Bad Ballers: A Contemporary Sports Romance Box Set

by Bishop, S. J.

But I’ve always been jealous of Becca’s figure and her style. Becca is almost six feet tall, thin, and willowy. She could wear a bag and look good in it. I’m shorter, have more natural curves, and am solidly muscular from my career as a rower. Finding clothing that fits my thighs without pooling at my waist was difficult.

  Knowing I was going to be late, I finally chose a figure flattering Target dress, used a curling iron on my hair, grabbed my purse, and called an Uber.

  When I arrived at the restaurant, I was overcome by that same terrible, gut-churning nervousness that plagued me at the start of a race.

  Seeing Dash had always made me a bit nervous. When Becca had first brought Dash to my mother’s house, I’d known who he was. Even before they’d started dating, I’d drooled over his Nike advertisements and his spreads in GQ. That first meeting, I’d been beside myself. But Dash had proven incredibly friendly – not at all like that intense, foul-mouthed football player you saw in HD on Sundays.

  He’d always been sweeter to me than Becca had, and I was positive that my tasteful and expensive Christmas gifts were Dash-selected. We’d become textual friends a few years into their marriage. Whenever he came across anything involving Mark Twain, he’d send me a link, and I would text him the latest memes featuring his face.

  Despite knowing Dash for over five years, this was the first time he and I had ever spent time one on one. As I allowed the server to usher me into the private dining room at the back of the Four Seasons hotel, I was startled by how intimate the whole thing felt.

  Dash stood up as I entered, and I offered him what I hoped was a sympathetic smile. In reality, my heart was pounding – just as it always did when I set eyes on Dash Barnes.

  Dash was Prince Charming. He was the guy that every girl wanted to date. He was a blond haired, blue-eyed, six-foot-four stud who’d grown up with gobs of money and had played quarterback on his high school and college football teams. He was a serial monogamist, a walking Ken doll whose only flaws seemed to be impatience, an aggressive competitive streak, and a penchant for dating (and marrying) models.

  Right now, he looked effortlessly impressive. His golden hair was slightly damp from a recent shower and swept back off his high brow. He wore form-fitting black pants and a gray V-neck shirt that was definitely too casual for the Four Seasons restaurant.

  At the sight of me, Dash’s mouth quirked into a half-smile. “Hey, Annie. Sorry about this,” he waved his hand around the intimate dining room. “I think the restaurant assumed this was a date.”

  Dash was the only one who ever called me Annie, and my name on his lips sent chills right through me. I knew my feelings were inappropriate, but as he reached to wrap me up in a hug, I couldn’t help but wrap my arms around his neck and inhale the heady, expensive scent of him.

  “God, Dash, it’s been way too long,” I told him as I sat down in the chair the waitress held out for me.

  “I know. I’m sorry.” He winced theatrically.

  “How are you?” I asked. “Are you doing all right?”

  Dash shrugged, grabbing up the menu. “Been better, honestly,” he said. “Today was not the best day. But it’s over. And at the end of it, I get to have a quiet dinner with a friend. I guess it could have gone worse.”

  I tried not to melt.

  “What about you?” he asked. He needed to stop smiling at me.

  “Today was tough,” I agreed. Though for entirely different reasons. “Some kids got into a hall fight. There was punching, hair pulling…” I rolled my eyes. “It was right outside my classroom, so I had to intervene. I grabbed the one girl, but the teacher who grabbed the other got elbowed in the face.”

  Dash’s eyes widened. “I thought you worked at a private school!”

  “Yes, well, you went to a private school, didn’t you?” I asked. “Were you all well behaved?”

  Dash’s grin widened. “No,” he said. “But then again, I didn’t have teachers that looked like you. If I had, maybe I’d have been a bit better behaved.”

  “Or would you have behaved worse?” I teased.

  Dash winked.

  Fuck. We were both flirting. Not good. Abort.

  The waitress had perfect timing and showed up at that moment to take our drink order. Dash ordered a beer, and I asked for a glass of Pinot Grigio. Just one glass, I told myself. I tended to get grabby after two glasses of wine.

  The mood of the room wasn’t helping. The table was covered by a rich burgundy table cloth and lit by a small candelabra. I had the terrible urge to say something stupid: Is now a good time to reveal that I’ve been in love with you for five years?

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked. Best thing to do was to switch topics.

  Dash sighed and ran a hand through his hair, sitting back. “Not particularly,” he said. “But I suppose I should. I haven’t gotten the chance to speak to anyone about the divorce. I feel guilty unloading on you when you’re her sister.”

  I shrugged. “I harbor no illusions about Becca. I love her. But we haven’t been close since we were girls. She hasn’t said a word about the whole divorce. What happened?”

  Dash told me about Becca not wanting kids and about how badly he wanted them. That surprised me.

  It didn’t surprise me that Dash wanted a family. I’d actually met his family twice over the summers when they’d invited me to come down to the Hamptons for a week. It was clear, watching Dash with his siblings and their children, that he was a family man.

  But I’d had no idea my sister wasn’t interested in kids.

  In the middle of the conversation, the waiter came to take our orders, and when the waiter left, Dash told me about how Becca had broken the divorce to him. Apparently, she’d been planning it for a while. I assured him that she hadn’t said anything to her family about it. Dash seemed relieved.

  “I think I might have felt betrayed if you’d known all along. I know that sounds ridiculous – you’re her sister. But I’ve always thought you and I had a good relationship.”

  There were a million responses I wanted to make, none of them appropriate, and I was relieved that the waiter arrived with our dinners.

  Dash changed the topic. “What about you, Annie? How’s teaching going?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Every day’s an adventure.” I could talk teaching for hours with my friends, but I didn’t want to bore Dash with the ins and outs of lesson planning or dealing with parents.

  “Tell me about it,” said Dash, sitting forward.

  Really? “You really want to hear about it?”

  Dash smiled. “You’re a great story teller, Annie. I could use a laugh.”

  I took a deep breath, forcing myself to not read too much into the compliment, and told him about my latest run in with Epiphany Luxe and her mother.

  “…I didn’t want to say anything else to Mrs. Luxe because Epiphany is sitting there crying! But her mom was screaming, insisting that I name each and every one of Epiphany’s friends.” I threw my hand up to emphasize my frustration and managed to whack the waitress, who’d come up behind me to fill my water glass.

  Water splashed out of the pitcher and onto the table as the waitress tried to right herself. “I’m so sorry!” the woman gasped, as I leaped back, water dripping onto my plate and into my lap.

  “Oh god, no! It’s my fault,” I said, glaring at Dash, who was hiding his laughter behind his hand. His eyes danced in the candlelight, and he stood, pulling out my chair and moving it around so that I was next to him instead of across from him.

  “It’s just water,” he assured the waitress. “No…no…no need to move us! We’re fine. Right, Annie?”

  I nodded, mortified, and obediently sat when Dash reached up and tugged me down beside him.

  This close to him, I was too aware of how big he was, of how good he smelled. The waitress left to get us a dessert menu, and Dash cleared his throat, trying to stop laughing.

  “I’m such an idiot, sometimes,” I muttered, dabbing at my dress with
my napkin.

  “I’m not upset about it,” said Dash, turning to face me so that our knees brushed. “I needed a good laugh.” His smile was infectious, and I felt myself returning it, somewhat shyly. I shifted, and our knees brushed again. This time, Dash looked down to where my dress left a few inches of my thigh exposed. I wasn’t imagining it. The energy in the room shifted.

  Dash looked up at me, his eyes darkening. For a moment, I held his gaze.

  “Here you go!” said the waitress, coming back with the menus.

  4

  Dash

  Annie’s cheeks turned red, and she stood, trying to appear calm and not flustered. It was all I could do to not laugh out loud. I got up and moved Annie’s chair so that it was next to mine. No need to make a fuss over spilled water.

  Annie followed her chair but stood, frowning, and continued to dab at her dress. Without thinking, I reached up and took her cool hand in mine, tugging her gently until she sat.

  “I’m such an idiot, sometimes,” she muttered.

  I knew I needed to stop laughing (Becca hated to be laughed at), so I took a deep breath and caught a whiff of Annie’s perfume. It was light, floral, and barely present, and there was something else there, too. Shampoo, maybe, or laundry. She smelled incredible, and for a moment, I forgot myself and took a nice, hard look at the girl sitting next to me. Don’t just stare at her! Say something.

  “I’m not upset about it.” I shifted to make some room for her. My knee brushed against hers, and I looked down, startled by the flash of creamy, white thigh that her dress revealed. Staring. You’re staring. “I needed a good laugh,” I said. And that was true. It was nice to be able to laugh at the end of a shitty day.

  If I was being honest with myself, it wasn’t just the laughter that was improving my day. Annie Brown was turning into an unexpected distraction.

  Though she didn’t look all that much like her sister, Annie was attractive. I’d always thought so, and I couldn’t believe that – nearing thirty – she wasn’t dating or engaged.

  Annie shifted, the dress riding just a bit higher up her thigh. I realized I was staring again and looked up, only to meet her quiet, intent gaze. Fuck. She was looking at me like she wanted to bite the buttons off of my shirt. As our gazes held, I could practically feel the tension start to heighten. I felt an inexplicable wave of lust course through me, and I got hard. Her leg was barely touching mine, but I was hard.

  “Here you go!” The waitress came back, carrying small desert menus, and as our eyes broke, so did the tension, evaporating so quickly I wasn’t even sure it was ever really there at all. How long had it been since I’d had sex? Too long, if I was suddenly lusting after Becca’s sister.

  “Are you going to order dessert?” Annie asked me, meeting my gaze again. I’d never noticed it before, but Annie’s dark-blue irises were outlined by a black ring. In the dim light, her pupils were wide and innocent.

  “No, I don’t think so.” If she didn’t get out of here, I was going to do something we’d both regret.

  “Okay.” Annie set the menu down.

  “You can get something,” I said quickly. Do you want her to stay or go, Dash? Make up your mind!

  Annie ran her fingers through her hair, sending the scent of her shampoo wafting in my direction. Damn. What was wrong with me?

  “I don’t need it,” she said after a moment. “I also have work tomorrow, so I should probably make it an early night.”

  The waitress came back, and I told her to bill the dinner to my room.

  We both stood, for it was clear that the dinner was over, but neither of us said anything. Annie wasn’t usually tongue-tied. I frowned at her. “You okay?” I asked.

  She nodded, and it was hard to tell in the dim light, but I think she might have blushed. “Sorry,” she said after a moment. “I just realized that I probably wouldn’t be seeing much of you again after this.”

  I frowned. “I don’t think that has to be the case.”

  “I suppose it doesn’t have to be,” said Annie, shrugging, “but that doesn’t mean it won’t be the last time I see you. You and Becca aren’t together anymore, so I won’t be seeing you at Christmas or Easter; I won’t be meeting your family out in the Hamptons this summer.”

  I had the sinking sensation that she was right. “Listen,” I said. “I have a solution.”

  Annie blinked and leaned in. Her perfume wove around me like a net, and I had to shake my head to get clear of its pull. Christ. What was she wearing?

  “I’m listening,” Annie urged.

  “Why don’t you come by the shoot tomorrow? We film until six, so come by after your school lets out. I’ll text you the address.”

  The smile that lit Annie’s face was as sudden as lightening, and I was momentarily stunned. Becca had rarely smiled these past two years, and making Annie smile was so incredibly easy…

  “I’d really like that,” she said. The anxiety that had arisen at the thought of her departure abated. I’d get to see Annie tomorrow.

  5

  Anne

  “Good morning, Ms. Brown!”

  “Good morning, Ms. Baumgold,” I replied to Margie, the school secretary, before heading over to check my mailbox. It was late April, and the box was full of promotional material for college applications. I tossed them into the recycling.

  “Good morning, Ms. Shirley!” the secretary called, and I turned to see Chrissy Shirley pushing through the office door, carrying her baby.

  A year younger than I, Chrissy had married last year, and her pregnancy had followed soon after. She’d been on maternity leave for three months.

  “Hi, Ms. Baumgold!” Chrissy beamed. “Hey, Anne!”

  “Is this Xavier!?” I demanded, setting my bag on the floor and rushing over to see her baby. I couldn’t help it. Babies, cats, dogs – it didn’t matter. I went nuts.

  “Yup!” said Chrissy, hoisting up the carrier to show off her son. Xavier had dark blue eyes, a thin coating of dark, downy hair, and all the sweet little fat wrinkles that one-month-old babies were supposed to have. My heart hurt.

  “Oh he’s just the cutest,” I gushed as she lifted him out and set him into my arms. Xavier looked up at me with sleepy, curious eyes.

  There was nothing like holding a younger colleague’s new baby to remind you that your clock was ticking. Becca’s theory about my current lack of love life was that men could smell my desperation. I’d always wanted a family. About four years ago, I was in a long-term relationship with my ex, Cameron, and we’d talked about having kids. But Cameron had taken a job in California, and our relationship hadn’t survived the distance.

  “Don’t want to be late to class, Ms. Brown!” said Margie over my shoulder, reaching out to eagerly take her turn holding Xavier. I reluctantly deposited the baby into Margie’s arms, gave Chrissy a kiss on the cheek, and hurried off to class.

  * * *

  After teaching four periods, I went to go have lunch with Abe in the faculty lounge.

  Abe, Mr. Kraus, is the man my students refer to as my ‘work husband.’ They have no idea that Abe is gay and have been speculating for the past three years as to whether or not we’re dating.

  Sometimes, I wish we were. It’s hard to lust after someone when you know they’re not attracted to you, but Abe is the one guy who could even hold a candle to Dash. He’s a math teacher, he rows for the DC Strokes (the area’s LGBT-friendly rowing team), and he’s funny and brilliant. But more than that, he’s gorgeous: tall, lithe, and muscular, with a dark beard; thick, dark hair; naturally tanned skin; and bright, blue-green eyes. Part of the reason he eats lunch with me in the faculty room is because the eleventh-grade girls crowd into his classroom during lunch.

  “Ahh, Anne of Green Gables,” he said, patting the chair next to him as I walked over. “I’ve been desperate to catch you alone. You’ve got a lot to catch me up on.”

  “I do?”

  “I do!?” Abe mimicked. “Yes. You do.” He held up a f
inger: “Updates on Dickhead Pete.” Abe and Pete had rowed together for Georgetown University. Abe wasn’t a fan. Abe held up another finger. “Updates on your sister’s now-finalized divorce with her delicious, on the market ex-husband.” He held up a third finger. “Updates on your dinner with your sister’s delicious, on the market ex-husband.”

  I blinked at Abe. “I didn’t tell you that I had dinner with Dash.”

  Abe smirked and waved his smartphone at me. “I’m not an idiot. You blew me off for drinks last night. And you couldn’t even think of a good excuse.”

  “Sorry,” I muttered.

  “Add to that the fact that ‘Patriots Quarterback seen filming in Foggy Bottom after divorce from Bombshell wife’…”

  “Got it, Sherlock. Yes. I blew you off for dinner with Dash.”

  I sat down and pulled my lunch out of my bag.

  “So,” said Abe, steepling his fingers under his chin. “Why on earth did Delicious Dash take you out to dinner?”

  I shrugged. “He and I have always been friendly.”

  “Friendly how?” asked Abe, sounding intrigued.

  “We hang out during family gatherings. Becca does her save-the-planet, animal-rights activism, so they’ve been in DC a few times. He’s visited the president after his Super Bowl wins… whenever they’re in town, Dash makes sure to buy me dinner.”

  “Do you call each other? Like, on the phone?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  Before I could stop him, Abe reached out and snatched my phone off the table. I nearly snatched it back but stopped myself, not wanting to make a scene in the middle of faculty lounge. Abe knew my password and, in a moment, was thumbing through my texts. “Anne,” he said in mock admonishment, “these are downright flirty.”

  “No, they’re not!” I said, reaching for my phone. Abe didn’t relinquish it.

  “Yes. They absolutely are. And not just from you. He’s flirty, too. Did he ask to see you again after dinner?”