Playing for Keeps: An Enemies to Lovers Sports Romance

by Stephanie Queen

  “True,” I say. We head through the dim hallways in the bowels of the stadium and I tell him I’m bringing a bottle of Maker’s Mark to hold onto for the Super Bowl celebration. I need to pick up flowers too. It’s cornball as hell, but I don’t know a woman alive who wouldn’t melt ten degrees for a dozen roses. Except maybe Chloe. I wonder what she would think about getting flowers from a blind date. It’s impossible to say what her reaction would be—she could go either way and guessing would be half the fun. I mentally scoff.

  In a rush to get out of the stadium to my car and rid myself of all thoughts of Chloe, I trot through the hall and out of the exit.

  I need this blind date bad. Real bad.

  First to arrive at Hunter and Cat’s East Boston home, I sit at the island in their slick kitchen and watch them cook while I sip my mineral water. Cat is valiantly making an effort to put together her version of chicken parm. Growing up in the family’s restaurant business, I know all about cooking, especially Italian, but I’m not about to interfere, not even if she asks.

  Of course, she asks. “Tate, can you taste this sauce for me?”

  “I’m sure it’s fine.”

  “No really, I need an expert opinion. Tell me if it needs anything and be honest.” Cat holds out a spoonful of sauce in front of my face and I have no choice but to take it from her, so I do. Tasting the marinara, I maintain a smile.

  “It’s good.” I’m not lying.

  “What does it need?” She sees right through me, her hands on her hips and a threatening look on her face. She’s holding a wooden spoon and I’ve been hit by one of those in a kitchen more than once as a kid.

  “The only thing it might need is a couple more hours on the stove simmering.”

  “Shit. We don’t have time for that.”

  Hunter says, “It’s only six o’clock. We leave it on the stove and serve appetizers and salad and it’ll be done by the time we serve dinner.”

  “Problem solved,” I say, giving her my most encouraging smile. My fingers tap the countertop and I ask, “What time is everyone getting here?”

  Cat puts her hand over my fingers to stop the tapping and says, “She’ll be here at six thirty. Sure you don’t want some red wine?”

  “The thing about having a glass of red wine is that it’s never just one glass. I’ll end up drinking three more glasses with my meal and I’ll wake up dehydrated tomorrow.”

  “Sounds like this wisdom has come from experience, so I won’t tempt you again,” she says.

  “Fontanna never could hold his liquor.” Hunter says.

  I raise my middle finger at him.

  The back door opens and Gabe walks into the kitchen with Mia on his arm like he’s family. The shot of wistfulness goes through me like it always does when I see Mia and my mouth turns up automatically. I should think of her as the one who got away since Gabe was supposed to fix her up with me. But she was never mine, not even for one kiss. She’d always been Gabe’s and it was clear Gabe had always wanted her in spite of himself and his insane notion that a serious relationship would kill his game, take away from his relentless drive.

  We slap each other on the back by way of greeting and Hunter hands out glasses of wine like water. Mia gives me the hug of a true friend. Before anyone has a chance to sit down, there’s a knock at the back door. Gabe answers it like he’s the butler and Sean Patrick walks in with his date.

  She’s a va-voom knockout who’s taller than him and he’s not a short man. Looking her over, I’m proud for not letting my eyes fall out of their sockets. At some point this evening, I know I’m going to ask her how high her heels are. They’re even taller than the spikes I’ve seen Chloe wearing.

  And now I need to promise myself that will be the last thought I think about Chloe Smith tonight. I need to devote myself to my blind date because she’ll save me from being taunted by a damn reporter. Whoever my date is, she has to be better for me than Smitty. I’ll focus on the mystery woman and shower her with so much attention she’ll propose to me by morning.

  “This is Lydia,” Sean says. “She plays volleyball for Arizona University. She’s here for a few weeks with her team, teaching a clinic.”

  “That explains things,” Cat says. “If you’re of age, I’ll offer you a glass of wine.”

  “Oh yes, I’m old enough to drink. I’m twenty-two,” Lydia says. “In fact that’s how Sean and I—”

  “Let’s save that story for later, honey,” Sean interrupts. He turns to me and asks, “Where’s your date?”

  “She’ll be here,” I say.

  Cat says, “I asked her to come later than the rest of you.”

  “To stage some kind of grand entrance for the guest of honor?” I shake my head. Sean renews his trash talk about the bet about whether I end up taking her home with me and Gabe ups the ante. Hunter says he has to play like Switzerland to preserve his health and that of others. Cat has that I just ate a fresh canary look and I try and juice up my enthusiasm.

  Checking the giant wall clock, I see it’s six thirty-five and I should probably be revved or stoked about meeting the woman, but curiosity and determination are all I can muster. We’re all talking at once, and I’m sipping my ice water, when the doorbell rings.

  Everyone stops and we look at Cat. She puts aside the bowl of salad she was working on and says, “I want you all to promise you’ll be on your best behavior. No rude comments.” She leaves the kitchen, headed to the front door, and Hunter steps into her wake, blocking the threshold.

  “What the hell?” Gabe says what I’m thinking. I try and take a look past Hunter into the hallway, but he doesn’t budge.

  “Cat will bring your date into the kitchen, where we can all hang out,” he says. “That’s why we have this enormous island. May as well make it worth the cost.”

  We’re all sitting around the island on barstools and I’m thinking I should get up to meet her when I hear Cat talking as they get to the arched entry to the kitchen. I hear the laugh, the unmistakable familiar laugh, of the last woman I want to see tonight. Goddamn, leave it to Cat to invite Chloe. I don’t bother turning around and wonder how Cat could invite a reporter into her home. Glancing at the clock again, I realize my mystery date isn’t big on promptness, but I don’t care.

  The minute Chloe steps into the kitchen behind me, every hair on my body rises in awareness. One deep breath before I turn to greet her and her scent fills me, sending mixed signals shooting all around my brain, messing with the wiring, putting my fucking indiscriminate cock on alert.

  If I’d never met her before, I’d think she looks like a dream. She’s all done up like she took a wrong turn on her way to the Miss America pageant. Sean wastes no time letting out a whistle and I elbow him because it’s disrespectful to his date, no matter how casual.

  “I think you know most of us here, Chloe,” Cat says. “This is Mia and Lydia.”

  Then Cat turns to me and I’m about to ask her where my date is when she says, “And of course you know Tate. Your date for the evening.”

  The room goes still and quiet and even if there was anything to hear I wouldn’t because my brain freezes and my heart stops for an endless tick of the clock like we’re in some kind of Twilight Zone suspension in time.

  “What the fuck, Cat?” Chloe says before I have a chance.

  “You forgot to tell Miss Sports Reporter your directive to behave,” I say, keeping my eyes on her and the simmering in my veins on low.

  Cat takes her arm and says, “Don’t tell me you two don’t have chemistry because I’ve seen it for myself. I saw how you looked at her that night at Louie’s, Tate.” Then she turns to Cat and says, “And you gave me a list of everything you wanted in a man that describes Tate perfectly. Now let’s behave and try to enjoy the evening. Let’s leave the job at the office for one night and not talk about football. I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to make a lip-smacking dinner.”

  Because he’s a smart man, Hunter says, “Can I get anyone a dri
nk?”

  “I’ll have a Maker’s Mark. Straight up,” I say.

  “Make that two,” Chloe says and takes the chair next to me.

  Then everyone jumps in to talk at once, explaining to Mia and Lydia why Chloe and I are an unlikely pair.

  “Hey, we’re sitting right here and we’re not deaf,” I say.

  “Mind changing the subject?” Chloe says as she picks up the glass Hunter puts in front of her. I pick up mine too, and Cat takes control of the conversation to talk about food. She puts out some shrimp rolls and fried calamari for appetizers.

  “Here’s to spending a civil evening together,” I say as I click my glass against Chloe’s.

  “Wow, you really know how to romance a girl, don’t you?” She takes a healthy swig of her drink and I refrain from telling her it’s the kind of whiskey that should be sipped.

  She says under her breath, “What the fuck is Chloe thinking?”

  “In all fairness, she doesn’t get exactly how deep our differences go.”

  She says, “That makes two of us, Tate. Why don’t you explain to me why you blame me for something that happened years ago?”

  Taking a deep breath, I can’t help smiling because she’s such a ridiculous troublemaker. I lean in and whisper, “How about if we call a truce for the night?”

  “You sure? Because you know where that might lead.” She gives me a sultry look, but I pretend it has no effect on me.

  “I’ll try to control myself.”

  “What about me?” she says. “I’m not so sure I can control myself for a whole night, big boy.” She runs the tip of one of her heels up my pants leg and I grip my glass tighter than I should, hoping it doesn’t break.

  “No flirting,” I say.

  “I’m only playing.”

  “With fire.”

  Her smile is slow and hot and my cock swells and hardens in direct proportion. Fuck.

  “If we can’t flirt or talk football, what the hell is there left for us, Fontanna?”

  Looking around at the others who are ignoring us, letting us have our tête-à-tête, I consider her question far too seriously. “How about we get to know each other. Two strangers meeting.”

  “On a blind date?” She perks up. “I’ll play that game.”

  “No games.”

  “You’re a real hardass, aren’t you?” She picks up her drink and this time she sips it, a blond curl falling across her forehead. My hand reaches up to touch it because it looks irresistibly soft and fuck. My cock is on fire and she’s not even trying.

  Hunter and Cat bring the food out to the dining room and move everyone to the table for a sit-down, honest-to-God feast, ending our non-flirtation for the duration of the meal. We sit together, but Chloe engages with everyone at the table, regaling them with tales from her misspent youth as the itinerant daughter of a larger-than-life sports reporting legend. She fascinates everyone, including me. I’m half horrified and half amused at the life she led, admire her grit, and am completely charmed by her storytelling.

  “So you went into locker rooms as a young girl?” Mia asks. I can’t tell if she is fascinated or horrified. I am immune to the shock factor of Smitty’s upbringing by now. Or so I thought.

  “Let me tell you about the time I saw my first penis,” she says. I coughed, almost swallowing an ice cube. I’d switched back to ice water, but it might be time to go back to the whiskey. The others laughed and prodded her on.

  “I was with dad in the NBA Championship locker room. I was nine years old. There was the usual hubbub of shouts and champagne being sprayed around and I was dressed in a little plastic raincoat because Dad had planned to take me inside and had permission—someone owed him something. I got all sticky and got it in my head that I needed to wash it off.”

  “Don’t tell me—” Cat puts her hands over her ears in mock horror but everyone else is grinning. I’m riveted. Chloe continues.

  “Yes I did. I went to the showers and someone was in there big as life. I didn’t yell or overreact because I was fascinated as fuck, but the guy screamed and my dad came running, sweeping me away, handing me off to one of the player’s wives outside of the locker room. I was mildly disappointed and told my dad later, but he insisted I keep my disappointment about Sam the Bam’s junk to myself.”

  “Fucking crazy,” I say. “Both you and your dad.” I couldn’t help laughing in spite of feeling appalled on a deeper level. Sean and Hunter were laughing so hard they were almost crying. Cat and Mia looked horrified and Gabe was holding in a laugh, and looking at me.

  “Dad was upset about that one and didn’t let me into locker rooms for a long time after that. Though I did occasionally sneak in.”

  “Nothing ruffles you, does it? Not even when you were a kid,” I say. “If you were a guy, I’d want you on my team.”

  “What a thing to say to your date,” Cat says, looking as if I’d insulted Chloe. I’m satisfied that Chloe takes no such umbrage at my comment. In fact, she looks pleased, if the beaming smile is any clue. Our eyes meet and stick, our smiles matching, and then I feel it, that tug, that spark as our stare goes from mutual admiration to another level.

  The unmistakable shine of flirtation takes over her eyes and I can feel the mirroring shift in my own stare. More importantly, I feel the shift in my pants as my dick takes notice. It’s worse than before because we’re not playing games. It’s as if the air in the room changes from cool to hot, as if some sick Cupid flicked a switch—or hits me with an arrow in a cruel joke saying not so fast, buddy, she’s not one of the guys, she’s your sexiest nightmare waiting for you to show her how manly you are.

  “Who’s ready for dessert?” Cat stands and claps her hands. “Tate brought us some chocolate-covered strawberries and I made Tiramisu.”

  Chloe darts an accusing look at me and I smirk. She brought nothing with her and I enjoy the pale pink blush rising to her cheeks. Amazing to see in a woman who can swear like a teenage boy with something to prove.

  “How romantic, Tate.” Mia said. That diverts my attention from Chloe’s tantalizing warmth and the sensuality I feel oozing from her as I turn to her. Mia is teasing me. Chloe must sense that too as she rips my attention back by planting her hot palm on my thigh under the table and squeezing. I don’t flinch but my cock does and my smile falters.

  “Not bad for a defensive player.”

  Chloe reaches out and takes one of the chocolate-covered strawberries as soon as Cat places them on the table, as if staking her claim. She gives me a challenging look as she puts the chocolate tip to her lips and licks. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was competing with Mia and out to win. But then maybe that does suit Chloe. She is a competitor by nature and wants to be the best, at the top. Maybe on top too . . . Fuck. Her tongue circles the strawberry, smearing the chocolate and my cock screams for her attention, for the attention of her tongue and that mouth.

  Then she bites off the tip and I close my eyes, not wanting to see any more. The others are too busy trying out their desserts to be paying attention to our byplay, so I lean in, my eyes on her unblinking violet ones.

  “I want to make you pay for that.”

  “Promises—”

  I cover the hand she still has on my thigh with mine and move it up to my cock. Her stare sizzles, pupils darkening, but if I thought I was going to shock this too-cool reporter who has seen everything, I’d have been wrong. Maybe I’m not trying to shock her or put her off. Maybe I really want to excite her, seduce her. Because I sure as fuck am exciting myself. And she sure as fuck looks excited. Exciting.

  Needing to calm down because we’re at a fucking dinner table with a group of people—my friends—and I have no wish to put on an exhibition of my excitement level because I still need to stand up before I—we can leave. I take her hand off me and pull it on top of the table, still holding it.

  When did I decide I was leaving with Chloe? Aside from the fact that it had been my plan all along to leave with my blind date
, to bring her home and spend the night fucking our brains out, or making love, depending on how I felt about her, that was before I knew said blind date was fucking Smitty. It would be a dangerous thing to leave with Chloe Smith, the ultimate sports media maniac.

  Leaning close to my ear, she whispers, “Let’s get the fuck out of here as soon as we can—as soon as you can stand up, though I hate to see the hard-on go.”

  Letting out a long breath, I turn away from her and clear my throat, try not to laugh.

  “This was a great dinner, Cat,” I say. “You really impressed me.”

  “How about my matchmaking? Are you impressed with that too?”

  I laugh along with everyone else. Everyone but Chloe.

  “Frankly, Cat. I think your matchmaking is a home run,” she says. That stops everyone’s laughter. Shit. Everything in me tenses up, including and especially my cock, but I keep my smile in place. What the fuck, Chloe?

  “Is that right?” Cat prompts, and I want to drag Chloe from the table now and get her out of here before another outrageous word comes from her mouth. But I don’t because I haven’t lost my mind completely, although it’s more than halfway gone.

  “Yes.” Chloe turns to me. “Except for the fact that we’re mortal enemies, Fontanna and I are a perfect match.” She smiles and winks, lifting our joined hands in the air. I think everyone gets the picture. They all know we want to fuck around even though we hate each other—not exactly, but it’s a good shorthand for whatever the fuck antagonism we have going on.

  “On that note.” I stand, pulling her with me. She aims her sizzling eyes at me and doesn’t hold back, throwing her napkin on her plate.

  Gabe claps his hands and Sean and Hunter join in, then the women, and Cat takes a bow.

  “Whatever,” Cat says, “I’ll take it.”

  Sean grins and is about to say something and I know it’s about the bet so I say to him, “Shut up, Sean. Don’t say another word.”

  He cracks up and Chloe looks suspicious but I lead her from the dining room through the kitchen and out the back door, not stopping to say goodbye as they all shout their good-nights and good-lucks and wolf whistles and who the fuck knows what other bawdy comments they’re bellowing in between laughs and snickers.