Get Over You (Dare Me Book 1)

by Skylar Hunter

  “Get outta here!” Jack exclaims.

  Reyes raises his eyebrows. “You didn’t know?”

  “No way.” Jack stares almost accusingly at me. “You never said a word.”

  I try to laugh it off. “You know I don’t like to brag.”

  He grins a little uncertainly and looks at Reyes. “So she was a good rider?”

  “Not at first,” Reyes drawls, his eyes glinting at me. “I had to show her the ropes. But she was a fast learner. I had her riding like a pro in no time.”

  His wicked innuendo has my pussy clenching around a phantom cock. I’m so turned on I can barely breathe. I’m convinced that everyone can see how my nipples are straining against my lace bra, how every inch of my skin is covered with goose bumps.

  I swallow thickly and shift in my chair, squeezing my thighs together.

  Jack looks from Reyes to me and frowns like he’s been left out of an inside joke.

  Attempting to steer the conversation back on track, I say to Reyes, “So here you are with a new team and a new playbook to dive into. As we head into spring, tell us what your offseason training regimen looks like. Has it changed much over the years?”

  “Not really,” he says with lazy nonchalance. “I do cardio six days a week, which includes a combo of running hills and boxing and high-intensity aerobics. I also lift weights four days a week.”

  “Wow.” I unconsciously lick my lips. “Sounds pretty intense.”

  Reyes stares at my mouth under heavy lids. “You’re welcome to come watch anytime.”

  Meeting his gaze, I’m hit with another wave of sexual awareness that sends scorching heat through my blood. If my body burns any hotter, it’ll melt everything in a ten-mile radius.

  “Is that invitation extended to me as well?” Jack says jokingly. “Or just my lovely co-host?”

  “You can come, too,” Reyes murmurs, his eyes never leaving mine. “But you know what they say. Two’s company, three’s a crowd.”

  Jack’s jaw tics.

  I clear my throat and smile brightly at Reyes. “I think I can speak for everyone when I say we’re happy to have you here and excited to see where you take the Renegades. Welcome aboard, Reyes, and thanks again for joining us. Maybe you can come back when the season starts?”

  “Of course.” There’s a devilish gleam in his eyes. “I’m happy to come anytime.”

  After the show i practically run back to my dressing room. But I’m not fast enough.

  “Emerson.”

  Reyes’s deep voice rings clear with authority, stopping me cold in my tracks.

  I turn reluctantly to face him.

  He strides right up to me, bristling with anger and suspicion. “What the hell was that?”

  I stare up at him in confusion. “What’re you talking about?”

  “You and Rollins. I sensed some tension between you two.” A dangerous light enters his eyes. “Are you sleeping with him?”

  My jaw drops. “Excuse you?”

  “You heard me. Are you fucking him?”

  I’m so taken aback that I laugh in his face. “Go to hell.”

  With a feral growl, he backs me up against the wall and cages me there, his hands planted on either side of my head. I’m totally surrounded by him. It’s both intoxicating and terrifying.

  He leans down until his face is inches from mine, his eyes blazing as he snarls, “For the last time, what the hell is going on between you and Rollins?”

  My heart is racing painfully, choking the breath from my lungs. I glance up and down the hallway, relieved to see that we’re alone.

  “I want the fucking truth, Emerson,” he growls warningly.

  I glare into his eyes. “I don’t know who let you back here,” I hiss in a trembling voice, “but you need to leave before—”

  He brings his mouth to my ear. “Either you’re sleeping with him or he’s sexually harassing you. Which is it?”

  Anger boils inside me. “Why the hell do you care?”

  “Because I care about you!”

  “Give me a fucking break!” I shout furiously. “The other night you accused me of having sex with you because you’re famous! You practically called me a whore! And now you expect me to believe you care about me?”

  “I do,” he grits out.

  “I don’t believe you!”

  He eyes me intently, then reaches out his hand and touches my cheek.

  As tiny shivers race down my spine, I jerk my head away. “Don’t.”

  His face darkens. He withdraws his hand, his fingers clenching into a ball as a muscle works in his jaw.

  “Leave,” I whisper sharply.

  His eyes glitter with lethal menace. “If he does anything to hurt you, I’ll kill him.”

  “Fuck you, Reyes! I don’t need your chivalry or protection!”

  He slams his fist against the wall next to my head, making me jump. “Goddamn you,” he whispers roughly against my cheek.

  I close my eyes against the hot sting of tears. My breasts feel heavy, and the flesh between my thighs pulses with every angry heartbeat.

  Wanting to hurt him as much as he hurt me, I jeer tauntingly in his ear, “What makes you so sure he’s harassing me? Maybe I’m attracted to older men. Maybe we bonded over our mutual love of sports. Or maybe I’m just using him to advance my career. Maybe I slept with him to get this sweet TV gig.”

  Reyes’s body stiffens before he lifts his head to stare at me, his jaw tightening ominously. “I don’t believe a fucking word of that. That’s not who you are.”

  “You don’t know who I am.” I give him a bitter twist of a smile. “Maybe you never did.”

  His nostrils flare as he drags in a rough breath and shoves a hand through his hair.

  I watch helplessly as he takes a step back, searching my eyes as if hoping to unearth some hidden truth. One that contradicts my ugly words.

  Finding nothing, he clenches his jaw and rakes me with one last contemptuous look before storming off down the hall.

  On wobbly legs, I stumble into my dressing room and slam the door. Sagging against it, I squeeze my eyes shut as raw pain slices through my heart.

  Reyes was the love of my life. And now he’s a cold, callous stranger who thinks the absolute worst of me.

  I thought that was what I wanted.

  I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Chapter Fourteen

  EMERSON

  To add insult to injury, Reyes’s interview goes viral.

  By the next day, everyone’s talking about it. Sports talk radio hosts, gossip blogs, the Twittersphere.

  Everyone.

  Rumors are flying and speculation is running rampant about my relationship with Reyes. As our old yearbook photos make the rounds of social media, a salacious blog headline conjectures: Has the Renegades’ Heartthrob QB Scored Again with Childhood Sweetheart?

  An employee at the TV station anonymously leaked the story about my post-interview fight with Reyes. Page Six described our confrontation as an “explosive lovers’ quarrel” that ended with Reyes backing me up against a wall and stopping just short of kissing me.

  I’m mortified beyond belief.

  Casey, on the other hand, is positively ecstatic about Team Ticker being thrust into the national spotlight. He texted me first thing in the morning to crow that the interview was “pure ratings gold.” His apparent glee makes me wonder if he’s the anonymous source quoted by Page Six. It wouldn’t surprise me.

  Casey’s not the only one celebrating the widespread media attention. My agent, Molly Kasner, calls me as I’m leaving a charity golf tournament organized by the Renegades’ owner, who gave me an exclusive interview afterward.

  “You’ve been holding out on me,” Molly says in her brassy Brooklyn accent.

  I feign ignorance. “What do you mean?”

  She cackles. “Don’t be coy, missy. You know damn well I’m referring to your relationship with Reyes Malone.”

  “We’re not in a relatio
nship,” I mumble.

  “So you’re just fucking him.” She purrs approvingly. “You go, girl.”

  I cringe as heat rushes into my cheeks. “Was it that obvious?”

  Molly barks out a laugh. “Is that a serious question? Of course it was obvious! Every time the man looked at you, I expected your frigging clothes to go up in flames!”

  I can’t help groaning. “Kill me now.”

  Molly snickers. “I’m sure millions of women are lining up to do just that. I mean, who wouldn’t kill to have Reyes Malone look at them the way he looked at you? Wowza.”

  I shake my head in frustration. “Why aren’t you taking this more seriously? Because of that damn interview, complete strangers are gossiping about my sex life. This could hurt my reputation.”

  “How so?”

  “I’m a sports reporter, Molly. I can’t afford to have people thinking I sleep around with athletes. It’s a conflict of interest.”

  Molly pffts at me. “You’re a well-respected journalist with an established track record of professionalism. No reasonable person would fault you for sleeping with the NFL’s hottest quarterback—who also happens to be your childhood bestie. The whole thing is actually pretty sweet.”

  If only you knew, I think sadly.

  “Besides,” she continues, “it’s not unprecedented for sports reporters to hook up with athletes. I can rattle off a list of names right now, starting with Erin Andrews who’s married to an NHLer. Then there’s Jenny Dell who married that Red Sox player, and Samantha Steele who got hitched to an NFL quarterback. The list goes on and on.”

  I should feel comforted by her words. She’s one of the top talent agents in the industry and she’s seen many careers crash and burn. If she says my reputation can survive this, I should trust her. She knows what she’s talking about, and she’s always kept it real with me.

  “I can hear your mind working,” she says humorously. “You need to relax and let me worry about any fallout.”

  I frown. “You just said—”

  “I know what I said, and I meant every word.” Her voice softens. “You’re a private person, Em, so I know how much it sucks to have your personal business splashed all over social media. I feel your pain. I really do. But I’m sure this will all blow over soon, and the busybodies will move on to the next juicy morsel of tabloid fodder. If they don’t, look on the bright side. Thanks to the sexy fireworks between you and Reyes, your show just got a massive ratings bump. You know I’m gonna use that as leverage in contract negotiations.”

  I chuckle wryly. “You always have your priorities in order.”

  “Damn straight. That’s why I make the big bucks.” Molly laughs, probably throwing back her head as she does, the Botoxed skin around her eyes not moving a fraction. She’s my mother’s age, but she has work done regularly to maintain a youthful appearance. She says it’s because aging female agents aren’t treated with the same deference and respect as aging male agents. Sadly, she’s right.

  “Gotta run, kiddo. Try to relax and keep your chin up. And if you and Reyes have any more lovers’ quarrels,” she adds wickedly, “I hope the makeup sex is just as hot!”

  I groan and hang up on her bawdy laughter.

  As I merge into highway traffic, my phone rings. I let out another groan when I see Zoe’s number on the dashboard display. She’s been texting me article links all morning. Teagan and Daisy have been sending dirty gifs and horseback riding memes.

  I knew you were sleeping with him, Teagan crowed in her first message. She attached a clip of Reyes giving me that smoldering fuck-me stare while I blushed like a virgin bride. The video already has over ten million views.

  I sigh out loud and let Zoe’s call go to voicemail. I’ve had enough teasing for one day.

  When I arrive at the Gazette, the receptionist and office manager are huddled at the front desk whispering and giggling. When they see me, they quickly straighten and clear their throats.

  “Emerson! You’re here!”

  I roll my eyes. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out they were gossiping about me. “I take it you’ve both seen the interview.”

  They exchange sly looks and giggle like schoolgirls.

  I shake my head at them. I hope to God this won’t be my new normal.

  “You have a visitor,” Gloria cheerfully informs me.

  My heart skips several beats. He wouldn’t dare show his face here again . . . would he?

  I head to my cubicle on unsteady legs. But it’s the wrong Malone cousin waiting for me.

  I pull up short in the doorway, my jaw dropping in surprise. “Braxton?”

  He rises quickly from the visitor’s chair, smiling sheepishly at me. “Hello, Emerson.”

  “What’re you doing here?”

  “I was on my way to the courthouse and thought I’d stop by.”

  “I see.” I skirt around him and sit behind my desk. “What can I do for you?”

  He nervously jams his hands into his pants pockets. “Well, actually, Emerson—” He clears his throat before continuing “—I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to ask you out to dinner this evening.”

  My eyes fly to his face. “Excuse me?”

  “To dinner. I said—”

  I wave my hand. “I heard you, Braxton. I just wasn’t sure I heard you correctly. Are you asking me out on a date?”

  “Yes.” He blushes. “That is, if you’re available. I mean, if you’re not seeing someone else?”

  I stare at him in disbelief. “Haven’t you heard the news?”

  He looks bewildered. “What news?”

  I narrow my eyes, contemplating him. He’s not a sports fan, and he told me he’s always working. So it’s entirely possible he’s the only person in Piedmont Bay who doesn’t know about Reyes and me.

  He frowns. “Am I missing something?”

  I let out a slow breath and shake my head. “No, I’m not seeing anyone.” Technically it’s true. “But Braxton—”

  “Call me Brax, please.”

  “All right . . . Brax. I’m afraid I can’t have dinner with you this evening.” I soften my tone when I see the disappointment on his face. “I have to cover a softball game tonight.”

  “Well, then, maybe sometime later this week. Actually,” he says, “my father’s hosting a dinner party this Saturday, and I would feel absolutely idiotic showing up without a date.”

  I guffaw. “C’mon, Braxton—Brax. We both know you wouldn’t have any problems securing a date.”

  He smiles. “Not one nearly as beautiful as you.”

  “Ahh, flattery. Nice.”

  “Did it work?”

  “No, but I’ll give you an A for effort.” I lean back in my seat and cross my legs, pretending not to notice the way his eyes follow the gesture before he glances away, cheeks flushing.

  I try to let him down gently. “I’m sorry, Braxton, but I’m really not into political gatherings. No offense.”

  “None taken. I understand where you’re coming from, believe me.” He laughs somewhat self-deprecatingly. “I’m the U.S. attorney’s son, and all the politicking is still a bit hard to swallow sometimes. I suppose I was just hoping your company would help me get through the evening a bit easier.”

  I grin. “Are you trying to make me feel sorry for you so I’ll agree to be your date?”

  “Is it working?”

  “Maybe a little. I’m immune to flattery, but I have a soft spot for politicians’ kids.”

  He brightens. “Does that mean you’ll go?”

  I hesitate, biting my lower lip. I can’t believe I’m actually considering this. “On one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Let me call you by your whole name. I like Braxton. It’s distinguished.”

  He grins. “You got a deal.”

  “Awesome.” I straighten in my chair. “Well, um, I’d better get to work. Got some articles to write.”

  “Of course. I’m due in court soon myself.”
Braxton beams at me. “The dinner party starts at seven. I’ll pick you up at, say, six-forty? We’ll be fashionably late, and everyone can just deal with it.”

  I grin at his obvious attempt to impress me with his badassery. “Works for me. Oh, wait.” I grab a business card and scrawl my address on the back, then hand it to him.

  He gazes down at the card before sliding it into his breast pocket with a satisfied grin. “See you on Saturday, Emerson. I’m looking forward to it.”

  I smile. “Good luck in court, Braxton.”

  After he leaves, I try to convince myself that agreeing to accompany him to his father’s dinner party had nothing to do with getting back at Reyes. But I’ve never been a very good liar.

  Not even to myself.

  Chapter Fifteen

  EMERSON

  “You look absolutely stunning, emerson,” Braxton says for the hundredth time since picking me up.

  I smile, lounging in the plush leather passenger seat of his silver Audi. “Now, Braxton, you’re not gonna compliment me all night, are you?”

  “I might. That dress . . .” He shakes his head with a delighted grin. “I’m going to have the most beautiful woman on my arm tonight.”

  I can’t help smiling. I’d taken extra care with my appearance tonight, heeding Zoe’s advice and splurging on the black Versace dress I’d previously deemed too expensive. It has spaghetti straps and a low neckline, and the shimmery silk clings to my body before flaring out above my knees.

  On my feet are black ankle-strap stilettos. My hair is swept up in an elegant French twist with a few tendrils escaping to frame my face.

  According to Braxton, Reyes isn’t expected to attend tonight’s dinner party. But if there’s the slimmest chance of him showing up, I want to look my absolute best, and I refuse to pretend otherwise.

  As Braxton maneuvers through the Saturday night traffic, I can’t help comparing his driving style to Reyes’s. Braxton drives cautiously and defensively, as if the other vehicles on the road are a personal affront to him. Reyes drives with relaxed power and control, seemingly bending others to his will. It’s sexy as hell, damn him.