Bad Boys Teaser: A Sizzling Bad Boys Anthology

by Warren, Rie

  “Coach D has been a godsend.” I attempted a small smile.

  “What about the others?”

  “You know them. Walking into a meeting with all the coaches is like entering a room full of angry hornets.”

  We laughed for a moment.

  “But I’m doing all right. I’m pretty strong.”

  “I’ve noticed.” Rafe ran his arms around me, bringing me against his body.

  Comfort. Strength. Heat . . .

  I pulled away from the brief embrace. “Rafe. Not here.”

  “Not here?” His grin. Those damn dimples. The twinkly dark green eyes.

  Grrrr.

  “I’ve got an idea.” He stood closer again, his chest against my breasts, stealing my breath once more. “Come for dinner at my place. I’ll cook.”

  “You know the rules.”

  Grabbing my hand, he held it between our bodies, pulling it to his chest. “Screw the rules.” He growled before blowing out a long stream of breath. “An early supper then. Totally safe. Daylight hours. What can happen?”

  “Ha! With you I’m sure a whole lot.”

  “My mom’s in town to pick up Liv. Chaperones included.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  Charming. Gorgeous. Irresistible.

  I heaved a deep sigh, which pushed my breasts harder against him. Beneath my hand, his heartbeat sped up. “Okay. I suppose.”

  My belly did flip-flops when Rafe leaned his head back to let out a loud whoop.

  Pulling away from him, I added, “As long as you’re on your best behavior.”

  “Absolutely. Anything for you, Mizz Fox.”

  I backed away from him, our gazes clinging, the smiles too obvious.

  “Oh, Peyton?” He stood there with one thumb slung into the waist of his shorts. “Bring a bathing suit.”

  “A bikini?” I gave him a saucy wink, watching his mouth drop open, before turning to jog onto the field.

  Thirteen

  Bikini . . . Boing!

  Rafe

  I ALMOST FELL OVER my own two feet when Peyton agreed to come to my house. Hell, my cock lurched on the spot when she mentioned the possibility of a bikini.

  Fuck yeah to that. Preferably the skimpiest one in her arsenal.

  And holy shit. Had I finally discovered a weakness in the NFL Princess’s impenetrable armor?

  She liked that I helped take care of Liv.

  I was not above leveraging my solid relationship with my kid sister for all it was worth.

  Skipping the locker room, I’d hustled Liv off the field and into my truck. I blew off the entire team and a shower because I had entrees to plan or takeout to order. Possibly the latter, unless I could twist my mom’s arm and enlist her help in the kitchen.

  Yessirree, motherfuckers. Peyton Fox was coming to my house.

  Half an hour later, the tires of my Scout crushed white shell as I pulled to a hasty stop in front of my house. I entered the beachside escape with my arms loaded with groceries. My gym bag swinging on my back, I stomped inside and busted into the kitchen.

  “Hey, Ma!” Liv shouted, tagging along after me. “We got company coming!”

  “Says who?” I dropped the bags onto the counter.

  “You never buy this much food.” Liv hung off my arm, only slightly heavier than the canvas sack across my back stuffed with cleats, pads, gear, jockstraps. “Who is it? Who is it?”

  “Now you’re acting like a real eleven-year-old?”

  She scooted onto the kitchen counter, and I started tossing food at her from the overflowing bags. I’d bought just about everything I could get my hands on since I had no idea what Peyton preferred.

  Fuck. Hoped she wasn’t a vegetarian.

  Liv caught every item, sorting the veg, meat, and bakery bags into assorted piles. She cracked open the container of fresh baked cookies, sniffing the melted-chocolate scent before I snatched the package away from her.

  She wrinkled her nose.

  “Ma!” I hollered.

  “Hush up with that noise, Rafey.” Mom swung around the corner into the kitchen. “What’s the big emergency?”

  “Didn’t you hear Liv? I got someone coming for dinner.” I shoved my fingers through my hair, frowning at the mounds of food on the counter.

  “I’m in no state to receive guests.”

  Now she’s Queen Elizabeth?

  “Bullshit—”

  “Swear jar!” Liv and Ma chorused in unison.

  “Whatever.” Digging in my pockets, I greased their palms with some greenbacks. “That’s for your college fund, by the way, Liv.” Turning to Mom, I gathered her hands in mine. “And you just had your highlights done. You look pretty.”

  Considering she owned the small but most sought-after salon in Newberry, you’re damn right her hair was perfect—silvery with shades of blonde. Short and stylish, just like her.

  I loomed above her as Liv bounced from foot to foot. “Who’s coming, Rafe? Who? Who? Who?”

  “Olivia, settle your shit,” Ma ordered.

  That’s right. My ma put up with no guff, and no way was I asking her to contribute to the swear jar for her infraction, not when I needed her help pulling this shit off.

  Liv pouted, for all of a second.

  “So? Who’s coming, Rafey?” Ma’s lighter green eyes crinkled when she looked up at me.

  “Peyton.”

  “Peyton Fox?” Liv grew moon-eyed. “Squee!”

  Ditto that.

  “The owner of Carolina Crush? Oh, my.” Mom immediately fluffed her newly streaked hair. “What’re you making?”

  “Dunno. Bought stuff. Can grill. But she seems fancy.”

  “Dear Lord, child. You do have it bad.”

  Don’t have to tell me that.

  “Go shower.” She pushed me away. “You stink. I’ll try ta make some sense of this meal.”

  “I told her I can cook.”

  “’Course you did.” She rolled her eyes, an expression I was all too familiar with from Liv.

  In my bedroom, I shucked off my clothes, dropped them in the hamper, and hit the shower to clean up only to hopefully get dirty again in a completely different way. With Peyton.

  Board shorts on, bare feet, damp hair, I joined Ma and Liv in the kitchen.

  Ma was in command of making the potato salad, Liv had been set to work on a green salad, and I was directed to marinate the steaks.

  Wine chilled in the fridge, beer, too, the iPod was on—MoTown, Ma’s choice—and the three of us prepped for dinner.

  Until my phone vibrated, dancing around on the counter.

  Anxiously waiting for Peyton to text with her ETA, I grabbed it right quick.

  Hey, star QB! *smiley face* *smiley face* *smiley face*

  Groan. Not Peyton but Kelley-Anne. I’d recognize all those happy faces anywhere. Didn’t picture Pey as a lover of the frivolous emoji.

  Ma snatched the iPhone from my hand. “Who’s this?”

  “Nobody.”

  Smack.

  “Fuck’s sake. Ma. You don’t need to give me a concussion before the season even starts.”

  She didn’t even say a word. Simply held out her hand. Swear jar.

  “I taught you better than to disrespect the fairer sex.”

  Fairer sex? Kelley-Anne? The woman was turning out to be a she-wolf with her sights set on me.

  “Ma! She’s a woman who’s been messaging me. Didn’t text her back. It’s not Peyton.” Extricating the phone from her grip, I set the damn thing down.

  “You treat Peyton with respect?”

  “’Course I do. You’ll see . . .”

  “Why you so grabby about that cell phone thing anyway? You got the porn on there?”

  Liv giggled in the background.

  “Moooom.” Jesus Christ. And I was bringing Peyton into this mix?

  What the fuck was I thinking?

  The only porn I needed was in my memories. Peyton Fox. Soft pink nipples. Beautiful paprika-colored hair sifting through my
fingers. Her lips moving against mine . . . her body beneath me . . .

  “If you’re not interested in that other woman I suggest you let her down gently.” Turning back to peeling potatoes, Ma added with a sly smirk, “Even stalkers have feelings.”

  Per Mother’s orders, I immediately sent Kelley-Anne a short but gentle message saying I wasn’t available to date but hoped she had a great season with the Crush cheerleaders.

  What?

  I wasn’t technically breaking up via text since we’d never been together anyway.

  Then I deleted her information.

  “Done. See?” I showed my mom my contacts list, and my phone buzzed again.

  “Oh! Looks like it’s that Peyton of yours this time.” Ma grinned with the trademark family dimples.

  Flipping the phone quickly around, I broke into a similar grin. Quickly slipping into the living room for something I used to know as privacy, I read the message:

  Hitting the road for IoP. Address?

  Holy shit. My hands shook a little bit when I texted her the directions. I’d never even called the woman before. The only recent contact we’d had—aside from the kiss at the air base—was shredding yards and launching balls and sweating on the field. I felt like a boy on his first date, not a twenty-seven-year-old man with tons of experience with the fairer sex.

  Peyton got to me. Got to me hard.

  But I wasn’t giving up on the bathing suit thing:

  Bikini?

  She replied:

  Tankini?

  I typed back:

  *sad face*

  That’s right. I’d just crossed the emoji line.

  “You like her,” Ma said when I whistled my way back into the kitchen.

  “Oh God. Please just be cool.”

  “I am always cool.” She winked.

  I was the one who wasn’t so cool ten minutes later with my nose pressed to a window like a dog panting for its owner’s return.

  When Peyton pulled into the driveway in her shiny BMW X5, I banged open the front door. Tried to walk instead of rush down the steps to get to her faster.

  Reached her car in time to open her door and help her out.

  Respect and manners.

  I already knew she liked that shit.

  Peyton’s legs slid out first—long, bare, creamy skin.

  Woof.

  She took my hand and unfolded straight into my embrace. The coolness of her body from the A/C collided with the sunny heat of mine, and I almost grunted as I wound an arm around her back.

  “Hey.”

  “Hi.”

  I couldn’t see her eyes behind the mirrored aviators, but I could definitely read her body language. The way she stayed against me reminded me I was only wearing a pair of thin board shorts, and there wasn’t a whole lot of room in the pouch if things got too hot.

  Backing off just a pace, I lifted her hand to my lips. The kiss I gave her was light, barely a touch of my mouth, but she reached out to grasp my forearm.

  “I think someone’s watching,” she said in a breathy voice.

  I lifted my head with a rueful chuckle. “That’ll be my mom.”

  “I can’t wait to meet her.” Stepping away, Peyton opened the hatchback. “Just let me grab my things.”

  “Need a hand?” I hung behind her.

  She quickly slammed the door down, her arms full, a shiver to her voice. “I’m good.”

  “Let me get those.” I grabbed her beach bag and the other tote overflowing her arms.

  She walked ahead of me all the way up the double-tiered stairs to the front deck, and I simply enjoyed the view. Peyton wore flip-flops and a whole lotta skin barely concealed by a beach cover-up over what I hoped was that bikini she’d mentioned.

  Licking my lips, I tried to wipe the greedy lust off my face before we braved my mom.

  Who waited just inside the door.

  Like a watchdog.

  With ulterior motives.

  As in how many future grandkids she could look forward to.

  “Mrs. Macintyre.” Peyton struck out her hand.

  “Oh hush now, honey. You can call me Gracie.” She took Peyton by the shoulders and peered at her. “My goodness, you really are NFL royalty.”

  “Oh, no. I don’t thinks so. I work in the trenches, just like the rest of them.”

  I immediately knew Ma approved, nodding with a smile and clasping her hands beneath her chin.

  “Miss Peyton!” Liv nearly tore off the doorframe when she bounded into the room.

  “Liv, hey.” Peyton pulled a package from one of the bags in my arms. “Brought you something.”

  Ripping into the present like a feral dog on the hunt for marrow, Liv tossed paper on the floor left and right before lifting one of the newly designed Carolina Crush baseball caps above her head like it was a crown.

  “So cool! Thank you, Miss Peyton. I’d totally swear, but I’m not allowed to.”

  Aaaand she raced off again, whooping it up through the rooms.

  “You didn’t have to do that.” And also, had she brought anything for me?

  Like the aforementioned bikini?

  So I asked, “What about me?”

  “Maybe I brought . . . dessert.”

  Was it just me or had she just given the green light for go time?

  Taking a moment to set her bags down and settle my cock down, I breathed a deep three-count. Possibly a ten-count.

  Turning back to Pey in her clingy, sheer-wrap-thing, I lounged against the wall. “I thought we could hit the beach before eating? Unless you’re starving?”

  “I’m game for anything, Rafe.” Low sultry voice and a swing of her hips.

  Guhhh. What? Anything? Game? Me?

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Why the hell had I arranged this non-date while my ma and sister were in town?

  Oh yeah, so Peyton would finally see me as a human being, not a dumb jock or an easy stud.

  Totally rethought that game plan after we strolled onto the beach with Ma and Liv in tow, and Pey took off her cover-up.

  Not a bikini and definitely no such thing as a tankini.

  What she revealed made me drool. Her aqua blue bathing suit stretched like a slingshot of meshy, shiny fabric from her pussy to her tits, revealing hips and side-boob and a whole lotta flesh in between.

  Looking up from spreading out a beach blanket while I simply gawked at Peyton, Liv gushed, “OH EM GEE! Love your monokini.”

  Monokini. That was what it was. Consider me an instant fan.

  Fourteen

  Sneak Attack

  Rafe

  “JUST FOR THE RECORD, you’re never wearing one of those,” I whispered quietly to Liv, and she screwed up her nose at me.

  Could not stop staring at Peyton, though. I was supposed to set up beach chairs, the umbrella . . . whatever.

  The bare length of her spine captivated me, and that dip at her waist before her hips swelled goddamn mesmerized me. Not to mention . . . was that a tat on her lower back?

  A big boner was gonna be hard to hide inside my board shorts, but I wouldn’t trade one single second of having Pey with me.

  In the slingshot bathing suit thing that made my skin tighten all over my body. And in one specifically dangerous place.

  Holy hell.

  Somehow I managed to keep my erection under control.

  I got Ma settled in her chair.

  I wiped off Liv’s boogie board.

  Refused to look at Pey again. Not until I could give her my full attention without a full-on raging hard-on.

  Finally in control of my urges, I spun around to find Peyton oiling herself up.

  So not in control.

  Reclining on a blanket, she bent one leg at the knee, massaging sunscreen into her shimmering skin.

  “Lemme help you with that.” Fuck yeah.

  I wanted to slather the cream all over her body—would be better if it was my come—but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and I’d take what I could
get.

  Just wanted my hands on her.

  She slipped her sunglasses down her nose and peered at me. “No chance.”

  I advanced closer. “Oh really.”

  Leaping to her feet, she threw the bottle of lotion at me. I batted it easily away.

  “Rafe”—retreating in the sun-hot white sand, she held her hands up to ward me off—“I’m warning you.”

  “That right?”

  The chase was on.

  I lunged at Peyton, barely connecting with her slippery skin before she bolted toward the dunes.

  Seagulls and pelicans scattered. Liv shouted from the shoreline. My ma held up her own fancy phone, most likely snapping photos. She’d probably figured out the video thing by now, too.

  Sand spit into my face from Peyton’s fast feet, but my legs were longer, my reach stronger. When I caught up to her, I hauled her to me with my arms around her waist.

  It only took two more moves to spin her around and lift her over my shoulder.

  “Put me down, Rafe!” she squealed.

  “No chance.”

  Bypassing Liv, who shouted “Team Rafe! Team Rafe!”, I jogged into the ocean with my precious cargo kicking her feet. The warm water and rolling waves foamed up to my waist, and I threatened to catapult Peyton from my arms.

  “Don’t you dare!” Fuming, she clutched onto me.

  I relented at the last moment. Sliding her down the front of my body—my pumping chest, my hard cock, my wet legs—I swooped in for a fast kiss of her lips. A taste. A salty teaser.

  That one single moment was more hot, more intense than any other in my life.

  We stared too long. Touched full length.

  Her nipples pebbled against the thin material of her suit and pressed against me, and her ragged breaths matched mine.

  Silent seconds passed as her half-mast gaze hooked me.

  Until she scooped up a handful of water and splashed me full in the face.

  “Bring it, Miss Fox.” I shook streams of water from my head then lunged for her.

  For the next half hour we tussled, swam, basked in the sun. Wet and slippery, we were pushed together by the waves, pulled apart by the tide.

  Finally swimming away from me, she stood in the shallows. Water cascaded down her back as she flipped her hair over her shoulder—a deeper copper color—and rung it out. Walking with a roll of her hypnotic hips, she toed her way across the seashells toward the umbrella.