Played: A Second Chance Sports Romance (Playing Games Book 2)

by Rebecca Barber

  Stuffing my phone into the bottom of my handbag, along with all the feelings I had about my weekend and Bryce and everything that had happened, I focused on getting home and getting on with my life. It’s funny how that shit works out sometimes. Or in my case, the way it doesn’t. Now here I was, five weeks later and I’d turned into a mopey, football-obsessed version of myself.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  BRYCE

  Setting my beer down on the stone railing, I scrubbed a hand across my face. I hated this shit. It was the worst part about football. The part they didn’t tell you about. To your average Joe on the street, he could be forgiven for believing that all I did was chase a ball around an oval, lift weights and get busted doing stupid shit. I wished it was like that. But it wasn’t.

  “Dude!” one of my teammates, Jake, exclaimed, clapping me on the shoulder way harder than was necessary.

  Spinning around, I watched him wobble on his feet as he took a swig from the tumbler in his hand. He’d learn, probably the hard way but still. “You had enough?” I asked, trying to make it sound more like a question than a suggestion. If coach saw him like this, or worse the media who were circling like vultures, we’d be up shit creek without a paddle.

  “Nah, man. Open bar and it’s only Tuesday. We don’t play ‘till Sunday. Stop being such a grumpy old man.”

  Ouch! That stung. I was only twenty-seven, not exactly ancient. Still, I ignored his jibe; there was no point arguing with a teenager who was acting like it was his first time out without his mum. Instead, I stayed silent. It was a shame Jake didn’t.

  “Did you really bring Madeline Higgins tonight? Dude! She’s fucking hot. How’d you score a chick like her? She’s way out of your league.”

  Ah, now I see what he was doing. Adjusting my cufflinks, I tugged at the sleeves. I hated being in the monkey suit. I always felt like I was going to be strangled. Thank god we were only forced to do this bullshit a couple of times a year. Charity balls were so not my thing. I preferred my way of helping. Depositing sums of money anonymously whenever I felt like it. But when sponsors were organizing, you dry-cleaned your suit, plastered on a fake smile and walked the red carpet. Normally I was able to sneak in without much fanfare, but this year I was the centre of attention. The same exact reason I was standing out on the balcony in the dark alone, sucking in the fresh air. I needed a minute to myself away from the brainless chatter that was enough for me to ponder the idea of jumping off the balcony and disappearing into the dark.

  “Yeah, I brought Maddy.” And didn’t I regret that.

  Maddy, or Madeline as she went by these days was an up and coming starlet on Australia’s favourite soapie. She was also a family friend I’d known since we were kids making mud pies. When I’d picked her up at her hotel earlier though, I barely recognised the girl I remembered. Gone were the mousy-brown pigtails, glasses and braces. Instead standing in front of me was a stunning young woman in her floor-length, light-pink gown with her long blonde curls streaming down over her boobs which seemed to have appeared out of nowhere – although based on the way they perked up, I’d say they appeared courtesy of one of the country’s best plastic surgeons – but there was no way I was about to ask.

  Pretending to be the gentleman I wasn’t, I climbed out and walked around to open her door for her. “Hey, Maddy.” I greeted her in the same way I had for as long as I could remember.

  “It’s Madeline, darling,” she replied, her tone clipped and snooty and already I was regretting caving to my mother’s request I invite her along as my date.

  “Sorry,” I muttered as she slid into the car. As she turned away from me, I noticed the back of the dress was basically missing. It started just above her arse and left absolutely no doubt that she wasn’t wearing underwear, something I didn’t even want to know.

  As I drove through the streets, headed for the golf course where tonight’s shit show was being staged, Maddy, or Madeline as she now preferred, didn’t shut up. I don’t think she even took a breath between lectures. By the time I pulled into the carpark, I knew about every single one of her co-stars including which ones were jealous bitches and which guys were just so super-hot as well as everything that had happened since I’d last seen her a couple of years earlier.

  “You’re not using the valet?” she asked, seeming shocked.

  “No.”

  “But…but, Bryce, we need to. They need to see me getting out of the car not traipsing across some dirty carpark.”

  It was no wonder she’d grown up to be an actress. The dramatics were strong with this one.

  “Are you serious?” I queried, blowing out a frustrated breath. The last thing I needed to do right now was get in an argument with Maddy and have her be a bitch all night. I had people inside I needed to charm.

  When Mum had suggested Maddy, I’d shot her down straight away. I was more than happy to go stag. I usually did and I rarely ended up going home that way. It was one of the perks of being an athlete in a suit. Rich and beautiful women wanted to see if stamina was really all it was cracked up to be before they went home to their office-bound, overweight, grandpa-slipper-wearing accountant husbands. But Mum wore me down, practically begging me to help an old friend. Maddy was pushing for an award at the upcoming TV awards for best new talent and being seen on my arm, at a charity function no less, would help people see her for who she was. Or at least who she was pretending to be. Apparently being Australia’s darling was important.

  “This dress is made for an entrance, Bryce.”

  With her pouting and Mum’s warning to play nice running through my head, I looked in the rear-view mirror and ran my hand through my hair. It was too long and needed a cut, but I’d had better things to do this afternoon. So instead of ducking down the road and getting a trim, I’d parked my arse on the couch with a huge tub of popcorn and watched The Notebook.

  “Fine,” I replied through gritted teeth as I restarted the ignition and reversed out of the spot.

  “Where are you going?” Madeline screeched painfully loudly, straight into my ear as I headed for the valet which was thankfully empty. It was going to be one hell of a long fucking night.

  “You wanted me to pull up out the front. That’s where I’m going.”

  “You can’t.”

  “What? Why?”

  “We need to circle around for a minute first. We don’t want anyone to have seen us park then changing our mind and going straight to the valet. That’d look ridiculous!”

  Her attitude was already pissing me off. I couldn’t see the Maddy I remembered at all. In her place was a stuck-up wannabe who was a diva of the worst kind. “Of course, it would look ridiculous. That’s because it is!”

  “Bryce Masters, you’re being very rude,” Madeline protested as she fiddled with her dress. I hadn’t noticed the thigh-high split before, but the way she was sitting in the car had practically her whole leg on display.

  “And you’re being…”

  “I’m being what?” she challenged.

  I had so many things I wanted to say but bit my tongue. Nothing good could come from telling her she was acting like a spoilt brat or a stuck-up bitch, so instead I said nothing. Turning away from the entrance, I flicked on my indicator and turned down a side road. Thankfully, Madeline must’ve gotten the hint to sit there and shut up. While I drove, she dug around in her teeny tiny purse, one that couldn’t possibly hold anything of value, and pulled out a pale-pink lipstick. Flipping the visor down, she went to add another coat to her already puffy pink lips.

  I couldn’t have planned it better if I tried.

  Just as she lifted the lipstick to her lips and pouted, I hit a pothole.

  “Fuck!” Madeline squealed like a stuck pig.

  Slowing the car to a halt, I turned to see what the hell she was complaining about now. I couldn’t stop the scoff of laughter bubbling out of me if I’d wanted to. She had a bright pink stripe right across her cheek.

  “It’s not fucking funny,
Bryce!”

  That’s where she was wrong. Very fucking wrong. It was god damn hilarious.

  “Stop laughing!”

  I couldn’t. The more she threw a tantrum, the funnier it was.

  “Bryce,” she cried, “stop laughing and help me.”

  “Help you? What do you expect me to do?” I hope she didn’t expect me to have makeup remover handy.

  “Well, have you got tissues or something I can wipe it off with?”

  Yeah, sure. Cause all guys carried around tissues. “Check the glove box maybe?”

  While she rifled around looking for tissues, I killed the ignition and climbed out. Who knows what the hell was in my boot, probably some smelly gym gear? Maybe a towel. While I searched my bag, I could hear Madeline whining about being left alone in a car on the side of the road in the dark. This chick needed a reality check ASAP. What did she think was going to happen in the two minutes she was by herself? The boogie man was going to get her? That shit might happen in soapie land where she lived, but out here in the real world, where the rest of us did, not bloody likely.

  Stomping around to her door, I tugged it open. “Will this help?” I asked thrusting a relatively clean face towel in her hands.

  “Is it clean?”

  “Cleanish.”

  “It’ll do. I guess,” she grumbled, snatching it from my hands before dabbing at her cheek.

  Leaving her to bitch and moan and clean herself up, I rounded the car, slamming the boot harder than necessary before sliding back behind the wheel. While I tapped on the steering wheel along to the beat of some old school rock that was playing on the radio, Madeline primped.

  “It’s as good as it’s going to get, I guess,” she huffed reluctantly before throwing the towel on the backseat.

  “You look fine,” I told her, trying to placate her.

  “Geez, Bryce, don’t you know anything? Fine isn’t good enough. I need to look fabulous. I’m assuming there’s going to be at least some half-decent press at this back-water bullshit.”

  I’d had enough. Granted, Mum would kick my arse but right now dealing with Mum’s disappointment was my preferred option. If I were forced to walk into this thing with a sour-faced Madeline acting like a two-year-old who’d just had her blankie stolen, I was likely to get myself into even deeper shit.

  Starting the car, I spun the wheels before yanking hard on the steering wheel, spinning us in a one-eighty.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Madeline shrieked, gripping her seatbelt like it was her lifeline.

  “I’ve already had a fucking gut full. Now you’ve got two choices but I’m over the bullshit. I can either drive you back to your hotel, drop you off and wish you a good night.”

  “Or?” she said so quietly I barely caught it.

  Glancing across at her, for the first time since I’d picked her up, she looked like the girl I’d once known all those years ago. Innocent. Adorable. Normal. Reminding myself that she was an actress, I tried not to let her apparent change of heart get to me. For all I know, I could be seeing only what she wanted me to.

  “Or we can head to this function, smile, have our photo taken, have a drink and enjoy our night.”

  “Oh.”

  “Your choice?”

  “Really?” Watching Madeline practically bounce in her seat was weird.

  “Really,” I confirmed, rubbing my temples trying to fight off the headache that was already building.

  “Let’s go then.”

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely. And, Bryce?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for bringing me tonight. I know you only did it because your mum…”

  “You’re welcome, Madeline. Now, let’s go get that dress the entrance it deserves,” I suggested, forcing out a smile.

  Without waiting for her response, I pressed down on the accelerator and took us back the way we came, except this time when I pulled into the driveway, I made sure I followed the slow-moving line that had now formed to the valet. When it was our turn, I straightened my tie in the mirror before climbing out, handing the young, eager valet the keys to my Audi before rounding the car to get Madeline’s door.

  After helping her out, I slipped into the role I was supposed to play. Mum should be so proud. Maybe Madeline wasn’t the only actress walking the red carpet tonight. When I told her again how stunning she looked, I heard a gasp behind me barely a beat before the bright white flash almost blinded me and I stumbled.

  “Are you okay?” Madeline asked, her voice light and flirty.

  “Yep. Just a bit clumsy.”

  “I hope you don’t step on my toes when you spin me around the dancefloor then.”

  “Who said anything about dancing?” I asked with a wink only for Madeline to return an arresting smile.

  Before Madeline had a chance to reply, a reporter I knew from all their time hanging around the club, one of the ones I wasn’t particularly fond of, stepped in front of us halting us in our tracks. Barely metres from the double doors and we were being ushered to the side of the red carpet and having a microphone stuffed in our faces. While I was annoyed, I knew this was all part of the game we had to play, but it didn’t mean I had to like it. Madeline on the other hand, she was in her element. Flicking her hair, fluttering her fake eyelashes, and flashing her beaming smile.

  “Aren’t you two just an adorable couple?” the reporter gushed, holding out her phone. “This is the first time we’ve seen you step out together in public. How long have you been together?”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but Madeline beat me to it. “We’ve known each other for years but we’ve only recently reconnected,” she answered, sounding so convincing she almost had me confused.

  “Madeline, you’re nominated for Australia’s best new talent coming up. Will we be seeing you two grace the red carpet there too?”

  “I hope so.” Her short, skinny arm stretched out and wrapped itself around my waist like a vine plastering herself against me.

  “Does this mean you’ll be moving to Adelaide to spend more time with Bryce?”

  “Not at this stage. My job is in Sydney and I can’t really relocate it.”

  “No, I guess you can’t. Bryce, will you be putting in for a trade then?”

  What? Wait. Huh? Where the hell had all this come from? This time, when Madeline answered for me, I was grateful. If I’d had to form words they would’ve been stuttered and awkward and incoherent.

  “For now, we’re staying where we are. Besides, there are daily flights between Sydney and Adelaide.”

  “Yes, I guess you’re right. Well, I just have to say, Madeline, you look absolutely stunning and you’re a gorgeous couple. I’m sure the magazines are going to just eat you two up,” she gushed, and Madeline pushed her boobs out, the ones I was convinced were fake, falling for her every word. Me though, I was more cynical. I knew how this played out and I was surprised Maddy didn’t. Or maybe she did. Maybe she just knew another way to play.

  “We should head inside. We’re already running late,” I managed to get out as I untangled my arm from around Madeline and reached for her hand. We may not be together, but I wasn’t going to be a complete dick either.

  “Ah, no worries. Have a great night,” Tracy, the reporter replied before snapping a few photos.

  Finally, we’d made it inside and as soon as we were, Madeline was swamped by other wannabes. Wannabe wives looking for their meal ticket, underdressed women looking for some fun and even the rich old biddies wanting to know what was going to happen next on their favourite soap. Something I was genuinely surprised they were even interested in.

  Leaving them to gossip, I headed for the bar. Tonight had felt like it’d already been dragging for a million years, and unless I got a beer or two into me, I wasn’t sure I’d make it.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  EMMA

  It was almost ten on a Tuesday night when my phone started pinging. I’d been curled up in bed watching some
reality show that was an absolute train wreck, but I couldn’t look away from.

  Vanessa: Are you OK???

  Jessie: How could he?

  Sienna: Have you seen it?

  What the hell were they talking about? I’d only hung up from Vanessa a couple of hours ago after sharing a bottle of wine over the phone, catching up on our lives, and now she was checking to see if I was okay?

  Already tired and battling a headache, probably brought on by the bottle of cheap wine I’d downed on an empty stomach, I started a group chat.

  Emma: What are you all on about? I’m fine. In bed with a BBF.

  Jessie: What the fuck is a BBF?

  Sienna: Is that what you call your vibrator? I call mine Henry.

  Emma: BBF = book boyfriend.

  Vanessa: Ah.

  Sienna: Boring.

  Jessie: So, are you OK?

  Emma: Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?

  Sienna: So, you haven’t seen the article?

  Emma: What article?

  I had no idea what they were all on about, but it was obvious it was a problem. At least they thought it was. A second later my phone pinged again, and it was a link to a website. Reluctantly, I clicked it and waited for it to open. Why was it that when you needed fast internet, it crawled? Karma probably. She was a bitch.

  Finally, the article opened, and my breath hitched. The headline ‘Australia’s New Favourite It Couple?’ asked the question, but the picture told a thousand words. Answering it without needing anything more.

  There was Bryce looking every bit as fuckable as I remembered but there was something on his arm that bugged me more than I was ready to admit. He was standing there in his black and white tux, a black bow tie knotted at his throat and his hair messy, like he’d spent hours dragging his fingers through the silky strands. But it was the blonde on his arm, the one looking up adoringly at him that had my stomach churning.

  Skim reading the article, it didn’t say much but it said everything. While it seemed, she was the one doing all the talking, he wasn’t disagreeing. Arsehole. Barely five weeks since he’d climbed out of my bed in the middle of the night after completely destroying me for any other man and here he was, hooking up with some soapie skank. I don’t know why I was surprised. I wasn’t proud of it, but if I was being honest, the moment I’d gotten home I’d googled Bryce. When picture after picture appeared of him with a different woman on his arm, I knew I’d been played. Bryce Masters didn’t promise me anything, but he played me. And I fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker.