Dirty Play (The Ferrari Family Book 1)

by Hazel Parker

  “Pfft, as if,” Nick said, rolling his eyes, albeit still with a smirk on his face. He did seem slightly annoyed by me bringing it up, but not enough to call me out on it. “I’ve heard the rumors, and not to sound like a victim, but I really think it’s just stereotypes. I asked my dad about it once, and he just said that while my grandfather got in some fights and scraps in his day, it wasn’t anything nefarious like the mafia. Just a bunch of men getting together and settling fights the old-fashioned way.”

  “Well, that’s good.”

  Even though I did not think that his family was actually connected to the mafia—something that seemed like it sounded good in movies but probably didn’t have a real impact on modern life—there was still the paranoid part of me that received some relief. After experiences with Malcolm, the paranoid part would never go away unless directly spoken to, even for ridiculous shit like this.

  “Yeah, trust me, the most Italian thing about my family is the food we eat. So much pasta that it’s a miracle I ever made it to the pros. Anyway, now it’s my turn back. But—instead of asking you what’s on your mind, I need to ask a question about you. Since we’re on the subject of family.”

  “Uh-huh…”

  Here it comes.

  “What happened with the dad of your kid? What’s that like?”

  I hesitated, but the change in facial expression and the exasperated sigh that followed probably told Nick enough. I withdrew my hand from him and folded my arms. Just recounting this story was like its own form of PTSD.

  “Have you ever dated someone that, at first, it seems joyful and cheerful, like the ride of your life, and then you get into it, and suddenly, you wake up one day and realize what a terrible mistake you’ve made?”

  Nick was smart enough not to answer that, but I could tell he’d probably had stories at least in the same category, if not even close to the degree of mine.

  The waitress came by with our drinks, and taking the sign as a cue, I took an enormous gulp. Even though it would take another twenty minutes for the effects to kick in, the placebo effect was more than enough.

  “I met a guy in college who was, at first, charming and funny,” I said. “Or what I thought was charming and funny. You know, when you’re that young and you just fall for the opposite sex way too easily? That was me. Well, this guy won me over, and we dated for about…half a year, but that’s probably stretching it.”

  I wasn’t being fully honest. It was closer to a year. It just embarrassed me so much to know I had kept him a part of my life for as long as I had.

  “As young adults are bound to do, we got careless with some actions, and I got pregnant right before I graduated college.”

  “Oof.”

  “Yeah, oof, indeed. I thought about getting an abortion, but it just felt like…I couldn’t do it. That was going to be my kid. So, anyway, kid is born. And suddenly, Dad starts deciding not to take any responsibility for any of this.”

  Left unsaid was that he had always been flighty and an asshole, even hitting me for the first time before I got pregnant, but again, there were some elements of the story I just could not bring myself to admit even to myself, let alone to Nick.

  “Eventually, we got into some big fights. Ugly fights. I just couldn’t take it. I knew I wasn’t going to marry him, but I’d hoped that he could at least play a part in raising Ryan.”

  It wasn’t like I was on the verge of tears or anything even close to it, but I still needed a moment to collect myself.

  “But it became apparent quite quickly that wasn’t going to be the case. So, I got a restraining order against him. Moved here. And last I heard, he was in jail.”

  Again, another lie. Again, lying to yourself.

  “And that’s that,” I said. “Have I scared you away now?”

  Nick gave a good-natured, gentle laugh, reaching over and taking my hand and resting it between us. So, apparently, the answer was somehow no, I had not scared him away.

  “We’ve all got things in our past that we’re not proud of, but I don’t care about the type of girl you were when you were in college. I care about the type of person that you are now. And the type of person that you are is sexy, strong, and stunning. If your ex, for whatever reason, somehow came back into the picture, then we could figure out how to deal with him. But for right now, Izzy? Let’s just focus on us.”

  “On us,” I said as I took another massive gulp of my margarita. “I like the sound of that.”

  Nick must have, too, because he shifted his body closer to me and was now fully pressed up on me.

  “You do, huh?” he said.

  He was tantalizingly close. I could smell his cologne. I could practically taste it. If he moved forward another inch, I’d be able to muzzle my face against his stubble.

  “What else would you like?”

  Oh, God. Oh, fuck, he had me turned on so hard.

  “Do you want me to tell you,” I said, my eyes narrowing on him. “Or do you want me to show you?”

  Nick’s hand squeezed my thigh. I thought I was going to jump him right there. He leaned in.

  And this time, I did not give him my cheek.

  His lips pressed onto mine. Oh, he tasted so sexy. My hands went onto his chest and pulled him closer.

  I wanted him so bad. I didn’t care who saw—waitresses, other patrons, bartenders. I wanted Nick kissing me like this for hours and hours and hours on end. He was so good.

  And then his tongue danced around mine, and oh, I was getting too fucking horny to be out in public. I swore it was preternatural how effectively Nick was at turning me on right now—it was like he knew everything about me and how to get my engine going. I was wet, and if I wasn’t careful, damnit, I was going to do more than kiss him.

  And still, the kiss went on—it was easily the longest first kiss I had ever had, and I didn’t want it to fucking end! My fingers were now curling around his suit and shirt, grabbing at whatever I could. One hand of mine went down to his thigh, dangerously close to his groin.

  It was just barely enough to get me to stop. But boy, if that happened again…

  “Oh my God, Nick…” I said breathlessly. I still wanted to pounce on him right here in the booth. “You have got me all sorts of aroused. You’re dangerous.”

  Nick just snickered, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

  “That’s the fun of it, is it not?”

  Yes, yes, it most certainly was.

  I’d misjudged Nick a bit. I’d slightly underestimated this primal side of him, the side willing to be aggressive in going for what he wanted.

  And then, instead of waiting for me to answer, he again pulled me back into the kiss.

  It was like I was a middle schooler underneath the bleachers all over again. I didn’t care that waitresses might have passed by or bar patrons might have seen us from afar. Someone could have recorded us…

  OK, maybe not that far, but the thought went by quickly, and the arousal was too much. I didn’t just want Nick now. I needed him. Before the night could end, I had to have all of Nick. He consumed me that much.

  This time, it was Nick that pulled back, I think shocked at the ferocity with which I had grabbed at him.

  “Damn, Izzy,” he said. He repeated himself about three times before I grabbed his face and pulled him in for a hard, but relatively quick, kiss. “Forgive me for being so bold, but why don’t we just go someplace a little bit quieter?”

  As if to make the point, the cocktail waitress came by and took Nick’s empty glass. I hadn’t even noticed that he had finished his drink until now; perhaps he’d needed some liquid courage. But that wasn’t what I thought about; instead, I thought about how it would have looked if we were in the booth, touching and feeling each other up, and we had the waitress coming by and…

  No, I didn’t give a shit about that.

  I just wanted all these layers of clothes off of Nick. I wanted to see what routine workouts and healthy eating that made Nick a major league a
ll-star produced.

  “Forgive me for being so excited, but I think I’ll say yes.”

  Nick did not even wait for the waitress to come back. He just threw down a hundred-dollar bill, grabbed me by the hand, and led me to the front door. The audacity of his overpaying, aggressive handholding, and certainty of taking me home had me soaking wet and steaming hot. God, what if—

  “Mr. Ferrari!”

  Nick looked left, and I followed the sound of his voice. Several clicks came as my eyes focused on the source—someone holding a large camera.

  “Hey! Do you mind?” Nick roared.

  I’d never seen him so angry. But there would be no chance at retribution—the guy with the camera ran off. Paparazzi.

  “Fucking hell,” he moaned. “Sorry about that. But let’s—”

  “Wait,” I said.

  The surge of adrenaline had faded almost instantly. But what was coming to replace it was a gnawing sense of fear that was growing by the second.

  If that was the pap, that meant, at best, seedy tabloids were going to run with the photo. At worst, a “mainstream” tabloid like TMZ was going to run with it. Thousands of people would see this photo, and for just about any other woman, that might have marked a humorous moment, a chance at fifteen minutes of fame.

  For me…

  It was my worst nightmare.

  “You all right?”

  “No…” I said, but I couldn’t elaborate. I didn’t have the words. I needed to escape, but… “I need to go home.”

  “Izzy—”

  “No, really, I can’t, I, I—”

  “I’m going to spring training on Monday, and that’s in Arizona,” he said. “I’ll be gone for a month. I will call you and text you, but this is our one chance to spend the night together for a month. I would love to hold you.”

  He pulled me in close and whispered into my ear.

  “And I would love to make love to you.”

  Had he pulled that line in any other context, I’d be naked before he even called the Uber on his phone.

  But the stress was too great, and I was already thinking about what would happen when a certain someone from my past picked up on the fact that I was dating someone very public—someone whose home city could easily be ascertained with a quick Google search.

  My life was, in fact, ruined. And that was not an exaggeration—if anything, it understated the swiftness with which things fell apart, and it depended entirely on that damn photographer.

  “I can’t…”

  “It’s that fucking photographer, isn’t it,” he growled. “Do you want me to do something about it? I can pay him off, make sure…”

  Nick kept talking, but I wasn’t listening. I’d gone into a state of shock, really. Malcolm will learn about me.

  He will find me.

  And…

  “I’m sorry, Nick,” I said. “I…call me.”

  It was a lame attempt to salvage the night, but I knew there was a more than decent chance Nick would never speak to me again. And why the fuck would he? He probably now thought the click of a camera triggered me like some PTSD trip, something that turned an otherwise sane woman into someone who belonged in a mental asylum, not his bed. I wasn’t the “hot and wild in bed” crazy; I was the “oh shit, she needs real, professional help” crazy.

  “Izzy!”

  But I was already hurrying back to my car. Nick kept pace, albeit at a distance. Damnit, I had parked right behind him. I couldn’t get out of this so easily. And I’d already had a bit to drink…

  I got to my car, fumbled with my keys, and finally got them unlocked. But before I could open the car door, Nick put his hand there.

  “Do you want to talk?” he said, his voice stable but on the verge of breaking. “Can you talk?”

  I…

  “No,” I said. “Not, not right now.”

  Nick opened his mouth to speak, but he seemed to recognize it didn’t matter what he offered. Short of murdering the photographer and destroying the camera—something that, all fantasies aside, I really didn’t want Nick to do—there was nothing he could do.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I…yeah. Call.”

  I thought for a second about planting a kiss on his cheek—anything more felt inappropriate—but instead, I just awkwardly jerked back, opened my car door forcefully, and got inside. I turned the car on, backed into the vehicle parked behind me, cursed loudly, and sped off as Nick still tried to reach me.

  I didn’t know why Nick kept trying to be nice to me. After that incident? And with spring training a month away?

  It had been a fun two dates. But I didn’t deserve him. I didn’t deserve anyone.

  At this point, I literally needed to crawl under a rock and just disappear. It might have been the only chance I had at escaping Malcolm’s reach.

  Chapter 9: Nick

  One Month Later

  “Fucking hell!”

  The manager of the Giants, an older man we affectionately just called Brucey, was anything but affectionate right now.

  “I know it’s spring training,” he said. “But the way you guys swung the bat today, I don’t know if you would’ve hit it off a goddamn tee.”

  He shook his head.

  “And you, Ferrari,” he said. “You’re usually the guy everyone looks to. But right now, I’d have to say you’re the guy I tell the youth to be cautious of.”

  “I understand,” I said.

  That admission surprised Brucey, who wasn’t used to players owning their mistakes right after games. But how the hell could I not?

  The routine, in years past, was the same before every game. Arrive three hours before opening pitch. Take a nap in the locker room of about half an hour. Eat my pregame meal. Go for some light jogging and fielding for half an hour. Head to the locker room and watch some tape of the opposing pitcher. Go out, do some warmups. Mentally prepare. And then it was “play ball!”

  But this spring, there had been something that happened almost anytime I had my cell phone at arm’s reach, and it was not helping.

  “Now, look,” Brucey said, his tone softer. “I ain’t gonna hammer this home too much. We’re talking about spring training, not game six of the World Series. But how you practice? That’s how you play. So, we’ll catch our flight back to San Francisco tomorrow at noon. You’re free until then. Maybe meditate instead of partying.”

  Every player on the team had to keep a straight face—Brucey had to say it, but absolutely no one was going to follow it.

  Well, except me.

  What good was partying when I was so confused about where Izzy and I stood?

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  And with that, Brucey disappeared into his office, and the locker room slowly started to warm back up. Players started to thaw the ice with jokes, a couple of plans were made, and Marcus came over and patted me on the back.

  “You’re coming out tonight, right?” he said. “Might be the last chance to party for a while. Well, last chance without having to wake up for a game the next day.”

  I sighed. Marcus was not asking the question to give me a yes or no option. He was asking the question to force my hand.

  “I suppose it would make me a bad teammate if I didn’t show up, huh?” I said.

  Marcus patted me hard.

  “That’s the spirit, brother,” he said. “Can’t have the all-star sulking that he got dumped.”

  I laughed as Marcus left, giving me some space. Dumped was not the right word.

  But as I grabbed my phone, saw that no one had published that photo yet, and read through the most recent text messages between Izzy and me, a small part of me wondered if I’d already been dumped but just didn’t realize it yet.

  * * *

  The party had already gotten started in Marcus’ hotel room. I knew that not because Marcus had banged on my door or blown up my phone, but because I could hear the damn music and the laughter going from one floor above me. It was one of those parties wher
e you didn’t need an invite because the invitation was just hearing the music rage and the girls and guys laugh.

  I looked at my phone, still reading the most recent messages from Izzy. I had texted her when I got back to the hotel, telling her that I would be landing in San Francisco tomorrow and would love to see her. The response was a little unnerving.

  “Can’t tomorrow. Maybe over the weekend?”

  At least she’d actually responded. The last month had felt like a game of extraction, where I had to dig and word my texts very carefully, just enough so that she would eventually respond. It was rapidly getting to the point where I was wondering if this was really worth it.

  I knew people liked to talk about how there were a million fish in the sea and to lose one was merely the opportunity to catch the other million or so, but that missed a fundamental irony to being famous: access to low hanging fruit was so easy, but access to the highest, ripest, best fruit seemed to move further and further away from me. Privacy, anonymity, and all of that were mere fixtures of the past, or perhaps something I’d never even had with my last name.

  And even if that weren’t the case, Izzy had just sparked something deep within me that was hard to describe. I didn’t necessarily believe in the concept of soul mates, but Izzy certainly made my soul soar like no other girl had since…I didn’t know, high school maybe?

  “I got one question.”

  Somehow, in all of the chaos above, someone shouted loud enough that I could hear them through the floor.

  “Where the fuck is Nick Ferrari?”

  I couldn’t hear the ensuing responses, but I knew it was now only a matter of time. And sure enough, just a couple minutes later, I heard a knock on my door. I shuffled to the door, took a breath, and opened it to see Marcus with two very curvy women hanging off of him, both of them wearing seductive grins.

  “I know you aren’t going to be a pussy and stay in all night,” he said, his speech slightly slurred. “You ain’t married yet; you ain’t got no kids. There’s a reason all the single boys got their own hotel, and it’s not so we can stay in and read some fucking scouting reports.”