Escorting the Player (The Escort Collection Book 3)

by Leigh James

  I'd smiled at her, trying to be friendly. "Oh yeah?"

  "Uh-huh. She said it was high-class, all the way. She got flown to an island. In the Caribbean. All expenses paid. It was a bunch of billionaires or something." Kylie wiped down the soda machine and simultaneously tossed her thick, curly ponytail over her shoulder. "'Wouldn't I like to meet a billionaire', I told my sister. You know what she said?"

  "No," I answered. I didn't know Kylie that well, but I liked her. She was always talking, always had a story to tell. I appreciated that. Her friendly chatter helped pass the long shifts at the restaurant.

  Kylie moved on to the coffeemaker and wiped it almost violently. "She told me it'd never happen—that I'd never get a billionaire because I'm not pretty enough. And 'cause I talk too much."

  I gave her a consoling look. "I'm sorry. It's not true—you're very pretty. It's just sister shit. I have one. She can be mean, too."

  Kylie gave me a conspiratorial look. "Mine's a hooker," she said in a low voice. "So you'd think she wouldn't be such an uppity you-know-what, but she still is."

  I was completely taken aback. "For real?" I asked, finally.

  She nodded. "For real. I shouldn't say she's a hooker. She's an escort, is what she calls it. She gets wined and dined all the time. The wedding she just went to? One of her escort friends was the bride. She married a billionaire who was one of her clients."

  "Wow." It was all I could think of to say.

  "You should do it," Kylie said, nodding at me. "You've got the look. Perfect skin. Rocking body. All that blond hair and those big blue eyes. And you're quiet, unlike me."

  I laughed, but it came out bitter and sharp. "I don't think I'm…qualified. Sexy isn't really my thing, you know?"

  Kylie tossed her ponytail over her shoulder again. "My sister got paid ten thousand dollars for one night once," she said. "I think you could fake the sexy for that."

  I felt my jaw drop. "So why don't you do it?" I asked, wondering if she was just teasing me.

  She grunted. "Maya said she'd blackball me. She said I seriously talk too much and she doesn't want to be associated with me at work. But I'm not kidding, girl. If you want the number, I'll give it to you. Maybe you'll marry a billionaire and set me up with one of his friends. Or eventually put in a good word for me at the agency."

  I shook my head. "I don't think I could do it. I'm too shy. And I'm not exactly, uh, experienced." I felt my face flame.

  "You're a virgin?" Kylie's eyeballs looked as though they might pop out of her head.

  "No," I said quickly. "But I've only ever had one boyfriend. And he was pretty…vanilla."

  "Think about it." Kylie shrugged. "I know you're broke. I've seen you stealing crackers to eat."

  My face got even hotter. I did steal packages of crackers; I pretended that I had to go to the bathroom and stuffed them into my mouth as often as I could. I was always hungry, shaking from the emptiness inside me. Kylie had seen me. She'd known, and she felt sorry for me.

  Being poor was so fucking humiliating.

  "In case you change your mind," Kylie said. She scribbled something onto a cocktail napkin and slid it into my apron. "It'd be nice to be able to eat three squares a day, right? And it's gotta beat waitressing."

  I'd pulled out the napkin after my shift. It had the name and number of the agency.

  I didn't call for a few weeks. Not until Lila got fired from her third consecutive job and had started burning through my limited supply of cash at an alarming rate. There hadn't even been enough money for Ramen.

  Hunger could drive you to crazy things.

  And then there was my sister, who seemed to be getting even more adrift. She was my responsibility, my family. I needed to take care of her. I hadn't been able to save my mom, but Lila was going to be another story. If only she'd cooperate.

  So I called the service. I'd taken a couple of clients. Neither of them were that bad, but I'd still cried afterwards. It was just that I'd always tried to be a good girl. I'd tried to be a good girl my whole life, and still, I couldn't get ahead.

  And it didn't seem to matter to anyone.

  Except to me.

  Chapter Three

  CHASE

  "Hey hey hey, there's the big guy," called Reggie, our running back and one of my closest friends on the team. He patted me on the shoulder. "You ready to work?"

  "Yeah," I said. Work was the one thing I was looking forward to today. As the starting quarterback for the Boston Warriors for the past five years, I'd led us to two Super Bowl wins. At thirty-seven, this season would be my last. I had great expectations. I wanted another Super Bowl ring. I had several NFL records in my sights. But I had to stay healthy, and I had to stay smart. I couldn't let this stuff with Jessica mess with my head and ruin everything I'd worked so hard for.

  I turned to my teammate. "How about you? You ready to rumble?"

  He grinned at me. "Not like I got anything better to do than kick some ass."

  Someone snorted behind us. Pax Unger, our new cornerback, swaggered in. "Word on the street is that you're ready to retire, Reggie," he said, his tone nasty.

  "Oh man—why do you always have to start that shit?" Reggie asked.

  Pax shrugged and threw his locker open. He started to change, and I noticed that he looked bigger than last year. "I'm not starting shit," Pax said, feigning innocence. "But you two are both getting old. And football's no country for old men."

  "Will you shut up, for once?" I asked, throwing my practice jersey on over my pads. "If I had a dime for every time you talked shit...then I probably could retire."

  Reggie laughed, but Pax's face was tight. Most of the guys on the team, if not all, were easy to be around. We had a good sense of camaraderie and I worked hard to keep it up. But since Pax had joined us last season after Pittsburgh didn't renew his contract, he'd been a pain in our team's collective ass.

  I had a feeling I knew why his last contract hadn't been renewed. It was because he was a divisive prick. He was a good player, though. Management wasn't done with him yet, so I just had to deal—we all did.

  "I'm sure you can afford to retire, Your Highness," he said.

  There was an undercurrent to his voice that I didn't like. "Watch it, dude."

  He turned to look at me, his shirt still off and his chest puffed out. "I'm not your dude, dude."

  I considered him. I was in a foul enough mood that punching him in the face seemed like a good idea right now. A really good idea.

  "Woah," Reggie said to Pax. He stepped up beside me. "You need to watch your mouth. Chase's still got a good five inches on you. Dude."

  Pax smiled at that. "I'm not afraid of His Highness." He bobbed his chin at Reggie. "You either, Old Man."

  "Why's that? Because you only have half a damn brain?" Reggie smiled and cracked his knuckles. Reggie was old, but he was also crazy. If he did indeed have half a brain, Pax would shut his mouth quick.

  "'Cause you two have lost your bite." Pax looked at us both in a challenge.

  "Did you sprinkle your cereal with PCP this morning?" I asked. "'Cause I'm not really sure why you're starting this shit with your own teammates."

  Reggie crossed his arms, his enormous biceps bulging, waiting to hear the cornerback's response.

  "Are you gonna run off and tell Coach?" Pax asked, mocking me. "Because that wouldn't surprise me one bit."

  "What the fuck?" I asked him, my voice rising. "What's your problem?"

  "You're my problem. Dude. Maybe not everybody's thrilled that this is the Chase Layne show twenty-four-seven."

  "So go somewhere else—that is, if anybody'll take you," I said. I balled my hand into a fist, but a taunt was as far as I was willing to go. He isn't worth it.

  A smug grin spread over Pax's face, making me feel sick to my stomach. What the fuck was up with this guy?

  "Oh, I got somebody to take me all right." He motioned to his chest and down the rest of his body. "All of me."

  Reggie turned to
me. "Maybe it was LSD he sprinkled on his cereal. Dude's trippin'."

  "Seriously. What the fuck are you talking about, Pax?" I asked.

  "Jessica says 'hi'." He grinned at me again.

  "Jessica? As in Jessica, my wife?" I looked at him, but all I could think about was my mother. "Of course there's somebody else."

  No. No fucking way. Not my cornerback. She wouldn't.

  Pax chuckled and beamed at me in triumph. "The very same."

  That was the last thing I heard before I went after him and everything went black. And Reggie screaming for the other guys to come. Quick.

  * * *

  "You can't suspend me for two weeks, sir." I looked at Wes, my coach, desperately. "He's sleeping with my wife. He taunted me about it in the locker room. He's lucky he's not in the hospital." Pax had been treated and released by our team physician. He had a broken nose and some other nasty cuts and bruises.

  Like I gave a fuck.

  "No," Wes said. "You're lucky he's not in the hospital." He looked more tired than usual, as if the bags under his eyes had doubled in size.

  I blew out a deep breath. "Jessica's leaving me for him." I called her after the fight with Pax and she'd admitted everything, not sounding sorry in the least. "He taunted me about it in public, in front of my teammate, and I'm the one who's getting suspended? That's fucked up, Wes."

  "Watch your mouth." Wes swore like a sailor, but he didn't tolerate his players cursing. "You broke his nose, Chase. You have to be disciplined."

  "What're we going to do about him? This is our last chance for a Super Bowl title. My last chance. And Pax is toxic. He wants to rip this team apart."

  Wes looked at me calmly. "I can't suspend him for what he's done off the field. Adultery is not a criminal offense. What I can do is see if Tim will consider cutting him loose early. We can't have someone like him on the team—I agree with you about that—but it's not my decision."

  Tim was the team owner. "Okay," I said. That was as much as I could ask for at this point.

  "So…" Wes just sat there for a minute, gathering his thoughts. He didn't talk a lot, and he chose his words sparingly when he was forced to. "Jessica."

  I nodded at him. "It's true."

  "You two working it out?"

  I laughed. "There's not a lot left to work out."

  "Are you filing?"

  I gritted my teeth. "She said she's going to do it this week."

  Wes sat back and studied me. "You okay, son?"

  "Yes." I sat there for a second. "No."

  "You know the press is going to be all over this. Your suspension, your divorce, and her, uh…new relationship."

  "Yup." I looked at him grimly. The sports press in Boston was rabid. They would analyze it to death. "What're you going to say about Pax?"

  "Nothing, if I can help it." Wes shrugged. "Just that he's on the injury list, you're suspended for violating team rules and that I have no further comment."

  I grunted. "That's not gonna fly."

  "It'll do for now—until I figure out what I have to tell them." He studied my face. "Is Jessica taking this public?"

  "Probably." I felt numb inside.

  "I'll talk to Tim, and I'll do the press conference after that. You take it easy. Take time to lie low. Work out at home. Maybe don't leave the house too much. Hopefully, we can keep the fact that Pax is involved private for now."

  I nodded at Wes. "We'll see. Pax didn't seem like he was trying to keep it a secret."

  My coach looked grim. "What did Jessica say about that?"

  She was excited that Pax had started a fight with me.

  She told me she was thrilled that she was finally with a real man.

  "Nothing, sir. Thank you," I said and quickly took my leave.

  * * *

  "I told you to have Jess sign a prenup," my attorney said. Sitting out back by my pool, Mickey looked out of place. He had on a pinstriped suit with a crisp lavender shirt. His neatly trimmed white hair stood unnaturally still, even in the breeze.

  In contrast, I wore a ripped Warriors T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. I hadn't shaved in three days.

  "She saw you coming, Chase. Jesus." My attorney smoothed his impeccable pants. "So…what's going on with her, exactly? She's found a new food source in the form of Pax Unger?"

  I nodded. "Appears that way."

  "Who'd she hire for the divorce?" He looked grim.

  "I don't know yet," I said.

  "What exactly happened with you two?"

  I shrugged. "She wanted to do a bunch of stuff that I wasn't supporting. So I guess she found someone who would get with her program."

  "What program's that?"

  "She wanted to do a reality show—based on us," I sighed. "She'd gotten an agent to pitch it to the networks and everything."

  "You mean—like a Real Housewives sort of thing?" he asked.

  I grunted. "More like a Kendra Loves Hank kind of thing. You know the one with the ex-Playboy playmate, her ex-NFL husband, and their kids?"

  Mickey scrubbed his hand across his face. "I must've missed that one."

  "Jessica wanted cameras in the house twenty-four-seven. She wanted us filmed going to dinner, fighting, the whole deal."

  "Management would never agree to that," he said.

  "Well, I know that, and you know that, but that didn't stop Jess from being angry when I said it was never going to happen. She said I was ruining her career."

  "Her career?" Mickey coughed. "Why didn't she just ask WRX for her old sports reporter job back? Sounds like she needed something to do."

  I'd met Jess when she was a rising sports reporter for a local news station. She was smart. Focused. Tenacious. She was like a female version of me. I remember the first time I saw her—tall with long legs, dark hair cascading down her back. Incredible tits…that she'd subsequently defiled with too-large, fake-looking implants. "That's not what she wanted. That wasn't enough," I said. "She wanted a show about her. She kept talking about the Jessica Layne brand."

  "Her brand?" He looked stymied. "I don't think she's exactly a good role model."

  "She did go to Brown," I said, a little defensively.

  "I didn't say she was dumb," Mickey said. "I just don't think she's a nice person. No offense, son."

  I sighed. "None taken. You want a beer?"

  Mickey nodded. "I could do a beer." He watched as I went to the outside refrigerator on my shaded patio. "All this wasn't enough for her?" he asked, gesturing around my setup—the enormous in-ground pool, the hot tub, the waterfall. "And why no kids?"

  "She liked the money," I said. "But she wants to be famous in her own right. And she'd actually started bargaining with me about the kid thing. She never wanted to have one because she was worried about her figure. But if I'd have said yes to a series deal, she would've finally said yes to a kid." I took a large swig of beer. "So she could be filmed being mother of the year."

  My attorney grimaced. "Real piece of work, Chase. A real piece of work. She's going to try to soak you. You know that, right?"

  I shook my head. "Let her. I don't even care. And good riddance."

  He was quiet for a minute, nursing his beer. "I'm surprised you punched the guy—Pax. Doesn't seem like you, going and doing something that would get you suspended."

  It was out of character for me, and I didn't do "out of character".

  "But I guess you had to," Mickey continued. "Somebody sleeps with your wife—even if you don't even like your wife—you have to punch him."

  "That's sort of what I was thinking. If you could call it thinking."

  Mickey patted my shoulder. "It's okay, son. We'll deal with Jessica. We'll make this whole thing go away."

  I took another swallow of beer, wishing that was somehow true.

  * * *

  Of course, Jessica would not go quietly. I hadn't spoken with her directly, per Mickey's orders, but he was dealing with the high-powered divorce lawyer she'd hired. Jessica had a long list of d
emands.

  "She wants the house?" I screamed into my cell phone. "And half my money? We were only married for two years, for Christ's sake. We don't have any kids."

  "She won't get it—not all of it," Mickey said, calmly, "but she's probably looking at alimony because she quit her job to support your career."

  I snorted and gripped my phone, close to shattering it. "That's a joke and you know it. Everybody knows it. All she's done is gone shopping, decorate, and get her face blown up with filler. Our marriage was a two-year, all-expenses-paid luxury vacation for her, goddamn it."

  "Chase." Mickey's voice bordered on soothing, which was a red flag for me. "She's gonna get a large chunk of your money. You need to wrap your head around that. Now, you can pay me to fight her—we can do all sorts of things to drag this out—but then you're going to spend a fuck-ton of money on legal fees. Which is fine by me." He chortled. "But seriously, if you agree to at least some of what she's asking for, she'll probably settle. I think she wants to be done with this quick."

  "Why do you think that?"

  He was silent for a second. "Because her lawyer told me so."

  "And why is that?"

  Another pause. "Because she wants to get married again. As soon as possible."

  I surprised myself by laughing. I just sat on the couch and laughed and laughed.

  Chapter Four

  CHASE

  A few days later, my doorbell rang. I sat up. Shit. I'd been wearing the same pair of sweats, doing nothing but drinking beer and eating Chinese delivery and pizza. I was camped out in my living room, the NFL Network on constantly, not even bothering to go to my bedroom to sleep.

  But it was only seven a.m. and I hadn't ordered any Chinese food yet.

  The doorbell rang again. Double shit. It was probably my mother.

  I checked the security camera.

  Then I threw the door open. "Shut up."

  "No—you shut up," Eric said, coming in and giving me a hug. My agent pulled back, his nose wrinkling below his black, stylish rectangular glasses. "You smell. Worse than usual."