“What’s that supposed to mean? What the hell do you think a football player looks like?”
“Rich,” he says, matter-of-fact, as we get to the campsite. The twiggy little blond kid is standing beside a pile of tarp and various supplies, looking helpless.
“And I don’t look rich?”
Louis shrugs.
“Whoa,” the blond kid breathes, looking at me with wide eyes. “I know who you are.”
I look at Louis. “See? Told you. I’m famous.”
The blond kid, Spencer, as I note from his nametag, nods. “You’re on that TV show.”
“You’re on a TV show?” Louis blurts. “Well, why didn’t you say that?”
“Because I’m not on a TV show,” I grumble. How’d I wind up paired with the only two kids here who don’t know who I am? “Weren’t you paying attention when they introduced us earlier?”
Louis shrugs for the fifteenth time. “Not really. I get bored a lot.”
Spencer interrupts. “Yeah, I remember that other guy over there. He’s a football player,” he says, pointing to Aiden.
“We’re both football players. Famous ones,” I say, exhaling heavily in exasperation. I glance at Aiden on the other side of the field, who’s standing way too close to Grace to be appropriate.
“Do you know that’s President Sullivan’s daughter?” Spencer asks, oblivious to my frustration. “President Sullivan has been in office for eight hundred and eighty-two days. He’s married to Katherine Sullivan, and they have a dog named Ruffles.”
“What, are you an encyclopedia?” I ask.
“I had to do a report last week,” Spencer replies. “What’s an encyclopedia?”
“It’s a reference book. People look stuff up in encyclopedias when they want to learn about things.”
“You mean like asking Siri?” Spencer looks at me blankly.
I exhale heavily. “Yeah. Exactly like that.”
Louis looks at me, his nose wrinkled again. “You see those other counselors? They seem nicer than you.”
“They’re smiling more,” agrees Spencer.
“Are you here because you’re doing community service or something?” asks Louis as he bends over and begins to pull out a tent. “My mom’s ex-boyfriend had to do community service once. But he picked up trash at a park.”
“This is my ranch, smartass.” I grab the tent from the mouthy kid’s hands. “You guys are my guests.”
Louis looks doubtful. “Are you sure?”
“You’re asking if I’m sure it’s my ranch or if I’m sure about having you kids here? Because I’m starting to regret the latter.”
Louis and Spencer stare at me blankly.
I exhale heavily. This is going to be a long damn two weeks, although if I’m being honest, I’ll admit that Louis and Spencer aren’t so bad. They’re even kind of funny - for kids. “How about less talking and more setting up the tents?”
17
Grace
“You’re good with the kids,” I note, trying to sound casual as I wipe my palms on my jeans not just because they’re dirty but because I’m slightly nervous being around Aiden now that we’ve finished setting up the tent. Aiden took over, teaching the two kids how to pitch the tent while cracking jokes that made all of us laugh. The second they were finished, Niall and Drew ran off to tell their camp counselors they were done, leaving Aiden and I standing here alone.
Well, as alone as you can be in a field with twenty kids running around and a bunch of camp counselors. I’m definitely aware of that fact when I take a step back from Aiden, putting a respectable amount of distance between me and the too-handsome athlete, who’s the epitome of small-town sexy in his blue t-shirt and faded jeans. He and Noah both look at home here on the ranch, not at all like you'd think a couple of football players – or celebrities – would look plunked down in the middle of Nowhere, Colorado, although I guess that's not surprising, since this is Noah's ranch, after all.
“I have a pain-in-the-ass younger sister,” Aiden says. He runs his hand through his hair and shrugs.
I laugh. “I can definitely see you as a pain-in-the-ass older brother,” I say. “How old is she?”
“Twenty-one. She’ll be a senior next year in college.”
“You and Noah grew up in Colorado, right?”
“Did you read up on us?” Aiden asks, a wide grin spreading across his face.
“Actually, I didn’t,” I admit. “I remain blissfully ignorant about both of you.”
“Because you’re not interested, or because you’d rather get to know us personally?” Aiden asks.
The way he asks the question is unmistakably sexual, and the “us” part of the question doesn’t escape my attention. Reflexively, I glance to the other side of the field where Noah is helping a couple of kids with their campsite.
You’d like to get to know Aiden and Noah very personally.
I clear my throat. “I have this thing about not getting intel on people I meet in real life.”
“Intel from your security?”
“That too. But I meant internet-searching people I meet in real life."
"Your whole life is public knowledge," Aiden comments.
"Yeah, exactly. That's why I don't like looking up other people. People make lots of assumptions about me because they can find articles about my life, going back to when I was in grade school. They think they know who I am before getting to know me."
"Being a player isn't too different from that," Aiden admits. "It's all PR. Just like with me and Noah. People like the whole 'Colorado golden boys' story."
"You both grew up out here by the ranch?”
"You literally don't know anything about us?" Aiden seems stunned by that revelation, and I'm not sure if he's offended or amazed.
"You're not that famous," I tease.
Aiden lets out a warm laugh. "Whatever, we're famous as hell. But… you really don't follow sports at all?"
I shake my head. "Don't tell anyone," I whisper, putting a finger to my lips. "On paper, I'm a Colorado football fan, through and through. But um… not really. My dad actually is a die-hard Colorado fan, though."
"We didn't grow up here," Aiden tells me. "Not on this ranch, I mean. Noah bought this place a couple years ago. It's his place, really. He doesn't let people out here ever, either. After the season ends, he usually disappears for a month or so, doesn't talk to anyone, just holes up here like a hermit."
I glance over to Noah, who's still working with his kids on setting up their campsite. "He doesn't look like a hermit."
Aiden laughs. "Noah and people don't go together. Trust me."
Noah leans over to pick up something from the ground, and I find my gaze lingering on his ass for just a moment too long. I clear my throat, mentally chastising myself for ogling another man when I have a ridiculously attractive man right here in front of me. What's wrong with me?
I intend to change the subject. I don't want to talk about Noah with Aiden – and I definitely don't want to think about how attracted to both of them I am right now. "You and Noah grew up together?"
Way to change the subject away from Noah, Grace.
"In the smallest town imaginable," Aiden says. "West Bend, Colorado."
"The smallest town imaginable, huh? I'm picturing a little Main Street with a bunch of shops, looking like something right out of the 1950s?"
"Ah, so you've been there?" Aiden teases.
"I've been to places like it, for sure," I say. "Actually, I probably have been there with my father during one of his campaign seasons. His campaign managers love to pick those small towns for town hall sessions or photo ops in a local diner."
"During one of his campaign seasons?" Aiden asks. "This is only his second time running for President."
I laugh. "My father has been in politics since before I was born. I was in campaign photos before I could walk. Councilman, state senator, United States congressman, Governor of Colorado… You name it, my father’s done it. P
olitical royalty – that’s what they call my family."
Aiden grunts. "I don't really follow politics."
"Well, I gathered that much when you didn't know who I was when you met me," I tease.
Aiden looks down at the ground, digging the toe of his shoe into the dirt. "Yeah."
Is he embarrassed, and why do I find that so endearing?
"It's okay, you know."
"Noah stays on top of political stuff. It's never really been my thing."
"Most of the people I meet are way too into politics," I admit. "They want to talk to me about my dad, or about the foundation, or want an edge somehow with their political career, or their causes."
"Yeah?" Aiden asks. "I guess it's the same with football. The only people I meet are fans."
"So I know nothing about football and you know nothing about politics. What are we going to talk about for two weeks?"
Aiden turns toward me, the proximity too close to be simply friendly. My heart races as I look at him, and I tell myself to step back away from him before someone out here sees us and gets the wrong impression… or the right one. But for some reason, I can't make myself back away. "Talking wasn't on my list of priorities."
The look he gives me is sheer lust – animalistic, primal, I'm-going-to-devour-you lust. Even as warmth rushes through my body in response to his words, I try to muster the wherewithal to rebuff him. I clear my throat. "I hope you didn't come here with the intent to do anything but talk, Mr. Jackson," I say. My words sound false even to me.
Aiden chuckles. "I'll talk.” He steps forward, his lips near my ear. "In fact, I'll tell you exactly what I want to do to you.”
I step back from him, my heart racing. There's a damn good chance my face is as red as the shade of the boots I'm wearing. "I thought I made myself clear when you and Noah signed up to join me at the ranch," I state primly. "Nothing's going to happen that's unprofessional or inappropriate."
Aiden grins. "I think you're the first woman to play hard-to-get with me ever."
I bristle at his arrogance, despite my body's obvious attraction to him. "First of all, I'm not playing hard-to-get, because this isn't a game."
Aiden doesn't seem put off at all by my statement. "It's definitely a competition."
"Second of all," I continue. "I find it hard to believe that all women throw themselves at you. Wait – what do you mean, it's a competition?"
"You find it hard to believe that women throw themselves at me? With all this I have going on?" he asks, gesturing to himself.
I roll my eyes. "Your humility is admirable."
"No reason to be humble when you're honest, sugar. And you're not being honest with yourself."
"Of course I'm honest," I sputter. "What in the world would I not be honest about?"
Aiden gives me his crooked grin again. "That Noah and I are going to be professional or businesslike or friendly or whatever-the-hell."
My eyes narrow. "You agreed."
"Oh, I'll be appropriate – right up until you ask me not to be."
I raise my eyebrows in disbelief. "You think I'm going to ask you to be inappropriate?"
"I don't think so. I know so."
"You're appallingly arrogant.”
Aiden shrugs, nonplussed. "I'm honest."
"And you honestly think I'm going to ask you to cross a line with me?" I fold my arms over my chest.
"Yep." He grins. "Admit it. You've thought about me."
"We want to hear you say it," Aiden commands, his fingers under my jaw as he tilts my head back toward him. His other hand pinches my nipple harder, sending a shock of pain through me - except that instead of hurting, it adds to the sensation. "Tell us how you want us to fuck you.”
"I have not." I practically choke on the words, my mind consumed by the thought of what I’ve imagined Aiden doing to me.
Aiden lets out a laugh, low under his breath. "Liar," he says softly as he leans close to me, his mouth near my ear. I shiver as the heat of his breath wafts over my skin, sending goose bumps across my body. "It's written all over your face. How did I do it when you thought about it? Did I pull up your skirt and bend you over the desk in your office? Was I on my knees with my tongue in your pussy?"
I put my hand firmly against his chest, intending to push him immediately away, except it lingers for a second too long, my fingers pressing against his hard muscles. For a second, I think he's going to kiss me.
Then, I want him to kiss me. I want him to pick me up and take me straight to the ranch house.
I want him to do a million dirty things with me.
No. I exhale heavily, stepping back from him. "No," I lie, my voice thick with lust. "I'm not going to ask you to cross a line. It's never going to happen."
"Never?" Aiden asks.
"That's right," I reiterate firmly.
"That's a shame," he says. "How long has it been since you’ve been fucked, good and hard? I mean, really fucked. Like toe-curling, hair-pulling, back-scratching, break-the-bed and scream-down-the-walls fucked?"
He asks the question like he's asking when's the last time I had scrambled eggs for breakfast, like this is a totally normal topic of conversation.
The answer is never, by the way. As if I'm going to admit that to him.
"Last week," I lie, attempting to sound breezy.
Aiden arches one eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "Last week?"
"Yep."
"Liar."
"Could have happened."
"Not a chance."
"Of course it could have. You don't know."
"Oh, I think I know when a woman is in need of a good fuck."
"That's probably one of the most misogynistic things I've ever heard."
"Don't know what that means, sugar tits.” He winks at me.
I roll my eyes. "Classy."
One of the camp counselors waves at us, heading in our direction, and Aiden grins. "I'm going to go be professional now."
"It's always good to learn a new skill," I say.
"Mr. Jackson," the camp counselor interrupts from yards away, waving him in her direction. Aiden turns to walk away when I realize he never answered that one question I asked.
"Wait. What did you mean by competition?"
Aiden turns around to face me. "Between Noah and I," he answers. "For you, obviously."
"I'm not a prize," I call to his retreating figure.
Aiden laughs. "Neither are we, sugar."
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