Escorting the Player (The Escort Collection Book 3)

by Leigh James

  I wanted to remind Lila that she still needed to get a job, and beg her to keep the apartment tidy while I was gone, but I knew she'd just roll her eyes at that.

  I swallowed back the bitter taste in my mouth as I folded the note. Because we had no television and no Internet connection, I hoped that Lila wasn't going to see pictures of me with Chase Layne anytime soon. I was walking a fine line between taking care of her and being taken advantage of by her.

  I loved my sister, but I didn't trust her—I couldn't. Lila would go nuts if she heard how much money I was making. And then she would find a way to spend it—all of it—and then I'd be back to square one. Again.

  Not this time.

  I locked up the apartment and headed downstairs. There was a hired Town Car waiting for me. I slid into the backseat and relaxed against the clean interior. As the driver nodded at me politely and pulled down the street, I looked up at my apartment building. I was thrilled to be leaving it behind. I was also thrilled I was going to pretend to be someone else. I'd never taken a vacation, but aside from the fact that this was an escort assignment, it sounded like the ultimate escape.

  Avery Banks has left the building, I thought, a little wildly.

  Hello, Avery Brighton. I liked my new name. It was new and shiny, full of promise.

  Everything that I wasn't.

  Chapter Six

  CHASE

  "I can't believe you hired a hooker for me," I said, pacing around my kitchen. "This is a bad idea. Fucked up. I'm not one of those ballplayers. I don't want my reputation getting completely ruined."

  "Will you relax? No one's going to know she's a hooker!" Eric was looking through my refrigerator, which had recently been stocked by the maid service he'd hired. "And for the record, she's an escort, not a hooker. This is going to work. Trust me. This will give you the confidence you need, and you'll go down in history as one of the best quarterbacks that ever played. Just like you've always wanted."

  I snorted and continued to pace. The house was immaculate again and was about to be listed by a real estate agent. Jessica had decided that she didn't want it, after all. She just wanted the proceeds of the sale. I had a few choice words for her about that, but I was keeping them to myself…for now. I didn't want to start a pissing contest with her.

  "I don't want a prostitute—or an escort, or whatever—living with me," I said. The idea made me want to throw up.

  "Relax. She's a nice girl, Chase."

  I stopped pacing and threw up my arms. "How do you know?"

  "Because I saw her picture. She looks very, very nice." Eric grinned at me. "I think you'll like her."

  I cracked my knuckles, wishing that I was cracking Eric's face. I had no idea what this girl was going to be like. I was worried she was going to be user, or a smoker, or just a mess in general. "This better not turn into a disaster. I'm in enough trouble as it is. You need to keep her in line."

  The grin slid off Eric's face. "You have to at least give her a chance," he said. "This isn't going to work if you keep acting like you have your period."

  The doorbell rang and my stomach lurched. I sat down and buried my face in my hands. "I can't believe we're doing this. I seriously feel sick."

  "For a big, tough quarterback, you're really being a pussy," Eric said, striding out to get the door.

  I held my breath as I heard him exchange pleasantries with someone.

  If she's a smoker, she's fired, was all I could think as I went out to meet her.

  I rounded the corner and stopped dead in my tracks.

  The escort—if this was, indeed, the escort—looked like she was in her early twenties. She had long, blond, wavy hair and a fresh face devoid of makeup. She was wearing a Dartmouth T-shirt and leggings. I could tell she had real boobs, just like Eric promised, and they were fantastic. She smiled at me nervously.

  She was stunning, just in the T-shirt. She seemed innocent enough. Nice, even.

  "I'm Avery," she said, that same nervous smile plastered to her face. Her voice was sweet with an undercurrent of anxiety, like she was trying to be pleasing.

  I'm fucked. She was absolutely gorgeous. My cock, long dormant, actually twitched.

  So. Fucking. Inconvenient.

  I nodded at her. "Chase Layne."

  And then I promptly left the room.

  * * *

  "Get out there and talk to her," Eric ordered.

  I sat on my bed, playing Madden. "I'm busy."

  "You're really being a dick," Eric said. "She's a nice girl. I have her all moved into the guest suite and unpacked. She's probably wondering what the fuck your problem is."

  "Tell her she's my problem. And you, too," I snapped, trying to watch the screen.

  Eric sighed. "The press already got pictures of her coming in and the driver carrying her suitcases. Look—" he shoved his phone in front of my face. "It's already online."

  Mystery Woman Moves into Layne's Wellesley Home, the headline read on the Gazette's website.

  "Don't they have some real news to report?" I snapped.

  "Apparently not. They know about her. So that means she's in." Eric shoved my Xbox controller down and watched my face. "Which means it's game time. Get up."

  I glared at my friend. "I don't have the energy for this. It was a mistake." All I wanted to do was get back to my couch, eat Chinese, and count the days until I could go back to practice. I wanted to sit around in a rage and lick my wounds. Alone. In my sweatpants.

  "I don't want to babysit a hooker. I'm out."

  "You can't be out," Eric said, exasperated. "Get up. As long as I'm your agent, and I'm involved in your career, I expect you to be successful. You want that, right? That's what all this boo-hooing's about, isn't it?"

  I kept glaring at him.

  "If you want to get back on top, you have to take that first step. You can't climb sitting down. So stick to the plan. And go take a shower, for Christ's sake."

  After he left, my phone buzzed.

  Jessica: who the f was that

  Chase: I can't understand you when you don't speak English.

  Jessica: the mystery woman at your house

  I swallowed hard, picturing Jess and Pax tripping over themselves to get to the computer every time a Google Alert went off for my name.

  Chase: My new girlfriend. She's pretty, huh?

  Jessica: she looks boring but that's perf for you haha

  Chase: And Pax is a douchebag so he's 'perf' for you HA HA HA!

  Jessica: soooo glad i'm not near you right now

  Chase: That makes two of us.

  I sent her a smiling emoji and she didn't respond. Thank God.

  Ten minutes later, I came out, showered and dressed in cargo shorts and a Warriors T-shirt. Avery was sitting on the couch next to Eric, watching what appeared to be one of my highlight reels, and listening carefully as my agent explained the different plays.

  I stood in the doorway and watched them for a minute. She looked lovely and unassuming, not dull at all.

  "What're you two doing?" I asked. It came out sharper than I'd intended. Hearing from Jessica had left me feeling pissed at the world.

  Avery jumped and Eric winced. "We're reviewing plays, Chase. I thought it would be beneficial for Avery to get more familiar with your work."

  "Turn it off," I snapped. "You don't need to do that."

  Eric sighed. "I think it would be nice if she knew more about your record. That's all."

  "You don't need to bore her to death." This girl was in my house because we'd asked her to come, but I didn't want her here. I didn't want to have to pretend, and I didn't want to deal with everyone asking me about her. I also didn't want to look at her eager, pretty face, and have to deal with whatever emotional baggage she was carrying. She was an escort. There had to be baggage.

  "I'm a big fan of yours," Avery offered, her voice wobbly. She was blushing. "Eric was just explaining your record to me. I'd like to know more."

  I stared at her reddening face
, unable to respond.

  "D-do you want to watch it with us?" she asked. I'd never seen such a pretty girl stammer before. She was the polar opposite of Jessica. If a guy wasn't eating out of Jess's hands within two minutes, she'd promptly drive a spiked high heel into his back.

  "I've seen it," I said, backing out of the room.

  Eric followed me to the kitchen. "Cut. The. Shit," he said, keeping his voice down, the look on his face incredulous. "Why're you being so mean? This girl didn't just show up here to be your groupie—we hired her. She's here on assignment. And unlike you, she's trying to be professional."

  "You hired her, Eric. Not me."

  He raked his hands through his hair, obviously frustrated. "If you want to fire her now and ask her to leave, go ahead. But that's on you."

  I sighed and gripped the edge of my island as if I was holding on for dear life.

  "Do you really think this is going to work?" I asked him. "Jess already texted me. She's reacting. I don't know if this is going to be worth dealing with her shit, too."

  "If Jess is off balance, that means this was the right move," Eric said. "You're the bigger story. They'll lose the advantage. And then all you have to do is play ball and lead your team."

  "That's all I want," I said.

  "Then get out of your own way." Eric jerked his thumb toward the living room. "She's waiting for you. I'll be in here."

  I looked toward the living room. "But what do I say?" I asked.

  Eric groaned. "Dude, you're hopeless. That's it. We're going out. We need help. You need help." Shaking his head, he headed back toward the living room.

  "What're you doing?" I asked.

  He didn't even bother to turn around. "Taking care of business, Chase. Shots. Shots make everything better. Now go put on some goddamned jeans. You look like a frat boy in those cargo shorts."

  * * *

  AVERY

  I heard Eric and Chase arguing in the kitchen. I wanted to hide. Actually, I wanted to run away and never look back.

  This was a disaster. Chase Layne hated me.

  The quarterback was a tall, gorgeous, hulking wall of muscle, and he hated me.

  It was clear he was out of my league, but he didn't have to be so mean about it. I sat there, picking at invisible lint on my shirt and feeling miserable, until Eric came back in.

  "Hey," Eric said. He smiled at me apologetically. "Sorry. Chase is, er…acting up. He's been through a lot lately."

  "S'okay." I nodded at him. The truth was, Chase had rebuffed me so hard I practically had bruises. "I'm not what he was…expecting?" I felt my face start to flush. The star quarterback probably had a type. Clearly, I was not it.

  Eric let out a bark of laughter. "I'm pretty sure you're every breathing man's type. That's not the problem." He smiled at me kindly. "The problem is that this scenario was my idea. I hired you because I believe that you'll help strengthen Chase's image. But he's not thrilled about it. It's not personal, so please don't take it that way."

  "Would you like to me to leave for a little while so you two can figure it out, or he has more time to adjust to the idea?"

  Quite frankly, being as far away from Chase Layne as I could sounded like a great idea. I was pretty sure that I disgusted him. Maybe he could set his agent straight, and I could get out of here with at least some shred of dignity left.

  I was quickly losing hope about the money. I tried not to think about it.

  The agent shook his head. "No way. We've cleared you, we've signed the contract, and the press is already posting pictures of you. You're in. So go get changed—we're going to have drinks and then we're going to dinner. The three of us."

  "Chase is onboard for this?" I asked.

  "Absolutely."

  I must have looked worried, because Eric reached out and patted my arm. "We'll have fun. I promise."

  I went and changed into a simple black dress and sandals. All of the clothes that Elena had packed for me were expensive and well made. This dress probably cost more than I made in a month waitressing at the Sizzling Ranch. I looked at myself in the mirror, smoothing the fabric. The dress looked good. It hugged my curves and showed off my legs without being too sexy. I wondered what it would feel like to own a dress like this, to have it in my closet. To have paid for it with my own money.

  Just wearing it gave me some much needed confidence. I put on a little mascara and some lip gloss. I pushed my boobs up and fluffed my hair. Chase Layne might hate me, but I wasn't going to give up this assignment without a fight.

  Now if I could just get him to talk to me.

  I found Chase and Eric in the kitchen. Eric was lining up exotic-looking shots on the island and he'd put out a bowl of freshly cut limes. The agent grinned at me when I came through, his eyes drifting down my body. "You look lovely, Avery."

  Chase turned to me. His eyes stayed firmly on my face. "Hey."

  I smiled at him tentatively. "Hey." I turned back to Eric. "Shots?"

  Eric's eyes sparkled mischievously. "That's right. They're called A Kick in the Crotch. Vodka, blue curacao and cranberry juice."

  "They're purple," I said, wrinkling my nose.

  "A Kick in the Crotch?" Chase looked menacingly at his friend.

  Eric shrugged. "Sometimes you need one."

  "You're seriously an asshole. You know that, right?" Chase asked him, grabbing a drink.

  "I know that. Right." Eric grinned at him. "And for the lady." He handed me a shot, which I held carefully.

  "It's not going to bite you," Chase said. There was a note of sympathy in his voice.

  I felt my shoulders relax a little. "I'm not a big drinker."

  Chase actually smiled at me. "I'm not usually, either. At least, not during training. So we can be partners in relative sobriety. We'll leave the puking up to Eric." He looked as if he'd relaxed a bit since our last encounter, and I felt the nervous ache in my stomach subside slightly.

  Eric knocked back his shot and shoved a lime into his mouth. "We have a driver," he said, through the lime. "It might very well be a boot-and-rally sort of night."

  Chase tipped his glass toward mine. "Cheers. To Eric puking."

  I laughed and, knowing full well that I had no idea what I was getting into, drank my first A Kick in the Crotch shot ever.

  Chapter Seven

  AVERY

  Someone must have stuffed sand in my mouth.

  At least, that's what it felt like. I opened my eyes slowly, aware only of my dry mouth and the pounding in my head. Welcome to being kicked in the crotch. I gripped the bed, which was threatening to tilt.

  I scrunched one eye open, trying to figure out where I was.

  All I saw was the enormous, hulking form of a shirtless Chase Layne snoring next to me, his bronze skin glinting in the early morning sun.

  I shut my eyes tightly again, which only made my head hurt worse. Fuck. I moved a little and felt how sore my whole body was.

  Fuck was right.

  The last thing I remembered lucidly was drinking margaritas at a Mexican restaurant in Harvard Square. Everything was hazy after that. I only could recall snippets.

  Chase and I dancing on a table in a club.

  A club? When the hell did we go to a club? Since when did I dance? How the hell did Chase dance on a table without crushing it? And when had he actually started tolerating my presence?

  Chase taking a body shot from between my boobs.

  Chase with his hands on my ass, grinding his thick erection against me on the dance floor.

  I felt my face flush. I gathered the sheet tightly around me.

  Chase naked underneath me, a look of shocked pleasure on his face, his eyes burning into mine.

  Holy mother of God. There was more news than Chase's toleration of my presence.

  We'd had sex.

  More was coming back to me now. I cringed underneath the blankets. An image of myself riding him, my back arched, my boobs bouncing in his face, suddenly appeared in my brain, and I winced. I'd
been, er…largely uninhibited once I'd drank God only knew what and we'd taken our clothes off. I remembered that much.

  I screamed his name when I came. Hollered it.

  He was just so big. I certainly remembered that.

  "Holy fuck, Chase. YES! Fuck me just like that, baby! Right there!"

  I couldn't believe I'd said—screamed—that. What the actual fuck?

  We'd had sex, and I'd liked it. A lot. I'd orgasmed with him more than once. That might be the most shocking discovery of all.

  Another image came back to me in a heated flash—the way he'd gripped my hips and his big blue eyes had locked with mine. He'd emptied himself into me and I'd shattered around him, my pussy sucking him dry in pure female triumph.

  I thought he hated me. Was it a hate fuck?

  If it was, I might have to try it again. It seriously worked for me.

  My face flamed, and I pulled the sheet up over my head. I was so fucking mortified. Yes, I was an escort. His escort. No, I was neither a virgin nor a prude—I didn't think. But grinding my clit against a guy's shaft and screaming my head off when he made me come so hard I couldn't see straight? A guy I barely knew?

  These things were not exactly my style.

  Neither was letting someone take a body shot from between my boobs, but apparently, all bets had been off last night.

  I'd been hired by Chase Layne for a job, and Elena had made it clear: I was here for the sex as much as anything else. If Chase wanted. But I'd just met the star quarterback yesterday, and he hadn't even seemed to like me. And I was pretty sure that I didn't like him—or it was at least clear to me that I shouldn't. I couldn't. He was so far out of my league, I couldn't even see his stadium from my seat.