-shaped booths and jukebox.