Ain't Happenin' (The Ballsy Boy Series Book 2)

by Shandi Boyes

  They are not. They’re for me, and although I don’t want his attention, I sure as hell don’t want them to have it either.

  The closer Lorenzo approaches my section of the bleachers, the thicker the crowd becomes. They hand him hats, jerseys, and breasts to autograph. Unfortunately, their ta-tas stay attached to their chests during signing. Lorenzo barely glances at the bouncing globes of flesh while scribbling a pen across them, he’s too busy staring at me, but it still irks my last nerve.

  I had no clue I was a catty, jealous bitch until now.

  After handing a cap back to a large-breasted lady, Lorenzo moves to stand in front of me. “Is there anything you’d like me to sign, amore mio?” I don’t care if you’re eighty, you wouldn’t have missed the sexual undertone in his voice when he asked his question. “Perhaps your shirt?” His smirk should be illegal. “Or the contract you failed to return to me last Friday. I’d dock you for tardiness if I weren’t so pleased you’ve finally come to your senses.”

  “I’m not here to accept your offer, Shortie J.” I realize we’re being eyeballed by freaks when they hiss at my use of Lorenzo’s nickname. “I was dragged here against my will.”

  “By who? I can’t see anyone but you.” I swear to God, the lady next to me collapses into her seat. That’s how smoking hot Lorenzo is when he’s flirting. I’m on the verge of coronary failure, and he’s wearing grannie socks my mother would love to scrub the grass stains out of.

  My attempt to thrust my hand at Danny is thwarted by an empty seat. He hasn’t been swallowed whole by Lorenzo’s groupies. He vanished right along with my handbag and cell phone.

  That little wench!

  As my sluggish brain clicks onto the sham occurring before my eyes, I turn my narrowed gaze back to Lorenzo. “You set this up, didn’t you?” I bite the inside of my cheek, annoyed that hope was the strongest emotion expressed in my question. I wanted it to be anger. “All this so you could offer me a ride home. Desperate much?”

  Lorenzo continues signing autographs as if I never spoke. It’s a pity for him I don’t need his words to hear his response. I can see it in his eyes, much less his coy smirk.

  It’s also a pity he’s underestimated me. I don’t need money to find my way home. I’ve rarely paid a fare since my breasts were augmented.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Lorenzo growls in warning when I commence scooting across the bleacher fans like I have a firecracker up my butt. “Security officers are stationed at each exit. They’re holding your photograph.”

  “Why would they have my picture?” My spiked pulse juts up my reply.

  Lorenzo caps his permanent marker, wordlessly advising the crowd he isn’t signing any more autographs before moving to my side of the bleachers. “Because I gave it to them.” Even with him telling the spectators he’s done, they hover in close when he reaches the section of railing my thigh is brushing. “You broke the law, amore mio, and it’s time for you to face the consequences of your actions.”

  “I flashed my boobs…” My snarky reply is swallowed by the shocked huff of the warm bodies circling me. “That isn’t illegal.” It is, but I’m praying he doesn’t know the law in this country.

  He smirks a wolfish grin that does nasty things to my panties. “For the amount of torment it’s caused me the past month, it should be.”

  I fight my most ruthful battle not to smile at the honesty in his tone.

  The smallest curve of my lips discloses I’m the only one leaving this stadium a loser.

  “One drink.” Lorenzo holds his index finger in the air to amplify his request. “If I can’t woo you with one drink, I’ll bow out of the fight.”

  The crowd snaps their eyes to me in sync, eager for my retort. Even while being eyeballed as if I’m a circus act, I act unaffected by Lorenzo’s interest. “No.” I’m not denying him because I’m stubborn, it’s because I know, without a doubt, I’ll cave before my drink is served. That’s how attracted I am to him. “Besides, I thought you said you don’t give up?”

  Lorenzo speaks as if he doesn’t have the eyes of hundreds on him. “I don’t. I just wanted you to know how confident I am that I’m going to win this.”

  When the crowds’ devotion returns to me, I’d love to give them their money’s worth, but since I’m fielding a game I swore I’d never play, I have to bow out like a coward—regrettably. “I’ll see you around, Shortie J.”

  My knees quiver when he croons, “Not if I see you first, amore mio.”

  After a playful wink, Lorenzo motions his head to the side, pointing out a wide-eyed Danny standing at the entrance of the bleachers, enjoying the after-show theatrics as much as the people I’m blaming for the sweat misting my skin.

  As for my damp panties, we’ll keep that travesty between us.

  Scouts honor.

  Chapter Eleven

  Skylar

  I thought my dreams were about to come true when Willow invited me to a three-day getaway the key players at the 69ers’ camp organized before they’re locked into a preseason training camp. But like many things in life, I’m realizing not all fantasies are sugar-coated. Some are also short.

  “What?” Danny murmurs under his breath when he throws open the passenger side door of Lorenzo’s convertible to help me put my suitcase in the trunk. “He’s my plus one.”

  I huff exasperatingly. “Now I understand why you haven’t been laid in almost a year.”

  Danny glares at me through narrowed eyes while dumping my suitcase in the minute snippet of space Lorenzo and Danny’s luggage left in the trunk.

  After slamming down the gleaming metal material with force, I climb into the backseat of Lorenzo’s flashy ride. I could stay on campus for the long weekend, but the ratio of women to football gods at this getaway is one for every five. Not even a novice punter would turn down those odds.

  While securing my seatbelt, I act ignorant to the piercing brown eyes gawking at me in the rearview mirror. Instead, I focus my attention on the back of Danny’s scheming head. “Where’s Willow and E? I thought we were traveling to the cabin together?”

  Danny cranks his neck back to face me. The glimmer in his eyes tells me he’s already forgiven me for my snarky comment. I’m not surprised. He doesn’t know how to hold a grudge. A prissy attitude, that’s another story. “We were supposed to travel together, but because I invited Lorenzo to our little soirée, we had to take an additional car.”

  I shouldn’t be frustrated by the excitement in his tone, but I am. I’m also cranky and hormonal, a lethal combination when you add my lagging sleep schedule into the mix. Even knowing Lorenzo plays soccer hasn’t had my sleep returning to what it was before he arrived stateside. It’s driving me bonkers. My no-short-men rule shouldn’t be hard to follow, much less when it’s for a man whose idea of football is horrendously mistaken.

  When my mood gets the best of me, I get snarky. “E’s convertible has five seats.” I count the number of people I know were invited to our weekend getaway on my fingers. “And we have five guests traveling to the one spot. I don’t see the issue.”

  Danny twists his lips. “Technically, E’s car can seat five, but his long legs lower its capacity to four.”

  “Not if you slotted Lorenzo into the spot behind E. It would have saved the need for a booster seat.” After straying my eyes to the narrowed ones glaring at me in the rearview mirror, I poke out my tongue then shift my focus to the scenery whizzing by.

  Willow and Danny may be attempting to make my bed, but that doesn’t mean I have to sleep in it.

  Three hours later, we arrive at the cabin a head honcho from the 69ers hired for the weekend. Danny said Willow and Elvis left an hour before us to prepare for the guests who will arrive sometime before dusk. At last count, twenty-one people are staying two nights in the eight-bedroom cabin. I don’t know who fucked up, but I’m hoping they’re not responsible for anyone’s finances, or they could be in for a surprise at tax time.

  My teeth c
hatter when Danny cranks open the passenger side door of Lorenzo’s car to let me out. With the temperature dropping more with every mile we traveled, Lorenzo put up the top a hundred miles ago. Lucky, or we might have frozen during our travels.

  “Did you bring something warm to wear, amore mio?” Lorenzo asks, following me to the trunk.

  I cringe when I recall the outfits I packed in haste. Even with it being winter, my clothing rarely adjusts with the seasons. I usually accessorize with a jacket or a pair of nude leggings, but I don’t see that cutting the mustard here. It’s below freezing.

  After reading my expression with more skill than a stranger should have, Lorenzo says, “Come say hello, then I’ll take you to get some more appropriate clothing.” When I narrow my eyes, hating his brash, commanding demeanor, he murmurs, “Or freeze. No skin off my nose. Preferirei che tu nuda comunque.”

  From the smirk his last sentence was delivered with, I’m going to assume he said something derogative, but I lose the chance to ask when he curls his hand around mine before galloping us up the stairs to greet Willow and Elvis, leaving Danny to play bellhop.

  “You made it. Both of you.” Willow tries to act surprised by Lorenzo’s visit. I hope she has no interest in acting as her skills are below par.

  When Willow returns Lorenzo’s greeting of a cheek peck, I whisper in her ear that I’m going to smother her in her sleep before I shift my focus to Elvis. With Willow in my bad books, and Lorenzo still clutching my hand like I’m a possession, my friendly peck lands closer to Elvis’s lips than his cheek. It’s as innocent as a kindergarten peck, but it has the effect I’m aiming for when Willow’s eyes slit at the exact moment Lorenzo’s grip on my hand tightens.

  I shouldn’t love the way Lorenzo’s narrowed gaze heats up every inch of my skin, but I do. It’s why I’ve fought so hard to stay away from him the last month. I might be a crazy, neurotic college girl when he’s not around, but I’m usually smart.

  That’s not the case when Lorenzo is in my presence. I feel like a brain-dead idiot.

  After wiping my lip gloss from the corner of his mouth, Elvis removes my suitcase from Danny’s grasp before waving his empty hand to the entrance of the cabin. “How about we show you your room so you can settle in?”

  Willow and Danny follow Elvis inside, but I’m too stunned to walk. Fortunately, my mouth doesn’t face the same issues. I can talk underwater. “Room. As in one?”

  Willow cranks her head my way. She looks seconds away from having her cake and eating it too. “With the RSVP list being longer than expected, we had to get inventive with the consignment of space. We drew straws. Your group got the short stick.”

  “Can I request a redraw?”

  If I’m reading Willow as well as I believe I can, I won’t make it out of this weekend in one piece. I could barely stop squirming during our drive to the cabin. Lorenzo’s watchful eyes were too stimulating to act unaffected, so there’s no way in hell I’ll survive sleeping in the same room as him.

  While shaking her head, Willow ushers our group to a set of stairs pulled down from the attic. “Seriously, Will? The attic? I’d rather sleep outside.” I’m not lying. Scary voids in roofs scare the living shit out of me, and Willow knows this.

  “Don’t worry, amore mio,” Lorenzo croons as the thumb on the hand still holding clutching mine traces the veins protruding in my wrist. “I’ll save you from the bogeyman.”

  A flare ignites in his eyes when I ask, “Then who will save me from you?”

  After watching the heat bristle between Lorenzo and me long enough to scorch her retinas, Willow murmurs, “The attic is where you’ll end up if your lips touch any part of my man again.” With a wink that reveals she’s torn between ripping out my insides or tickling me until I pee, she raises the ladder-like stairs before sauntering to a door behind it. “This is your room.”

  “My room?” I ask, touching my chest.

  Willow shakes her head before fanning her hands across Lorenzo, Danny, and me standing frozen halfway down the hallway. “Your room… all of you.”

  I’m about to kill her until Lorenzo ushers me into the elegant space. There are three single beds evenly spaced at the back of the loft-size room, a massive fireplace stretches across the right wall, and the bathroom not only has two vanities, it also has a double shower and a clawfoot tub. It’s four times the size of our dorm, if not larger, and absolutely gorgeous.

  Not in a million years could I afford something so grand, so I don’t mind sharing. My father has always said, ‘the more shared, the more gained.’ Although I would have preferred for it to occur without a man who makes my heart race just from holding my hand—which, in case you’re wondering, he’s still clasping.

  “E is about to fire up the grill, so once you’ve freshened up from your travels, join us outside.” Willow runs her hand down my arm, silently forgiving me, before joining Elvis on the massive patio that spans the entire length of the cabin.

  I stop watching her fairy-like trot when Lorenzo drags his index finger down my arm. It bristles the fine hairs on my arm as well as his heated gaze has my thighs pressing together. “Any preference of bed, amore mio.” The purr of his words makes it seem as if he’s asking much more than he is.

  When he locks his eyes with mine, I’m certain of it. The air between us is super-heated, crackling with enough electricity Elvis won’t need to cook the wieners. We’ve got them covered.

  After a quick swallow to relieve my dry throat, I recall the reason it’s so easy for his gaze to heat me up.

  We’re the same height.

  “Nope. I’m not planning to sleep much this weekend, anyway.”

  I snatch up my bag Elvis left by the doorway, toss it onto the first bed, then hotfoot it in the direction Willow just went, silently groaning when the thrilling zap racing up my arm diminishes the instant I free my arm from Lorenzo’s grip.

  “It’s not funny. Do you have any idea how itchy this material is?” I grab the neckline of the hideous monstrosity Danny likes to call a sweater so I can drag it away from my chest. “I feel like I’m wearing a potato sack.”

  “You look like you’re wearing a potato sack.” Willow’s words shift to a groan when I elbow her in the ribs. “What? It hasn’t dampened Shortie J’s interest in the slightest. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you all night.”

  Her smile is barely concealed by her bottle of beer. She thinks she’s hilarious.

  I have news for her.

  “I hope you packed cotton underwear because you’ve downed enough beers tonight to alter your vagina’s natural PH balance. Elvis won’t be able to touch you for a week.”

  It takes three swallows to encourage the beer in her mouth to head toward her stomach instead of my face. Once she’s achieved the seemingly impossible, she says, “Those rumors aren’t true. Just because beer has yeast in it doesn’t mean it will affect my va-jay-jay.” She sounds convinced even though her facial expression is anything but.

  “Are you sure? You saw the stats on the Hottie or Not website. Sixty-seven percent of participants said women who drink beer have smelly vaginas.”

  I arch a brow, my mood a lot more carefree than it was when we arrived at the cabin. I want to say it’s from hanging out with men I’ve idolized half my life, but unfortunately, that isn’t the sole reason I’m hyped-up like I ate my weight in s’mores. I’ve seen a different side of Lorenzo the past six hours. Even being a head shorter than every man around him, he’s held his own all evening. He didn’t even get flustered when they hit him with every short-man joke you can imagine.

  I almost spat my drink when Lorenzo told Foster he wasn’t happy, and Foster replied, “Then which one are you? Sneezy, grumpy, or dopey?” It took Foster ticking off the remaining three dwarfs for Lorenzo to click to his tease, but when he did, Foster paid for his rile with a dart to the butt cheek.

  It’s been an entertaining few hours.

  A giggle rumbles in my chest when I divert my attention back t
o Willow, and I see how hard she’s concentrating. She’s giving my question some real thought.

  Preferring for the focus to be on her instead of my wailing libido that doesn’t care how short Shortie J is, I say, “You already gassed a god and survived to tell the tale, but I still wouldn’t recommend adding a smelly hoo-ha into this mix this early in your relationship.”

  “It’s not true,” she assures me through furrowed brows “The Hottie or Not website was created by men to downgrade women. Nothing on there is factual.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask again before drawing in a giant and undignified whiff through my nostrils. “Because I’m smelling fish, and we’re not close to the ocean.”

  She whacks me—hard. Now I know why Danny’s eyes water anytime her fists get friendly with his stomach. For a little lady, she packs a lot of oomph in her punches. “You’re… You’re…”

  “More like you than you realized?” I fill in, laughing.

  Her O-formed mouth morphs into a smile. “Yes… and it’s somewhat disturbing. I don’t know if the 69ers’ family can handle two Willow’s.”

  I snuggle into the blanket we’ve been camped under the past two hours before resting my head on Willow’s shoulder. “As much as this kills me to admit, I don’t think they need to worry about handling two Willow’s any time soon. The guys are great. Foster is gorgeous, arrogant, and cocky, and Lucifer is as devilish as his name, they’re just…” I stop, refusing to say the name sitting on the tip of my tongue. I hardly know Lorenzo. We’ve only crossed paths a handful of times, so why the hell can’t I get him out of my head?

  Like she heard my private thoughts, Willow firms her hold around my waist. “You know this wouldn’t be so hard if you stopped bypassing the now to see the future.” When I peer up at her, she drags her index finger down my screwed-up nose. “I love you, Sky. You forever propped me up when I felt low and taught me to love the skin I’m in, but I wouldn’t be doing my job as your best friend if I didn’t occasionally get hard on you.” My heart warms from her calling me her best friend, then it squeezes from her saying, “You need to stop assessing everyone on what they’ll bring to your future and accept that sometimes the future can’t be planned. If my parents’ death taught me anything, life is the moment we’re living right now. Life is today, yesterday is done, and for all we know—”