Bad Ballers: A Contemporary Sports Romance Box Set

by Bishop, S. J.

Abe’s gaze seemed to burn through me. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “He invited me to come by his shoot,” I said.

  Abe pursed his lips and looked over the texts again. “Honestly, Anne, he’s acting like a guy who wants to get some.”

  “No, he’s not.” I refused to entertain the notion that Dash was at all interested in me.

  Abe rolled his eyes. “But what reason would your ex-brother-in-law have for maintaining a relationship with you? No, that question was not rhetorical.”

  “He doesn’t want to sleep with me,” I said.

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “Why are you being accusatory?” I snapped. “Yes, I have a crush on my sister’s ex-husband. Who doesn’t? I can pull up at least fifteen Dashiell Barnes fan sites, and not all of them are run by women!” I stared at him pointedly.

  Abe put his hands up in surrender. “I’m not trying to be difficult,” he said, his voice placating. “But I care about you, and lusting after your sister’s ex isn’t going to win you any favors with your family. I don’t want to be cruel…”

  I knew what he was going to say.

  “… but do you really think Dash would be interested in you after being wed to someone like your sister? I mean, maybe he wants to sleep with you. Maybe it’s a revenge thing…”

  His words hurt more than I thought they were going to. I tried not to let it show. Abe wasn’t trying to be nasty – he was just being honest – and he wasn’t saying anything I hadn’t already thought, myself.

  “Listen, I just don’t want you hurt. Dash is on the rebound. You’re familiar to him, and cute, and – knowing you – probably reverential. If I were Dash, and fresh off of getting dumped by my supermodel wife, my ego would be smarting. Sleeping with my pretty sister-in-law…”

  “I get it,” I cut him off. “So, what? You think I shouldn’t go meet up with him later?”

  Abe sighed and sat back, studying me a moment. “That depends on what you want,” he said finally. “Do you want to be Dash’s rebound?”

  “Of course I don’t.”

  “So, what do you want?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.” Truthfully, I hadn’t. I liked being around Dash, I always had, but I’d never allowed myself to want anything from him.

  “Well, you should think about it.” Abe unwrapped the sub he’d purchased from the Quizno’s down the street. He took a big bite and watched me thoughtfully as he chewed and swallowed. “And don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Like what?”

  He gave me a look that said I knew exactly what he was talking about.

  6

  Dash

  “Doing great, Dash! One more take, man. You got this!”

  Mick Ferguson sounded more like a life coach than a director, and if he didn’t stop with the affirmations, I was going to fucking lose it.

  Today, we were filming action shots in the George Washington University’s football stadium. While the commercial featured four athletes, I wasn’t at all surprised that everyone’s focus was on me. I knew that people were watching to see if I’d crack.

  I rubbed at my head, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on.

  “Is this a commercial shoot or a therapy session? What does he think you’re going to do if he gives you a critique?” asked Ted Schneider, who was leaning against the side of the bleachers, spinning the football in his fingers. “Are you going to Hulk out and tear the set apart?”

  I snorted. It had happened before.

  Ted had signed on to do this commercial when he was still playing for the Browns, but the Patriots had picked him up last season. He’d be playing for us starting next fall. As much as I was trying to focus on the shoot, I was also trying to get a read on our new pickup. Relationships in football can make or break a season.

  So far, I wasn’t sure I liked what I saw. Ted was arrogant, and it seemed to chaff him that I was getting more attention than he was. Get used to it, kid.

  “You’ve got a note for me that they’re not giving?” I asked, crossing my arms.

  Ted surveyed me for a second before grinning. “I’ve got several.” But he didn’t offer them.

  “Once more from the top? Would you mind, Dash?” asked the director anxiously. I thought about giving him a hard time – but there was movement over near the edge of the set. I looked and saw Annie being led toward one of the makeup chairs.

  “No, Mick,” I called to the director, belatedly. “I don’t mind.”

  “Great. Let’s reset the camera’s, fellas!” the director called out, and the crew went back to try the shot again.

  “Fuck. Tell me you know her.” Ted moved off of his mark and walked up beside me. His eyes ran hungrily over Annie, who was fumbling with a set of headphones. She sat back in the chair and crossed her legs, her skirt inching up to reveal that same pale, toned thigh that had distracted me last night.

  “Fuck. Me. If she undid two of those buttons, she’d look just like Ginger Jones in Bad, Bad Teacher.” Ted put a hand in his pocket and whistled low.

  “Watch it,” I warned, trying not to imagine Annie with her blouse undone. “She’s family.”

  “She your sister or something?” asked Ted, not taking his eyes off of Annie. I had to admit, she looked good. She wore a dark green pencil skirt, a crisp white blouse, tan heels, glasses, and pearls. Her red hair was loose down her back.

  Thankfully, I didn’t have to answer. The director was calling for us to take our places.

  We had to shoot the scene two more times before the director was satisfied. “Twenty minutes!” he told the crew. I headed over to Annie.

  “Hey!” she said, sliding out of her seat as I strode up. “Great job!”

  “If I hear ‘great job’ one more time, I’m calling it a day, and they can finish the damn shoot without me.”

  Annie blinked. “Wow,” she said. “Someone’s in a bad mood.”

  “You mean he’s not usually this surly? That’s good to hear.” Ted stepped in front of me and offered his hand to Annie. “Ted Schneider,” he said.

  “Anne Brown,” said Annie, taking his hand and giving him a warm, eager smile. “You’re the new Pats pickup!”

  “Ah. The lady knows her football,” said Ted, smirking.

  “I do, and can I give you some advice, Ted?”

  “Advice from a gorgeous red-head?” Ted leaned forward. “I’m all ears.”

  “Don’t get on Dash’s bad side,” she said. She reached over and gave my arm a playful squeeze.

  I captured her hand where it rested, not letting her withdraw it. Ted needed to know she was off limits. “Can I get you something to eat?” I asked her, needing to get her attention away from Schneider. “There’s a food table in the corner.”

  “Stocked with nothing but health food,” grumbled Ted, following us as I walked Annie toward the table. “I’d kill a man for a donut right now.”

  “A donut sounds good,” said Annie, still smiling at Ted. Jesus, would she cut that out? It was only going to encourage him. “But I wouldn’t want to be responsible for ruining Dash’s figure.”

  Was she making fun of me?

  “Can I give you some advice, Anne?” asked Ted, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

  “Advice from one of the league’s best slot receivers? I’m all ears.”

  She was flirting. With Ted.

  “Everyone here’s treating this guy with kid gloves. If you want to stay on his good side, maybe you should do the same?” If that fucker didn’t watch out, I was going to cave his head in.

  Annie shook her head. “Dash won’t crack. He was married to my sister for five whole years; he must be made of some pretty tough stuff.”

  Ted raised an eyebrow at me, looking smug and triumphant. “So, she’s your sister-in-law.”

  “Ex sister-in-law, actually,” said Annie. “These look good!” We’d reached the food table, and she grabbed a plate and a few strawberries. “Can I get you something?�
� she asked me, and then turned the same question on Ted.

  “No, thanks,” we both said at the same time. I frowned at Ted, but he was curling his lip at the table laden with fruits and vegetables. “I’ll order a pizza later.”

  He turned to Annie, and I had the sudden intuition that he was going to ask her out. I cut in.

  “Annie, let’s do dinner tonight at your place. I’m craving a home-cooked meal.”

  Anne blinked at me and waited a moment before she said, “Sure… but I’ll need to do some grocery shopping…”

  “Gentlemen,” interrupted one of the set hands, a pretty young woman with dark hair and a ponytail. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you’re going to need to change for the next scene.”

  “Stadiums,” groaned Ted. “The whole commercial is a fitness montage.” He winked at Annie, “But I’m willing to use it as an excuse to take my shirt off around an attractive woman.”

  Annie looked down at her plate, but her cheeks were slowly reddening.

  “Hang around, Annie,” I said, ignoring Ted. “I’ll come back when we’re through with the next take.”

  Annie nodded and bit into a strawberry, her lips pursing around the fruit to catch the juices. It was sexier than I wanted it to be. My eyes trained on her lips and on the juice that threatened to drip onto her chin. What the hell was wrong with me?

  “God, I could watch that girl eat strawberries all day,” muttered Ted as we strode off. He took another look behind him. “Those are some serious Dick-Sucking Lips.”

  “Talk about her like that again,” I said casually, “I dare you.”

  “I’m not trying to offend, man.” Ted held up his hands in the universal sign of surrender. “I’m interested. She’s hot! And she seems nice. Not crazy. That’s damn hard to find in this business. Can I get her number from you?”

  “Not a chance in hell,” I said, sticking my hands in my pocket.

  “Okay, fine. I’ll ask her myself.”

  I tried to control the sudden swell of anger. “You have no business dating a girl like Annie. I’d think twice about asking her out.” I kept my voice mild, knowing that we had on mics and that the director was probably listening, but I met Ted’s eyes and let him see the challenge in mine.

  Ted stared at me a moment before frowning. He shrugged, clearly annoyed that I had the upper hand. He wasn’t willing to piss me off and jeopardize his season with the Patriots. Smart boy.

  7

  Anne

  “Sit here,” one of the assistant directors said, ushering me over to a seat that was facing the stadiums. “You’ll be able to see all of the action. Oh, and don’t forget to wear these,” she said, handing me back the headphones I’d taken off after the last scene.

  “I’m interested,” Ted Schneider’s voice filled my ears as I slid the headphones on. Ted and Dash were still wearing microphones.

  “She’s hot!” Ted continued. “And she seems nice. Not crazy. That’s damn hard to find in this business. Can I get her number from you?”

  Oh. My. God. Was Ted Schneider talking about me? My heart started to pound as nerves flooded my system. I’d thought he was being flirty. I didn’t follow the Browns, but I’d seen Ted Schneider’s in ESPN Magazine’s Body Issue last year – Abe and I had drooled over it together. And now, here Ted was, in the flesh, asking Dash for my number. I felt the eyes of a few of the crew land on me. They were wearing headphones, too. I knew I was grinning stupidly.

  “Not a chance in hell.”

  My grin evaporated. Dash sounded almost casual in his refusal, as if he were joking around.

  “Okay, fine. I’ll ask her myself.” Ted sounded as surprised as I was at the refusal. The men had paused over near the stadium stairs, just outside the changing booths.

  I watched as Dash leaned forward. “You have no business dating a girl like Annie. I’d think twice about asking her out.” I felt the blood rushing to my cheeks. No mystery who they were talking about now, and everyone on set had just heard Dash Barnes tell Ted Schneider I wasn’t worth his time. I felt like crying.

  I looked up in time to see Dash give Ted a meaningful look. I imagined what it said: You can do better.

  I could feel the assistant director next to me, struggling to figure out how to respond.

  I waited a few minutes for the moment to dissipate, for the crew to get back to their jobs. Then I slid off the headphones and handed them back to the assistant director, who smiled at me in sympathy.

  As I strode out of the stadium, I tried to convince myself that I had no right to be heartbroken.

  Grabbing an Uber back home, I tried to recall all of the terrible things Becca had said about Dash: He’s one-track minded; He’s way too impatient; He’s so self-centered! It didn’t help.

  When I got back to my apartment, I slid into comfy clothes, poured myself a big glass of red wine, and started grading a stack of student papers. Thirty minutes later, I needed a distraction and flipped my phone over to check Instagram.

  Shit.

  Apparently the phone was on silent because not only had I missed a call from my sister, but I also had three texts from Dash.

  Where are U?

  Annie, did U leave?

  Hey, what happened?

  What happened!? Was he serious? I flipped my phone over. I didn’t need to explain anything to Dash. In fact, it was probably better if we went our separate ways. I checked the message from my sister (Missed you. Don’t call back. I’ll call you) and turned my attention back to my grading.

  * * *

  I’d finished two classes’ worth of essays when the doorbell rang.

  Getting up and stretching, I wondered whom I’d find at my door at seven o’clock at night. Abe, most likely.

  I lived in Adams Morgan, and there were tons of bars nearby that Abe liked to frequent. The amount of times he’d ended “sleeping it off” on my couch were too numerous to count. If it wasn’t Abe, it would my neighbor Kerri – the single mom who’d occasionally ask me to keep an eye on her four-year-old while she ran a quick errand.

  Betting myself that it was Abe (it was Thirsty Thursday...), I opened the door.

  “Don’t you check your phone?” demanded Dash.

  Standing on my doorstep, he looked exactly how he looked on TV after a bad play: his blond brows drawn low, and his lips pressed into a thin, irritated line. I’d never seen a pissed-off Dash in the flesh. It was intimidating, and more than a little hot.

  “It’s on silent,” was the only thing I could think to say as Dash pushed his way past me and into my apartment, heading straight for the kitchen. He was holding a Whole Foods grocery bag. He’d gone grocery shopping.

  “Yah, well, lucky I have your address in my phone book,” Dash muttered, beginning to unpack the bags with unwarranted ferocity. Whole-wheat breadcrumbs, chicken cutlets, eggs, zucchini…

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. I realized that I was still standing by the door. I’d had more than a few fantasies of Dash storming into my apartment, but those fantasies usually ended in us making love on the kitchen floor. I’d had two glasses of wine already. It was probably safer if I kept my distance.

  “What am I doing here?” he asked, looking up and over to where I was standing. “You volunteered to make me dinner. The plan was to go grocery shopping after the shoot. Apparently, you forgot.”

  I blinked. Seriously? After what he’d said to Ted, he still thought I was going to make him dinner? Suddenly, Becca’s complaints seemed entirely justified. How self-centered could you get? I opened my mouth, ready to yell at him.

  “I need to grab a shower,” he said suddenly, standing up. “It’s been a fucking long-ass day.”

  And before I could say anything, he was striding out of my kitchen and toward my bathroom.

  Standing there, stunned, I tried to figure out what the hell I was going to do now. I could throw open the door and demand he get out. I could wait until he was finished showering and tell him that he’d hurt my feelings
. Or I could do…nothing.

  I didn’t like to think of myself as a coward, but I didn’t like confrontations, and I didn’t want to have a one with Dash. Confronting Dash might mean confronting my own expectations – which had risen when Abe had commented on the flirty texts. I wasn’t all that ready to admit that I’d been hoping Dash did want to sleep with me.

  Out of ideas, I figured the best thing to do was make him dinner and get him out of my apartment. Tonight would be the end of my relationship with Dash. He and Becca were through, and he clearly didn’t think much of me. There was no reason to extend our friendship any further. I went to the kitchen to see what he’d purchased.

  It took me a few minutes of studying the contents of the bag, but I figured he was looking for a healthy, baked, breaded chicken dish with vegetables (why else buy eggs, breadcrumbs, and zucchini).

  Dash was out of the shower by the time I had put the cutlets in the oven. He’d brought a change of clothes and was now wearing a pair of soft, clearly expensive sweat pants and a well-worn Notre Dame t-shirt. He picked up my half-drunken glass of red wine from my desk and collapsed on my couch with his phone, clearly in no mood to talk.

  No skin off my nose. It was easier not to worship Dash when he was acting like a four-year-old. I continued to wordlessly chop the zucchini with the vegetable peeler.

  “You’re being quiet.”

  I looked up. Dash was still staring at his phone, but he was clearly talking to me.

  “I don’t know that I have much to say.” I’d never before understood the reason behind passive-aggressive silence until now. I didn’t want to tell Dash why I was angry. The reason for my anger should have been obvious!

  Dash put his phone down and stood, coming to lean against the kitchen wall. He’d finished my glass of wine and was holding the empty glass by the stem. He looked at me, irritated, as if he’d rather put me over his knee than have a serious conversation. I licked my lips and reminded myself that I was supposed to be angry, not horny.

  “Why did you leave the commercial shoot early?”