“Mollie Mabey,” she offers after a beat. Mollie Mabey. I like it. It suits her.
“Where are you from?”
“San Fran. You?”
“Here.”
She nods, not knowing what else to say, and looks down at the bar top.
“You okay?” I ask, unsure of what to make of this quiet little thing next to me. Usually, I don’t have to work so hard for a girl’s attention. She looks back up at me with a tiny twitch of her berry-colored lips. Our beers arrive, and she takes the orange, sucking it between those lips, before squeezing it into her glass and dropping it inside. Juice from the orange trails down her chin, and I use my thumb to swipe it away, before sucking it off. She tries to hide it, but I hear the small hitch in her breath. The slight widening of her dark-amber eyes.
“Can I kiss you, Mollie Mabey?”
I’ve caught her off guard, like I knew I would. Her eyes dart to mine, and at first, I think she’s going to turn me down and maybe knee me in the balls for good measure. Instead, she licks her bottom lip, and her gaze drops down to my mouth.
Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner.
I decide to capitalize on the moment, curling a palm around the back of her slender neck, my fingers lacing through the thick strands of her hair. It should be weird that I’m touching a complete stranger so intimately in such a public place, but being bold and brash has always worked for me. Chicks dig that shit. I feel her pulse thumping a mile a minute, and I make my move, lowering my mouth to hers.
But, instead of feeling those soft, warm lips pressed against mine, I feel the complete opposite. Ice fucking cold. And hard. My eyes open in confusion to find her glass wedged between us. I raise an eyebrow. Cockblocked by a cup. That’s a first.
“I don’t kiss on the first date,” she says, with an edge to her voice. I hear my brother’s hyena laugh above all the raucous, and I flip him off, without even bothering to look in his direction.
“Good thing this isn’t a date.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“Even better,” I quip, not missing a beat. At that, she laughs.
“I’ll make you a bet,” she relents, with a devious glint in her eye.
“I’m listening,” I say, folding my arms across my chest. I’m suspicious, but I’m listening.
“Give me your beer,” she starts, with a nod toward the counter. “I bet I can down both glasses before you can take two shots. As long as you give me a head start,” she adds. “The only rule is that we can’t touch each other’s drinks. If you win, I’ll kiss you.”
“And if you win?” I ask out of pure curiosity. There’s no fucking way this tiny ass little girl can out-drink me. Especially when all I have to drink is two measly shots to her full glasses of beer.
“If I win, I’m going to walk out of this bar, and you’re going to let me.”
“That’s it?” I scoff. “Not even streaking or jumping into the lake naked?”
“Nah,” she says easily, lifting a shoulder. “I’m easy.”
“Somehow, I doubt that,” I say, and I can’t deny that the blush creeping up her neck turns me on.
“Ephraim!” I shout. “Give me two shots of Johnny Walker.”
Mollie bites her lip to hide her smile as Ephraim sets the two shot glasses down in front of us.
“Ladies first,” I say, giving her the head start she requested. She brings the pilsner glass to her lips and tips the contents into her mouth, while looking me dead in the eye. Impressively, she downs the entire thing in about fifteen seconds, and I have to fight the urge to adjust the growing bulge in my pants. She’s better than I would have guessed, but there’s still no way I won’t beat that time.
Giving her a cocky grin, I toss back the shot like it’s nothing. She smirks right back, but before I can grab the other, she flips her empty glass upside down, effectively trapping mine inside. Shooting her a confused look, I go to lift the glass, but she stops me.
“Ah, ah, ah,” she tsks. “Remember the rule? We can’t touch each other’s glass.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Mollie takes her sweet time drinking the second glass, my glass, knowing I can’t do fuck to win now. She fucking played me.
“Thanks for the drinks, Cam,” she says, wiping the corner of her lips with the tip of her finger.
“Okay.” I nod. “I see you, little trickster.”
And then she’s walking away from me.
She walks away from me.
Before I even realize I’m doing so, I’m prowling after her. Prowling might not be the best description—more like scurrying. Like a lost fucking puppy. Who is this chick, and why do I need her to want me?
Chapter 2
Mollie
I’m the picture of cool, calm, and collected as I saunter away from Camden Hess. As if I didn’t just break up with my fake boyfriend and lose my job in the same weekend. As if the sight of this cocky, tattooed bad boy didn’t set my insides on fire despite those things. He’s gorgeous. And intimidating. And, I can only assume, a player. He’s everything I don’t need in a boyfriend, but he’s exactly what I need tonight.
My parents roped me into coming up for a family trip before summer is over. Of course, Tucker was supposed to come with me. But when I got the news that the magazine I’ve been working for since before I graduated college was no longer going to publish a print edition—therefore, leaving me jobless—I came home lost and upset, not to mention recovering from a gnarly bout of strep throat. Imagine my surprise when I found Tucker cozied up to another woman on our couch. His assistant, no less. How cliché, right? It didn’t matter that we weren’t really together. We hadn’t ever talked about hooking up with people and how that fits in with our…unique situation. He wasn’t straightforward with me. Needless to say, he was no longer invited.
Telling my parents that we “broke up” would open the door to questions I don’t want to answer, so I spilled my guts to my friend, Sutton, who lives in River’s Edge. We met when we were kids on the bunny slope and stayed in touch ever since. We planned to get day drunk and find some gorgeous locals to get my mind off real life. Turns out, Rum Runners and boating don’t mesh well with Sutton, so she’s laid up at home. I hung around until she kicked me out and then went back to our cabin until my parents and brothers started with their barrage of questions. I’m twenty-two. I don’t have to explain myself. But, I don’t feel like rehashing the ugly details just yet.
If I’m being honest, I’m embarrassed—about losing my job and Tucker—even though I know neither one was my fault. They’re not a reflection of me. Our relationship wasn’t really a relationship so much as an understanding between two people. I wasn’t in love with Tuck, so it’s not like I’m heartbroken. Not in that way, anyway. He was more like my best friend than a boyfriend, so the betrayal still stung. It almost made it worse, somehow.
When Tucker first confessed his feelings for me, I didn’t know how I felt, but I didn’t think it was the way he wanted. We gave dating a try. We were best friends and spent all of our time together, anyway, so what did I have to lose? Our friendship, that’s what. I figured out pretty quickly that it wasn’t what I wanted. It wasn’t fair to Tuck, either, to be with someone who, in the words of Cher Horowitz, “wasn’t majorly, totally, butt-crazy in love with him”.
Problem was, Tucker’s dad took our relationship as a sign of maturity and told him that if he kept moving in the right direction, he’d give Tuck more responsibility at Hastings Architecture, and eventually, he’d think about making him partner. Tucker has always been wild, if not a little rebellious, but design and construction is one of the few things he does take seriously. So, I told him we should keep up the charade for a while at least.
And it worked. Tucker has clients of his own now, and he couldn’t be happier. Eventually, I think we both just became too comfortable. Dependent, even. We slept together, but it wasn’t anything more than scratching an itch. I didn’t have the t
ime or desire to date anyone, and something tells me that Tuck was hoping I’d catch some feelings of the romantic variety, so we kept it up longer than necessary.
So, while I still feel cheated on and betrayed by my not-boyfriend, I also feel strangely…relieved. And for the first time in forever, I wanted to hook up with someone. Someone who just wanted a night of fun followed by an ass slap and a good game afterward. Someone who made me feel good for just an hour. And I found the perfect candidate. It should have been a no-brainer. Except, somewhere between the cabin and the bar, the self-doubt snuck in. I got into my own head and started second-guessing my skills as an art director. My skills in the bedroom. Pretty much everything. I blame the quiet. Silence always turns into fears and overthinking for me. The fact that I chose that moment to check my texts from Tucker didn’t help matters. He said he was sorry, that he loved me, and begged me to call him. I didn’t.
By the time I walked inside, I wanted to drink away my sorrows instead of finding a sexy stranger to spend the night with. It’s too bad, because Cam looked like he knew his way around a woman’s body. He was arrogant, but weirdly charming, and truthfully, I wouldn’t mind being another notch in his bedpost.
I make my way out into the fresh air as I push open the heavy door. It slams behind me, shutting the music and chaos inside. It’s cooler than I anticipated, given the fact that it’s August. I visit River’s Edge a couple of times a year, at least, but it’s usually during winter. I haven’t been during the summer since I was a kid. My flip-flops crunch against the dirt and pine needles as I head toward the water that lies mere feet from the bar. I nearly trip over a pinecone the size of my head. What are these things, bionic? They’re huge. I don’t get more than three steps before the door swings open behind me.
“You said I had to let you leave, but, you didn’t say anything about not following you.”
I spin around and pin him with an impassive stare as I walk backwards.
“I can be tricky, too,” he says, wiggling his brows. I shake my head and turn back for the water. I sit down, the rough sand cold against my thighs. I slip my flip-flops off and bury my toes in the wet sand. I’m surprised when Camden lowers himself to sit next to me. He’s fully clothed in a white V-neck and black jeans, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He props his elbows on his knees and stares out at the lake, unspeaking. I use the opportunity to take him in. His dirty blond hair underneath his backward hat, the tattoos on his arms and the ones that cover his throat. The light stubble on his jaw. He looks vaguely familiar, but I know I don’t know him. I’d never forget meeting someone like him.
“Are you just going to stare at me all night? It’s kind of creepy,” Camden says, interrupting my perusal.
“You’re the one who followed me and sat down next to me without an invitation. If anyone’s winning the creepy contest, it’s you.” The corner of his lip lifts in an almost-smile.
“Touché.”
“Why did you, anyway?”
“What, follow you?”
I nod.
“I’m a sore loser, I guess.” He shrugs, and I burst out laughing. Well, at least he’s honest.
“She laughs,” he says, flashing his perfect teeth in a Cheshire grin. “Does that earn me a kiss?”
“You’re not going to quit, are you?”
“Quitting isn’t in my vocabulary.”
“Somehow, I don’t think a guy like you is only interested in a kiss,” I deadpan.
“Would you rather fuck instead?” he asks with a straight face, and I realize that he is dead serious. My mouth clamps shut, and I feel my face heat. He has zero filter. I doubt there’s a single thought he’s had that hasn’t been spoken aloud.
Camden chuckles at my reaction and leans close to my ear.
“Does that word make you nervous?” he rasps, his lips brushing the shell of my ear over my hair. “Because I want to fuck you, Mollie Mabey.”
My core clenches at his dirty, blunt words, and he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. Our eyes lock, and it’s not humor in his eyes that I see, but heat. My arms tingle with goose bumps and I shiver, but it’s not from the cold.
I shouldn’t do this. I don’t even know this guy. Even though my initial plan was to have a one-night stand, I figured I’d at least spend more than ten minutes with the guy. But I want this. God, do I want it. And I’m going to take it. I’m going to take everything this gorgeous, egotistical stranger can give me in spades.
I catch Camden off guard when I swing a leg over his and straddle his lap. His hands immediately find my ass, and I feel his hardness between my thighs. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, and when I lean in, that’s all the permission he needs.
One of his tattooed hands fists my hair, and the other presses against my lower back. My hands cup both sides of his scruffy face as our mouths crash together. No longer playful, but hungry. Frantic. Desperate. His tongue tastes like oranges, and I moan when it slides against mine. The hand on my back slides under my dress and up my back, coming to rest between my shoulder blades.
Maybe it’s the fact that it feels wrong to be like this with a man I don’t know that’s turning me on, or maybe it’s just him, but I’ve never felt so much from a kiss before. I’m completely consumed, and I feel like I’m burning from the inside out. The hand on my upper back snakes around my side and comes to rest flat on my ribs, and his thumb grazes the underside of my breast. Everything inside of me ignites at his touch, and I pull back from his kiss on a gasp.
“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice thick and gravelly.
“Do whatever you want with me,” I whisper. And I want him to. I want more of this feeling, and I’ll chase it until the very last drop. His thumb brushes my nipple, and I shudder. Cam groans and circles it some more, applying more pressure this time, causing me to arch into his touch. Shoving my dress up to expose my braless chest, he cups both of my breasts before leaning in to suck a nipple into his mouth. I grind into his lap, uncaring of the fact that all that separates us from a crowded bar is a few sparse trees.
“You want more?” Cam asks.
“I want everything.”
“Then, we need to go to my place,” he says, reluctantly letting my dress fall back into place. “As much as I want you to sit on my dick—right here and now—beach sex is overrated. You don’t want sand where the sun don’t shine. Besides,” he says, curving one hand over my ass, not stopping until he’s sliding his fingers over my panty-covered crotch, “if we do this, it’s not going to be quick. You’re going to let me take my time with you.”
His words do little to break through my lust-induced trance. Here I am ready to give it up to a guy I met five minutes ago, right out here in the open, and now he’s asking to take me home. I know I should stop and think about this. To, I don’t know, take a picture of his license and send it to Sutton or something. But, tonight isn’t about making rational decisions. Tonight, I’m going to throw caution to the wind, because nothing about Camden Hess screams safe.
His eyebrows pull together, creating a crease between them as his icy blues search my browns, waiting for my answer. His fingers squeeze the tops of my thighs, as if he’s trying to keep them from straying, and I say the word that could quite possibly result in the best sex of my life.
“Okay.”
After scooping me up and throwing me over one shoulder, Cam prowled straight to his house—which happened to be right around the corner from The Edge—without another word. His entire demeanor changed after I agreed to go with him. He went from fun, witty stranger to scary, sexy stranger, and I was both terrified and intrigued. He strode through his house, and hanging upside down, I could only make out a brown leather couch before we were in his room. The door was slammed shut, and then I was slammed against it. I dropped my wristlet to the floor and wrapped my legs around his waist as he sucked and kissed and licked at my skin.
Now, we’re both panting, desperate for more, and he swings around, walking us to his bed. He drops m
e into a pile of gray and black bedding before bracing himself above me, his hands planted on the bed on either side of my head. I spread my legs, welcoming him between them, and I smooth my hands up his back, dragging his T-shirt along the way. He pulls back to rip it off, and then he’s right back where he was.
“Do you have a condom?” I have one in my abandoned wristlet over by the door, but I’m betting a guy like him comes equipped with an entire arsenal of them. He smirks at me, and I get the feeling that I’ve said something stupid. Isn’t that how these things go? Some quick kissing and fumbling around in the dark before getting down to business? He’s already surpassed my expectations.
“We’re nowhere near that part yet. I told you, I’m going to take my time doing whatever the fuck I want, and you’re going to let me, aren’t you?”
I don’t let people tell me what to do. I’m not a doormat. But in this bed, with this man, I’m more than happy to comply.
Taking my silence as confirmation, he slides down my body, bunching my dress up as he goes. He hooks a finger into the sides of my black panties and drags them down my legs, before tossing them behind him. The nerves hit me, being exposed like this, and I clamp my knees together. It’s not that I’m a virgin—far from it—but I’ve only been with Tuck in the past year. It feels foreign to be with another man, let alone one that does more to my body with a single look than anyone I’ve ever been with before.
“No,” he says simply, but firmly, lifting his head to look me in the eye. His pale blue eyes seem to glow, even in the dark. “Spread your legs for me, Mollie.”
I do, slowly, but his eyes stay trained on mine. He parts me with one finger, sliding through my wetness, and I suck in a breath at the sensation. He circles my clit a few times before plunging that finger inside me. Finally, he breaks eye contact to watch his finger slipping in and out of me.
“Look at you. So pink and wet and tight.”
His words cause me to clench against him once more, and his teeth dig into his lip as he slides down to get a closer look.
Team Player: A Sports Romance Anthology Page 15