Wicked Player (A Rough Riders Novel Book 3)

by Stacey Lynn

  Karen, the hospital administration’s assistant, tapped and swiped her stylus on her tablet with reckless abandon. She was speaking into a mouthpiece just as easily as she was speaking to me.

  Except she didn’t have to. We’d been over this for the last hour and her constant hounding was grating on my nerves.

  I already knew what was going to happen. We’d talked about it last week. This morning. Two hours ago. Thirty minutes ago. With the way this woman prattled on and on, working herself into a frenetic tizzy, I was thankful we were in the hospital.

  When her heart exploded, we’d have instant access to the Emergency Room.

  Sensing my growing frustration as only my assistant could, Pat walked up and stepped in between Karen and me. “How about we let Gage run through his speech again, shall we? That way we can be assured he won’t mess it up out there.”

  Karen’s eyes went wide and she gaped like a fish. “Mess up?” She whipped her head toward me, panic paling her already light skin. “Mess up? You can’t. We have to get this right.”

  I lifted my phone. My speech was on it, but I didn’t have to look at the screen to know what I wanted to say. I’d grown up in hospitals like this, the outsider kid who wasn’t ill but still had to practically live in them. I could rehearse my speech in my sleep at this point.

  “I’ve got it, Karen. And I won’t mess up. I promise.”

  Unless I couldn’t get my mind off the woman from last night. I went to bed thinking of her, jacking off when I never felt the need after a night at Velvet. Then again in the morning and that wasn’t because of male need, either. It was pure blonde hair and petite curves on my mind. God, she was fucking incredible. So obedient, so pliant….so damn into everything we did. I wanted a repeat and badly. I had already stopped myself from getting a hold of Tristan more than once. I should have been focusing on the day and the upcoming weeks. The upcoming game on Sunday. Instead, my mind was back in that room with blonde hair so sparkling white splayed out on gray sheets. Soft little whimpers, louder begs and pleas. Damn. Yeah.

  Shit. Get her out of my head for three hours. That was what I needed to do. Listening to Karen droll on and on wasn’t helping a damn thing. She started talking and I spaced out.

  “Well, good. The local news reporters are taking their seats. We have the Raleigh stations sitting up front and the rest of the state’s newscasters behind them. There’s also ESPN and your old college even sent a reporter. Really, Gage, this press conference is important.”

  Like I didn’t know. And Karen was past the point of irritating me. She was now officially pissing me the fuck off.

  I’d donated millions to this project, working closely with the contractors and the hospital to get this children and family wing built from the ground up. It took two years of fundraising and lobbying my friends and any connections I had to get this thing to open up.

  That I was now in a place of prosperity to be able to build something like this should have made me feel like a king. I could throw millions around and make dozens if not hundreds of people happy, even if it was on a temporary basis.

  But that was the thing about happiness—it was so often temporary. Instead, all of this work, the culmination of years of planning and hard work, didn’t make me feel successful.

  “I need a break.”

  At Karen’s shocked expression, I lifted a hand. “Thirty minutes. I’ll be back in plenty of time.”

  I took the elevator to the fifth floor of the children’s hospital. I had no destination in mind, just the burning need to relax and get my head in the game. In an hour, I was going to stand in a room full of reporters holding a press conference where I’d explain why this was so important to me, why I threw so much of my own money into this project—sixty-five percent of the total cost— and what the plans were for the next two weeks before the official ribbon cutting ceremony on the Sunday of our bye week. As a bonus, I’d gotten guys and friends from the local NHL and NBA teams to come on out too. It’d be hours of interacting with the kids, and every guy who volunteered had approached me because most of the men I knew playing professional sports were really fucking awesome.

  Soon, I found myself outside a familiar door. My feet pulled to an abrupt stop.

  I peeked in through the window and like every time I saw him, my chest tightened at the sight of Brandon. Nine years old. Leukemia. Second appearance. His cheeks were swollen and puffy from chemo. His bald head covered with a Rough Riders stocking hat. If he turned the other way, it’d have my number eighteen on the back.

  He’d been in and out of this hospital ever since I was traded to the Rough Riders.

  Nine fucking years old and he had spent almost half his life in a room with bright yellow walls, beeping machines, and the taste of chemo in his mouth.

  A warmth pressed to my forearm and I flinched from the sudden contact.

  “Sorry. I’m so sorry, Gage.”

  Brandon’s mom Penny was there, smiling at me like she always did. That one where her lips turned up at the same time the rest of her expression pulled down. It fucking killed me every time I saw it.

  It didn’t take a genius to understand why I was particularly drawn to this family, this patient.

  Brandon Miller was fighting to live and conquer the same disease that had killed my little brother.

  “He’s not looking better.” I could hardly pull my eyes from his frail body, tucked and covered by at least a half-dozen blankets.

  Her hand on my arm squeezed tightly. She was cold and shivery, strong as steel. I met them during his first round of chemo when I stopped for a children’s visit to hand out jerseys and footballs. People thought I did it for the PR, but they were wrong.

  I did it because I knew how much my brother would have loved it.

  “He has moments, and if they can get the infection to go away, we’ll see improvement soon.”

  Penny was always so hopeful. She never doubted her kid would, in fact, beat this horrible disease. Hell, she even found a way to smile after her husband left her, claiming the stress and fear was too much for him. Maybe all she had was hope to cling to. She was the most amazing woman I’d ever met outside my mom.

  “I’ll let him sleep, but if he wakes up, have a nurse come get me? I have a press conference to do here this afternoon.” I dropped my head. “No joke, Penny. I don’t care if I’m in the middle of speaking and I’ll let the nurse’s station know. He wakes up, I want someone to come get me.”

  “I will, Gage. And good luck today.”

  I gave her a quick hug. There was nothing between us except understanding.

  “Take care.”

  “Always do,” she said, stepping back and going toward the door.

  I waited until she closed it behind her, went immediately to Brandon and tucked the blankets around him more firmly. The back of her hand pressed to his forehead and then her lips followed.

  I left her to tend to her son, a new fire spreading. The reason for all of this.

  I had to kick that pretty little minx out of my head for the rest of the day so I could see to what was really important.

  Patrick peered through the side panel and pulled back. “It’s packed. The hospital’s Chief Development Officer is up first, but you’ll have to go out before he stands to speak.”

  It was like Karen had inhabited my assistant’s body. I scowled at him.

  A strange sensation prickled at my spine. Had to be nerves. I tried to shake it off. I rolled my shoulders and stretched my arms. If I could have done push-ups without looking like a moron around a dozen people, I would have.

  Something was happening, which was why I sent Patrick out to check. I’d hired him as my assistant two years ago when I first came up with the idea to add a family and sibling’s activity center to the hospital. My goal was to create a place where patients could go play when they were healthy enough, but somewhere siblings could enjoy when they spent hours, days, sometimes weeks, living within the walls of the hospital. Alway
s second. Always the outsider. The forgotten one simply because chemo and tests and surgeries and physical therapy and myriad appointments took precedence.

  Did it make me feel like a rotten asshole for the times I hated being around my brother? Sometimes.

  Most days, I just remembered how fucking cool he was before he got sick. How he could build Legos better than me and how he ran faster. He always kept his room clean where mine was a disaster. From the time he could talk, his favorite obsession was football and by the time he was six, he knew more stats than I did to this very day.

  Basically, Harrison was the coolest fucking guy I ever met. I hated being in the hospital with him with nothing to do except read old, worn children’s books and watch lame television.

  Those days sucked.

  I wanted to make those sucky days better for everyone.

  But it wasn’t my upcoming speech or Patrick and Karen’s insanity currently making my spine itch with the need to be inside a woman. It was something else unsettling me.

  I shook it off, loosened my arms like I did before a play.

  “What is your problem?” Patrick asked. He stared at me like I’d just taken a shit in my pants.

  Of course he would. I was never antsy.

  “Nothing. It’s just this weird feeling.”

  Like in high school when I knew the girl I crushed on was about to walk down the hall and run right into me. Those premonition moments in your life where you knew you weren’t going to like what happened next.

  Coupled with the fact I was still fighting against my dick going hard whenever I thought about the woman from last night, and this was a problem.

  “Whatever,” Patrick said and went back to peer through the panel. He turned to me and waved. “Come on. Your turn. President is out there now.”

  All right, asshole. You got this. Suck it up. Say your speech. Speak about the part of your life that you hate thinking of but the more you share, the more people you help.

  All the mental focusing techniques I used on the field didn’t work.

  I walked out to loud applause, reporters settling notebooks and tablets in their lap.

  And it took one second.

  One fucking second.

  To realize the girl I couldn’t get out of my head?

  She was sitting in the first fucking row.

  With a press pass dangling from a lanyard around her neck. A neck I’d had my hand clamped around barely over twelve hours ago.

  Holy fucking shit.

  I was So. Damned. Screwed.

  Six

  Elizabeth

  I spent hours digging into Gage Bryant. I scoured his social media, researched his past. I copied down stats and records he’d either already set or was on his way to setting.

  So far this season, he’d grabbed the record for most one hundred receiving yard for the first nine games. The previous record held it at six.

  I’d studied him enough, trying to ignore how freaking handsome the man was, how genial he came across in interviews. He hosted summer football camps for underprivileged kids. He frequently gave away box seat tickets for families with sick children.

  In short, the man came across as the most beautiful Saint I’d ever read about. Amanda had also been right. In the four years since he was traded to Raleigh, there was not a single photo of him anywhere with a woman other than his mom. Not at galas, not at publicity events. He was photographed with teammates and their wives or girlfriends, but he was always the single guy. Which sent a thousand questions spinning in my mind.

  How was this amicable, philanthropic, gorgeous specimen of a man, still single?

  It was a question I couldn’t look into too much like Amanda said earlier, but that didn’t stop my curiosity. He was minutes from appearing at the press conference and I was seated in the front row. Next to me, the seat was empty, but there was a label marked for Connor Hopkins. My ex. The guy who broke my heart. In the six months since he ended things, while I was still hooked to that damn cross at Velvet and left without unbinding me, I’d avoided him at every opportunity. That alone had been difficult since he worked for a competing local network.

  Now I was screwed.

  In order to avoid a conversation with him whenever he arrived, I busied myself with studying my notes, flipping through my tablet, reading up on the construction process on the new family and children’s wing. A rustle of movement went through the gathered reporters. Murmurs increased and grew antsy. This was how a press conference always went. The bubbling excitement before a story and one as important as this was for our community had brought in several dozens of reporters.

  I glanced at the makeshift stage. The Chief Development Officer, Miles McGregor, was there, fiddling with papers at the podium. Dressed in a well-cut gray suit, Miles was about as old as my parents but carried himself with an air of authority even from where I sat. Two men spoke to him, one who kept looking back behind the curtain off to the side and they walked off the stage. My eyes slid in that direction, the sway of curtains, and a spark of awareness tickled the back of my neck.

  How odd. I rubbed my neck and dipped back down to my tablet. I was scrolling through local news when a shadow crossed in front of me, and a voice I knew well spoke.

  “Well hello there, Lizzie.”

  Connor. Of course. I cringed at the ridiculous nickname. Something no one but him used.

  “Connor.” I didn’t spare him a glance.

  He took his seat, and I swore he leaned in closer so his thigh pressed against mine. I shifted and crossed my legs, moving as far away from him without bumping the reporter next to me.

  “How are you? Haven’t seen you out and about much recently.”

  He meant at Velvet where we met and we were ended. I brushed a chunk of hair behind my ear and stared at the stage. This conference could start any second now. “It’s weird you’ve been looking for me. Doubt Mel would like it.”

  His girlfriend. The woman he’d started fucking the very night after he walked out on me.

  It took effort, yet I resisted the urge to show any emotion. Mostly looking like I wanted to puke. How naïve I’d been to think hot sex in a private room and a few dinners meant we actually had a relationship.

  It’d do me well to remember the fiasco with Connor if I saw John again.

  “I was hoping I’d see you. I’d like to talk to you about something.”

  “No. Now leave me alone.”

  “Now, Lizzie—”

  “Welcome everyone.” A cheerful, feminine voice rang through the microphone, blissfully cutting off Connor’s impudent retort. Like I care what he had to say. If I could have jumped the stage and hugged my current savior, I would have.

  “We are here today to announce the upcoming opening of the almost fully completed Family and Siblings Event Room located on the fifth floor of our hospital. It is my honor today to introduce to you the Chief Development Officer and a man he’s worked very closely with to ensure this project has been completed successfully. If you would, please do me the honor of welcoming Miles McGregor and Gage Bryant.”

  As the woman spoke, she turned and lifted her arm toward the side. Out walked Mr. McGregor, quickly followed by Gage Bryant. Both men smiled widely and waved one of their hands in the air.

  A half-dozen men and women flanked them. I gaped at them as they sauntered to the center of the stage. I couldn’t look away.

  Gage Bryant’s gaze scanned the crowd of reporters and then landed on me. And that tickle of awareness I felt earlier intensified to a full-blown spark, rushing down my spine.

  His eyes narrowed on me and until he was standing to McGregor’s left behind the podium, he didn’t once look away.

  Oh My God. He was sexier in person. Several inches taller and so much larger than any person on the stage. His height advantage coupled with the raised stage gave him the appearance of a giant.

  The sexiest, most beautiful giant I could have ever conjured in all my youthful years when I used to dream of
fairy tales and heroes.

  Good freaking Lord. My lips parted as that warmth in my spine spread. My fingertips heated until I barely remembered I had to take notes.

  And next to me, Connor leaned in closer, whispered in my ear. “He’s not all that, but it looks like you like it. Have a crush on the superstar, Lizzie?”

  I turned to him and hissed. “Stop calling me that.” If I could have shot flaming darts from my eyes, Connor’s black soul would be my target. “And permanently, stop talking to me. Whatever you want from me, you’ll never get.”

  I should have turned away sooner, but I didn’t. Instead, I caught the gleam in Connor’s eyes. As if my disgust of him was a turn-on. God. Just my luck I had to sit next to my ex-boyfriend. Next time, I was switching seats. Screw protocol and manners.

  I faced the stage, returning to finally catch Mr. McGregor had already started speaking. I mentally scribbled down another reason to despise Connor and paid attention to the reason why I was here. But even as I tried to focus on the speaker as he spoke about the hospital, the donations and the fundraising involved to get this project off the ground, it was the man at his side who continued to snag my attention.

  Good Lord. Men like him shouldn’t be allowed in public. I took him in discreetly, drawn to the silver tie knotted tightly beneath the collar of his black dress shirt. It sat there, snug and perfectly done at the base of his throat. His cheeks were clean shaven, his jaw square. It was impossible not to stare at him.

  He was just so damn pretty.

  My tongue slid out, licking my lips, and my eyes caught on his. He was looking directly at me, eyes like coal. Thick lashes. Even thicker brows pulled into two straight slashes at his forehead. One long line furrowed across.

  His jaw ticked and he turned toward Mr. McGregor. I focused my attention on him as well, questions pummeling my mind. What in the hell had I done to make him look so angry? Did he not even want to be here? And why? Because the man on stage, glowering at me looked like he wanted to throttle me.