Players Game 01 - Fraternize

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Something I’d always wanted.

  But never had.

  Sanchez had been the only guy to give me shit, and the more I got to know him, the more I wondered if he’d done it to see if I would flip my shit or ignore him.

  He seemed like that kind of guy. Always gauging other people’s reactions to see if they could control themselves. Clearly, there was more than met the eye with that guy.

  Damn it.

  And now I was thinking about Emerson again.

  The legitimate like I felt for Sanchez pissed me off because the guy was already texting on his phone, his grin huge like he was about ready to get laid.

  Meanwhile, I wanted to punch a brick wall and imagined his face.

  And he hadn’t done a damn thing wrong.

  “Practice!” Jax called out to everyone as he opened the door to his sleek Mercedes. His green eyes flashed. “You guys all need to head to bed. I heard conditioning’s going to be complete hell tomorrow, just a heads up.”

  We all groaned.

  All of us but Sanchez.

  Who was still grinning at his phone like an idiot.

  “Sanchez,” Jax barked. “You hear me?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He waved him off without once looking up from his screen. “Practice, hell, early, bed.”

  “Sometimes I wonder if he just remembers keywords and repeats them back to me.” Jax rolled his eyes. “Later.” With a wave, he was in his car, and I was still staring at Sanchez, my body tense with that creepy stalker feeling you get when you know you shouldn’t be eavesdropping but wonder if it’s totally inappropriate to ask to see his phone and lie about forgetting yours.

  “So, I’ll just see you later then.” Maybe my voice was a little too loud, my stance rigid as hell. “Yeah, Sanchez?”

  He finally glanced up, a smirk marring his features. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be in bed on time. I just have something I gotta do first.”

  Please let that something not be Emerson.

  “Right.” I scratched my head as fury pumped through my veins. “Have a good night.”

  “You too, brother.” He waved me off with his phone and kept texting.

  My legs may as well have been filled with cement as I made my way back to my car and numbly opened the door. What the hell was I doing?

  Nothing.

  I was doing nothing.

  Because I didn’t know what to do.

  And a part of me was still angry.

  Hurt.

  Pissed.

  And the other part?

  Was longing for the same relationship that had slipped through my fingers so many years ago.

  The one that Sanchez and Emerson now had.

  Bastard.

  I had a bad feeling that he was texting her.

  And an even worse feeling that she was texting him back.

  Texting should burn in hell.

  And I probably should too, since during Sanchez’s bathroom break, I had taken full opportunity to find her number on his phone.

  And store it in mine.

  Chapter Eighteen

  EMERSON

  Sanchez: Quick, take a picture of your panty drawer. I want to win a bet.

  I rolled my eyes and yawned as I swiped away from the book I was reading and started typing in messages.

  Me: Don’t have one.

  Sanchez: “Dead” Where the hell is that emoji?

  I couldn’t suppress my laugh.

  Me: How much have you had to drink?

  Sanchez: Clearly not enough if the thought of you not wearing panties is giving me a boner the size of Texas. I would send a picture, but I’m afraid it won’t fully fit in the screen, and that wouldn’t be fair to you.

  The guy was insane! Like a psychotic, wiggly hot worm that worked its way into your life and refused to let go. I relived his stupid kiss about as many times as I relived Miller’s heated look.

  I was in deep.

  And the worst part was that I didn’t remember how I ever got there. What had I done to gain Sanchez’s unwanted attention? And why was Miller so pissed at me? Especially when he seemed to think I was the one who put him on a friendship time-out? I wanted to ask him, but I was afraid that the more I dug into his past . . .

  The more he would dig into mine.

  And I wasn’t quite ready for that conversation. I wasn’t sure I would ever be ready for that conversation or for the emotional wreckage that came with it.

  Me: How sad for me. I’ll draw a stick figure and use my imagination. Happy?

  Sanchez: STICK FIGURE?

  I yawned again. I was exhausted.

  Me: What? Is that not the same thing?

  Sanchez: Let me come over.

  Me: No.

  Sanchez: I’m sorry. That’s one of the 5 words I don’t recognize in the English language.

  Me: And the other 4?

  Who was this guy? Seriously? My stomach flipped a bit as I waited for him to respond back.

  Sanchez: Go on a date with me this week and maybe I’ll tell you.

  I groaned out loud.

  Me: I see what you did there. Hook, line, and sinker, yeah?

  Sanchez: This isn’t my first rodeo.

  I grinned.

  Sanchez: Say yes.

  Honestly, he didn’t need to bribe me; I’d already decided to give him a chance. I needed to put all thoughts of Miller as far away from me as possible and actually come to terms with the fact that whatever we’d had in the past was over.

  And it was time to stop living in the broken pieces of what was left of us.

  Me: Yes.

  Sanchez: I just screamed in the parking lot. I think I scared a lady. Don’t worry though. I told her I was just really excited that the prettiest girl in the world said she’d have sex with me.

  Me: I didn’t say sex.

  Sanchez: I’m very optimistic.

  Me: Tone it down or I’ll say no.

  Sanchez: Deal. So . . . Saturday night?

  I chewed my lower lip. It was the last Saturday before preseason games started, so if I wanted to go on a date with him, that would be the best time. Especially with both of our grueling schedules. Besides, the guy was letting me use his car. It was the least I could do, right?

  My stomach did that little flip thing again at the thought and then dropped when my eyes fell to the manual on the floor. The one that included a solid chapter about not fraternizing with the players. But that same manual also talked about how long my fingernails should be, maybe they just liked to cover all their bases? The more I thought about it the more I tried to justify the fact that I was texting him back my answer and risking everything for a guy who said he just wanted sex—but pursued me like he actually cared about me.

  Me: Deal.

  Sanchez: See you soon, Curves.

  I fell back on my bed, my phone somewhere near my fingertips as I stared up at the cheap ceiling. It had stains from water damage. My room really wasn’t any bigger than most people’s closets, modestly decorated with a desk, a nightstand, and a cute pink chair that Miller had gotten me for my sixteenth birthday after he saw me lusting after it at Target.

  I winced at the thought of that stupid chair.

  And the fact that he used to sit in it because it made me laugh to see his giant body in such a tiny spot.

  Memories had such a painful and annoying way of popping up when least expected, especially when I was trying my hardest to focus on Sanchez.

  On the good.

  On my future.

  Groaning, I slammed my fists against the mattress a few times then grabbed my phone, only to see the screen light up with an unknown number and a text.

  The message was long—longer than most text messages should be.

  Unknown caller: Do you remember State finals our junior year?

  My heart froze in my chest.

  I quickly typed back.

  Me: Who is this?

  Unknown caller: Who do you think? Miller.

  I had a choice
. Text him back or tell him it was late and I needed to go to bed. Somehow it felt wrong, finishing a text with Sanchez only to start texting Miller. His teammate. Building mate.

  My ex-best-friend.

  Suddenly hot, I threw the covers off and texted back.

  Me: How did you get my number?

  Miller: I stole it.

  Me: From?

  Miller: Doesn’t matter. It’s mine now.

  I knew he was a possessive guy, but he had rarely shown me that side, maybe because he didn’t really have a reason to in high school, until he finally admitted he had feelings. A chill erupted down my spine.

  Me: Of course I remember State. You caught for a touchdown, defense held their offense at the 40-yard line with 8 seconds left, and they couldn’t get close enough for a field goal. We went to IHOP to celebrate. And you ate two orders of pancakes.

  Miller: With whipped cream.

  I licked my lips as my stomach clenched.

  Me: And strawberries.

  Miller: Good memory.

  Me: Yeah, well, I like pancakes.

  Miller: Want to know what else I remember?

  I was afraid this was going someplace we couldn’t return from, but I was stupid enough to fall for it, stupid enough to still care.

  Me: What?

  My throat was dry as I waited for him to respond. I could see he was typing, but beyond that, nothing.

  Miller: You dipped your finger in my whipped cream—and I sucked it off.

  My jaw nearly dropped to the floor. Was he flirting with me? After he’d agreed to be my friend? And had basically given his blessing for me and Sanchez?

  Me: You bit me too.

  Miller: On purpose.

  Me: Because you wanted to draw blood?

  Miller: Let’s just call it accidental over-aggression because of the fact that I had you in my mouth.

  Okay, and we just jumped over that line and pounced.

  Me: Oh?

  Seriously, what was I supposed to say to that?

  Miller: You busy tonight?

  Me: Yup, sleeping.

  Miller: Not hanging out with your new boyfriend?

  Me: Not my boyfriend, and no, we’re going to go on a date later this week though.

  I don’t know why I said it. I wasn’t trying to make him jealous; maybe I was just desperate to lay down the boundaries of our relationship again—because Miller had way too much power over me. A simple conversation had me holding my breath . . . a heated look had me clenching my thighs . . . and it wasn’t fair.

  Not to me or to Sanchez.

  Not even to Miller.

  Miller: Have fun.

  He didn’t text again.

  I tossed and turned for the next two hours until finally giving up and padding over to my pink chair with my blanket. I imagined the chair was Miller’s arms.

  I hated myself for needing the comfort that fantasy brought.

  Almost as much as I hated the fact that when I needed his arms the most, he’d all but dropped me from a cliff.

  Chapter Nineteen

  MILLER

  I felt guilty.

  I’d slept like shit, and it showed during practice. I was caught unaware by both Xander and Elliot, two rookie defensive ends, and it was more than embarrassing when Xander took my helmet off.

  “Miller!” Sanchez yelled. “What gives?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing. Tired. No excuses.” I eyed Jax. “Can we go again?”

  He nodded, and I ran my route, this time blocking and turning for a catch. I was the last option—a good one—but typically my job was to make sure that Jax had enough time to get shit done.

  I caught it.

  Our offensive coach, Merill, motioned me forward. Great. I wasn’t ready to get my ass chewed out because I’d been texting Emerson for ten minutes, only to stare at my own ceiling for three hours unable to sleep because I kept imagining Sanchez kissing her. Not that he’d know that. I only had myself to blame, right? I was flirting with danger.

  And I couldn’t stop.

  I’d texted her a few more times this morning, asking her about practice and her day. Shit. I was an idiot.

  “What’s up?” I pulled off my helmet.

  Merill tapped me on the temple. “Everything okay up here?”

  “Yeah, Coach.” I shook him off. “You know how it goes. Jet lag.” Really? Still? It was bullshit and he probably knew it.

  He nodded knowingly. “I want your head in this, alright? You’re a leader. People look up to you. Between you, Sanchez, and Jax, I have some of the best players in the league, but even the best players have shit for brains when it comes to their mental and emotional health. I need you okay here . . .” He pointed to my head again. “So you can be the greatest out there.” He jabbed his finger at the field. “Now, tell Jax we’re running the play again, and this time, block like you mean it, son.”

  “Yes, sir.” I jogged off and threw my helmet on.

  We ran that same play until I could do it in my sleep.

  I was so sore from blocking that I was actually looking forward to the ice bath that usually came after practice. I could even get on board with the trainer massaging my legs out.

  Coach was right.

  My head needed to be in the game.

  And that shit started now.

  I needed to unpack.

  This was my home now.

  And even though I was still exhausted from practice, I knew if I didn’t stay busy, I’d just text Emerson again.

  And if just texting her was distracting enough to throw me off my game, then I knew if I kept doing that and going any further, stepping over any more lines, who knew what that would do to me during the season. Maybe the coaches were right about that whole no-fraternization policy.

  A loud knock sounded on my door, and I nearly tripped over a box to get there before the pounding fist took down the entire structure. “What?” I jerked open the door; Sanchez was just about to knock again, his grin huge. It was hard to stay pissed at him when he looked so . . . friendly. The guy had killed it out on the field today again too, and encouraged me to shake it off when I wanted to slam my hand into Xander’s face after getting hit again.

  “Well, good evening to you too!” he shouted. Why was he shouting?

  “Huh?”

  “Let’s go.” He tugged my arm. “I decided to have a party. And I invited women. You do know what those are, right? Curves in all the right places, gorgeous bodies you can’t wait to sink your . . .” He stopped talking and winked. “You know.”

  “I’m exhausted,” I said honestly as he continued pulling me toward his door. “And I played like shit.”

  “Your shit is another man’s best game of his life, just sayin’.” Sanchez shrugged. “Now, go drink and try not to bark at the girls. Biting, however, is completely allowed.”

  He pulled me through my door and pushed me toward his.

  Soft music bumped from his surround sound system, and every food imaginable was on his main dining room table, along with enough alcohol to get our entire building drunk.

  Most of my teammates were there. Jax was in the corner looking pissed as hell, and Thomas was taking shots.

  Yeah, tomorrow was going to be a rough one for Thomas.

  I didn’t recognize the girls surrounding a few of the rookies, but I did recognize Kinsey as she approached her brother and started throwing her hands in the air like she was ready to slap him across the face.

  I didn’t know her well. But I did know Jax, and I’d never seen him look so pissed in my entire life. Who knew the guy even got angry?

  I grabbed two beers from the cooler and made my way over to them before she took his head off.

  She stormed away just as I made it to him.

  Wordlessly, I handed him the beer.

  He took it without looking at me then gulped half of it down before saying, “She’s making me lose my hair.”

  I almost spit out my own drink, barely managing to swallow be
fore I laughed. “What?”

  “My hair.” Jax didn’t take his eyes from her. “I think I found a bald spot. I blame her.” He took another drink. “I also never drink during the season.”

  “Still technically preseason.”

  “And now she’s turning me into an alcoholic.”

  “It’s half a beer.”

  “Right, and it’s going to take at least another six in order for me to forget the fact that about five minutes ago she was dancing on one of the tables because Sanchez made a bet with her and she lost.”

  “What kind of bet?”

  “Oh, Sanchez bet that he could get Emerson to kiss him in front of everyone, and she did. Loser had to dance on the table. Kinsey was the loser. She could have said no. Sanchez and I have an understanding, you know?”

  My body buzzed with anger and awareness as Emerson’s laugh rang out. She launched her fist into the air in triumph and started doing a little dance while Sanchez pretended to pout next to her.

  “Again!” she shouted, grabbing a deck of cards.

  “What are they playing?”

  “Indian poker.” Jax sighed, “I’ve never seen Sanchez so obsessed. I’d say it was pathetic, but it’s kind of nice to see a side of him that isn’t constantly screwing anything with a pulse, especially after everything with his ex.”

  I needed a subject change, and fast. I didn’t want to like Sanchez, and yet I was viewing him as a friend and not a potential enemy for chasing the one girl I could never forget.

  “Holy shit, is that the bald spot?” I pointed to Jax’s ear.

  He spit out a mouthful of beer and touched his head. “Seriously?”

  I grinned. “Sorry, I had to.”

  “Jackass. See if I pass to you ever again.” He smirked.

  “You need me.” I folded my arms and laughed. “Admit it.”

  “You’re still a jackass.”

  Kinsey glanced over at us, then smiled at me before glaring at her brother again.

  “I hate that she hangs out with the players.” He downed the rest of his beer. “But the more I argue the worse she gets. It’s almost better not to say anything, you know?”

  “Yeah.” I eyed a laughing Emerson. “I do.”

  Jax elbowed me. “Lusting after another teammate’s girl?”