by Liv Morris
“I guess everyone’s on standby for Chicago’s star player.” Cali rolls her eyes while shrugging a shoulder. She’s got an edgy side. I bet she’s a fireball in bed.
“I told Jimmy not to have his attorney here tonight,” Eve explains. “Nothing like a man in a suit and tie to get nerves frayed. I imagine you’re already feeling outnumbered here.”
“A little bit. But I can hold my own.” Cali sits up and squares her shoulders. Yep, she’s feisty.
“The hardest thing you face, besides living with this guy’s ego, is the press,” Coach laughs, pointing to me.
I shake my head at him and pretend to disagree, but I’ve hit homeruns like they’re second nature, and until that voodoo chick, they were.
“Even Rod, my agent, is clueless. Too many tongues wagging and the secret won’t be a secret anymore,” I say. “Here’s what I told Rod. I said we first met at The Wit, and then a few times after that. I mentioned things were getting serious between us and to stay tuned.”
I leave out the part where Rod asked if Cali had a golden vagina. He couldn’t recall the last time I saw anyone more than once—twice tops—and he’s right, but I have to get my curse reversed and it starts with Cali. Once my dick is happy, things on the field will work out. They have to.
“I think Rod bought it too. You know, the bigger they are, the harder they fall.” I wink at her and waggle my brows.
I lean forward, waiting for her answer. Suddenly, Cali turns pale and her eyes go wide in fear. She picks up the contract and fans herself with it.
“Cali, are you okay?” Eve rushes to her side.
“I don’t know. I’m feeling lightheaded all of a sudden.” Cali drops back in the chair and leans her head against the cushion. Her eyes flutter for a split second. She looks about ready to pass out. Then she pops up straight. “Oh my God! My name will be in the paper with my photo next to a big headline, ‘Brady Luck’s Girl of the Hour.’”
“Eve, maybe some water?” Jimmy asks.
“Water isn’t going to help Cali.” Eve levels a glare at Jimmy and me. It’s the don’t-fuck-with me look she has perfected. “You all have scared the daylights out of her.”
I need to do something, but I have no clue what. She’s right. Her quiet, private life is about to get turned upside down and there’s no getting around it. Most girls fucking love the attention they get when they’re around me, but Cali’s not most girls. She’s different—in a good way.
“Can’t I just be his girlfriend until he gets his hitting groove back?” She claps her hand over her mouth and I bury my head in my hands.
“Brady needs more than just a girlfriend. I want him off the single circuit. Undistracted,” Coach tells her the same line he told me when I asked him the same fucking question. “A player’s game starts between their ears, no matter their skill. He’s convinced you’ll get his confidence back.”
“Eve, I think I’d like that drink you mentioned earlier,” Cali breathes.
“Liquid courage,” Coach laughs. “I think that’s a good idea for all of us. We can toast to being neighbors. Right, Cali?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Cali
Unable to speak, I nod back at Jimmy. I must be certifiable to agree to this fake everything. My entire life is going to be like one big probing prostate exam. Everything I do will be put under a microscope. Since everyone has a cell phone these days, I can say goodbye to randomly picking my teeth in public or fixing a wedgie when my underwear creeps up.
The entire city of Chicago revolves around Brady at the moment. He sneezes and people speculate whether he’s sick. If this supposed curse or mental block doesn’t change when I appear in his life, I’ll likely be the scapegoat. I’ll probably have to move out of town when this is over, or maybe change my name and dye my hair blond.
I take a deep breath and wait for Eve to come back from wherever she went to get us champagne. I don’t remember ever needing a drink or an entire bottle of something as bad as I do now. To make matters worse, Brady is walking around the coffee table to me with a victory grin plastered on his lickable mug.
In one quick move, he removes his navy jacket and throws it on the sectional where I once was sitting. In slow motion, he rolls up the long sleeves on his shirt with his skilled fingers and hands. When his forearms appear, I bite my lip. His muscles look molded out of steel like the rest of him. At least he leaves his shirt on.
He pulls a chair up by mine. “Mind if I sit here?” he asks, all sweet and gentlemanly.
His charm is deadly and effective—likely how he’s fucked most of Chicago. I hate this side of him. It makes me want to forget the cocky, self-absorbed Brady lurking behind his sweet words.
“Sure, it’s not my place. Besides, you tend to get your way around here.”
“About that…” He turns the chair facing me and sits down. We are knee-to-knee and eye-to-eye. I glance over his shoulders to see if Eve’s back with the drinks. Dammit, where is she? “I wanted to thank you for agreeing to this.”
He takes my hand in his and I give into his touch. That odd calm comes over me as he wraps his fingers around mine. I must be imagining things; only my mother’s hugs have had this effect on me.
“Well, I haven’t officially signed anything yet. You know how contracts are,” I say, curling my lip into a lopsided smile. “Things can change.”
“I do know how contracts are.” I remember his last one took a few weeks for his agent to negotiate. He held out for the largest amount ever paid to a rookie. “I hope you sign.”
“So, you’re closing me now, are you?”
“Can’t blame me for trying,” Brady confesses.
“But why me?” I ask, still confused why I hold so much power in his eyes. “Surely it’s more than just you getting hard around me.”
“Well, there is that,” he whispers, “but there’s more. I’m convinced you’re my good luck charm.”
“So, I’m like a genie in a bottle, but instead of you rubbing me for your wish, I’ve been hired with the hopes I’ll rub you in certain places,” I whisper-hiss.
“Well, I do need you, Cali.” He says my name like it’s a desperate plea and it likely is since he thinks I’ll get his cock back in commission.
I think about the simple and powerful word need. No man has every said he needed me before and I want it to fill my heart, but it’s not enough. I want a man who wants me for me—no strings or World Series hopefuls attached.
“You need air, food, and water to live. Touching you isn’t going to happen.” I try to sound convincing. My attraction to Brady started out as a crush from afar, but now our fake relationship could crush me if I’m not careful.
“Children, quit bickering,” Eve says with a chuckle. “We have Cristal, the finest champagne known to man or woman.” She gives me a wink, but my level of being impressed isn’t very high since I’ve never heard of this brand before. I tend to drink Two Buck Chuck from Trader Joe’s. It’s another example of the divided world between Brady and me.
Jimmy rises from his chair and Brady and I follow suit. Jimmy’s been distracted on his phone, likely texting his attorney about the changes I want to make to the contract.
Jimmy walks toward Eve and takes the flutes off the tray she’s carrying. He hands one to Brady and me. Setting the tray down, Eve joins us and we form a circle in the middle of the room.
“To neighbors,” Jimmy says with a smile that borders happiness and relief.
“To neighbors,” Eve and Brady echo while raising their flutes.
I remain silent and wait longer than I should before I bring my glass to join theirs. Once our glasses clink together, it’s as good as signing the paper.
I glance up at the beautiful Brady, who’s looking back at me with eyes full of expectation. For some strange reason, I can’t let him down. The thought is crazy, but I lift my hand despite it.
Glass dings against glass and everyone except me exhales a deep breath. I’m still holding mine.
***
After the last of the Cristal is gone, Brady walks me across the hall to his penthouse. Coach is waiting on his attorney to fax him the contract changes and I want to see where I’ll be living for the next few months.
After unlocking the door and cracking it open, Brady pauses in the hallway and gazes down at me. “I feel like I should pick you up and carry you inside.”
“What? That’s for when people get married. We’re not even officially engaged yet.” I shake my head at him. How dare he play into my fairytale fantasies that will never happen. The nerve.
“Oh, right,” he says, motioning for me to enter before him.
I step into his apartment and get hit by a bachelor pad large enough to house three of my apartments—just in the main room.
His place is a sparse modern décor of black and grays with chrome metal, not a hint of color. It also looks unlived in. I imagined he lived in a place that displayed all his trophies over a fireplace. But as I scan the room, I don’t see anything connecting him to baseball at all.
“How long have you been here?” I ask, feeling a little sad at how sterile the place looks—and expensive, I bet. For shame.
“Right after I signed my motherfucking five year contract.” He puffs out his chest and I laugh at him. “Not bad for a poor Chicago kid.”
“Not bad if you like high dollar bland,” I say before thinking. I turn to face Brady and his smile has disappeared. He’s proud of this place, even if it is as inviting as a bank lobby. “Sorry, Brady. That was rude. It’s just not that homey.”
“I know,” he sighs. “But I grew up with secondhand everything, so when the designer showed me her ideas on paper, I was all in. I kept waiting for the finish. One day, I called her after she didn’t show up for two weeks and asked when she was coming back, but she said it was done.”
“You just need a splash of color,” I say, trying to make up for my stupid comment. “Like a few red pillows to replace the gray tweed ones on the couches.”
I walk over to them and let my fingers graze over the material. “They’re scratchy, too.”
“You should touch the fancy as fuck blanket on the chair. It’s like sandpaper.”
“I’ll have the movers bring some of my cuddle-worthy pillows tomorrow. If that’s okay?” I ask, searching Brady’s face. I don’t want to overstep, but I’ll never be able to relax here after a long day at work.
“Please, anything you think would help. Let me show you your room.” Brady places his hand low on my back and guides me through the room to an adjoining hallway. His thumb caresses, moving in small circles, and tiny sparks fly across my skin. It’s like the entire universe starts and stops where we connect.
“You’re the second door on the left. The first one is a bathroom.”
“Where’s your room?” I ask.
“Next to yours. Last door. We have adjoining walls.”
“It’s the only thing we’ll have adjoining,” I add with a laugh, and he joins me.
“We’ll see about that,” he remarks with a smirk.
I want to protest, but he’s probably right. I haven’t even moved in and the sexual tension between us is better than any foreplay I’ve experienced. He’d probably have me falling over the edge with the barest of touches.
He opens the door that should be my room and I peer inside, my eyes widening in shock. “There’s color in here?” I ask, baffled.
The room is a vivid blue that almost matches the color of the sky with yellow silk bedding that looks feminine and soft offsetting the walls.
“Do you like it?” Brady asks with a bit of hesitation.
“Love is more like it, and it’s so unexpected.” I brush my fingers over the bedcover, enjoying how soft and inviting it is.
“I’m glad you like it. I picked out the color just for you.”
“You did this?” I ask, raising a brow. He just said he had no clue about decorating.
“Not really. I had my personal assistant handle it. She asked what color I wanted for your room. I said blue and she gave me a few choices. This one matches your eyes.”
I search his face to see whether he’s kidding or serious. I have to go with serious, and crash—score one for Brady as another brick falls down from the protective wall I’ve put up around him.
“You can be the sweetest manwhore,” I say, shaking my head. “Thanks for the compliment, and I love this blue.”
“Me, too,” Brady says, his eyes piercing into mine, clearly not referring to the room color. I blow out a breath, feeling antsy and hot under his dark gaze. Damn him.
Brady leans against a white dresser and crosses his long legs. I follow them up to the crotch of his jeans and my gaze stops. The bulge he’s sporting isn’t easy to look away from, but I manage—barely—to make it up to his face.
“See something you like?” he quips.
“Remember, I’ve seen yours and hundreds like it.” I throw my head back in a dismissive way. His brows narrow together as he gives me a disapproving look. “What’s the matter?”
“I know you’re lying.” He pushes off the dresser and stalks toward me. “Nine inches of fine doesn’t come into your office often, does it?”
“What did you just say?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.
“You heard me. Nine inches, baby.”
“Inflated.”
“That’s where you come in,” he emphasizes, adding a wink.
“You’re so subtle and smooth,” I say, hitting his arm.
“I’ve been called smooth, but subtle? Never.”
“I bet not. You’re totally focused on scoring, both on and off the field.” I shake my head as he laughs, but humor has to have an ounce of truth and his life is simple. He gives new meaning to the term “hitman.”
It all goes back to my working motto that men are their penises and the reason I’m here finally hits me. If his penis isn’t working, he isn’t hitting. It’s not so much about fucking me, though I’m sure he would right now if I dropped my panties and spread my legs, it’s about his cock working in general. The hope of being able to fuck is all he needs to swing the damn bat.
And for the first time since I was propositioned with this crazy ass engagement, I don’t feel like the contract is making me his fuck buddy for a few months. Brady sees me as the girl who gives him hope that he’s okay.
Like Jimmy said, I can help make things right between his ears. As long as he believes I hold the key to his cock’s performance, he’s going to beat this mental block, or curse, or whatever the hell it is, and win for his team.
“Enough about scoring,” he says while adjusting himself. Yep, he’s not subtle. “I want you to see the bathroom.”
He leads me into the connected bath. It’s a lighter shade of blue than the bedroom, the towels are a bright yellow, and the vanity has a beautiful floral arrangement.
“How many days did you have to do this?”
“One.”
“Wow. I’m amazed.”
“Here’s the linen closet. I had her buy a lot of different things for you. I wasn’t sure what you liked.” Brady opens a door and I peek inside. The shelves are lined with every imaginable product for hair, skin, and body care.
“It looks like a store shelf.” There are brands I’ve wanted to try since forever, but were out of my budget. I try to hide the vapid excitement I feel at having so many goodies at my fingertips.
“If you need anything else, just make a list and it’s yours.” Brady picks up a bottle of shampoo from the shelf, opens the lid, and smells it. “I like this one.”
“I’ll have to try it.” I sound like a girlfriend wanting to please her guy, but I do want to smell good to him. I’ll chalk it up as part of the gig.
“What would you have done with all of this if I hadn’t agreed?” I ask.
“I help out at a women’s shelter. The ladies there would have loved to have it,” Brady says while shutting the door.
Crash, boom goes yet an
other brick. Just when I think Brady’s only out for himself, he shows there’s a sweet guy underneath all the cockiness. Mitchell would never think this way. The difference in the two guys makes me glad Mitchell’s barely a memory in my life.
“We better get back to Jimmy and Eve’s.” The movers come early tomorrow morning and I need to get home. My apartment is a disaster and they’ll probably think someone robbed the place if I don’t get it straightened up.
“First,” Brady says, and my attention moves to him, “are you happy with everything here?
“Everything but the scratchy pillows,” I say in a tease. “Thanks for making this room feel like me.”
“Well, have at the rest of the place. But no pink,” he adds with a wink. I roll my eyes and give him a smirk. I just might make some changes—or a complete overhaul.
***
Jimmy has three copies of the contract splayed across his glass dining room table. After reading over the changes, I decide they’re good. If my job is threatened by my new status, the contract will be void and I’ll receive a prorated sum for my services.
The rest of the contract is straightforward—hell, my gym agreement was more complicated.
“Ready?” Jimmy asks while glancing between Brady and me.
“Yes,” Brady says with conviction, and I glance up at him to get some reassurance before I speak. He smiles down at me and bends over to kiss my forehead. A flush of warmth arises, like the exact opposite of brain freeze.
“Ready,” I squeak out.
Jimmy hands us each pens and we begin to sign the contracts where indicated.
When the last one is signed, Jimmy hands me a copy. We each get one for our records and the attorney keeps one in his safe. The contract is privately binding, but it’s not like Brady will take me to court over it. No guy wants to be on the side of a girl faking anything related to them.
“I’ll text my driver and get him to take you home,” Brady suggests.
“Don’t tell me, he’s been on standby, too?” It’s nice to be so rich that people are at your constant beck and call.
“As a matter of fact, he’s been parked outside the building waiting for my text.”