Hard Luck

by Liv Morris

  Setting out to explore the rest of the penthouse, I wander around the kitchen for a few minutes, opening drawers and cabinets. I peek in the refrigerator to find the shelves and drawers stocked full of meats, cheeses, fruits, veggies, and God only knows what else hidden deeper in the back.

  It’s a sad contrast to my usual Lean Cuisines and Greek yogurts, but I smile, finding myself excited to actually cook. I grab some grapes and note a carton of brown organic eggs and the thickest sliced bacon know to porkdom. Breakfast is my favorite meal to cook and I feel giddy about showing Brady I know my way around the kitchen.

  Not that it will matter really, but at least he’ll get some warm breakfasts out of the deal since I’m not warming his bed. At this point, we are nothing more than roommates, though I’m not sure I can resist him until after the Series—or if I even want to. I can’t help the feeling that I’m only delaying the inevitable while waiting for him to profess feeling something more for me than just a warm body that gets him off.

  After rinsing the grapes and finding a small plastic bowl, I head back to my room. When I turn the corner, I run straight into the brick wall known as Brady. The sudden jarring throws me back a little and the grapes and bowl to fall out of my hands onto the floor.

  “Ugh,” I gasp, then realize the big obstacle in my way is a shirtless, sweaty version of him. Suddenly, I can’t breathe.

  “You okay?” he asks, picking up my grapes.

  I watch his back muscles ripple as he bends and stands back up. He’s wearing black cycle shorts that leave nothing to the imagination. Not that I have to imagine.

  “I’m fine. I didn’t see you there. Sneaking up on me?” I hit his arm and meet all muscle. “Been working out?”

  “Missed my batting practice today and I needed to work off some frustrations—you know, the lack of sex. Unless you’d like to help me in that department,” he adds with a wink. “I plan on leaving my door unlocked, if you’d like to do the cuddle thing, or whatever.”

  “Cuddle?” I shake my head and take the grapes as he hands them to me. “I didn’t know that word was even in your vocabulary since your ‘friends’ are kicked out before the condom is pulled off.”

  “That’s true,” he gives me that cocky grin, “unless there’s hope for a round two.”

  “Tell me why I agreed to this?” I ask the air around me.

  “Because my dick likes you and I was willing to pay to make him happy.” Can’t fault him for being honest, even if it makes me even more like Vivian than I care to admit. “There are other things you can do besides full on sex.” He waggles his brows and I raise my brow, my face deadpan.

  “I agreed to inspire your dick, not get asphyxiated by it.” Brady laughs in that wicked way he does when I make fun of him, like he’s in on the joke too. It’s maddening. Damn him.

  To further torture me, he removes the white towel slung around his shoulders and I see his bare chest for the first time. It’s like I’m at The Chicago Art Institute standing in front of a sculpture.

  I blink a couple times and spot an upturned horseshoe tattoo with the number seven inside it over his heart. It’s not large, but definitely there.

  “I didn’t know you had that.” I’ve stalked him since he came to Chicago two years ago, surely I would’ve noticed it on a photo of him before now. “When did you get it?”

  “Not too long after I turned eighteen. The horseshoe works for my last name and I’ve always worn the number seven on my jersey.”

  Without thinking, I trace my fingers over the horseshoe. His skin is so soft, even though it’s like a slab of granite beneath the surface. I let my eyes travel from his sculpted chest down to his lower abs where his perfect V disappears, sadly hidden by his cycle shorts.

  “Oh, sorry,” I say, pulling my hand back to my side. I want to slap myself for being so dazed by his body. Talk about sending the wrong message.

  “No problem. I enjoyed it.” He gives me a lopsided smirk.

  “Doesn’t take much for you, does it?”

  “Not when you’re around.” It amazes me that I do it for Brady Luck. I can’t begin to process this fact as my heart does a little flutter.

  “Gotta grab a shower, and it looks like it’ll be a nice long one.” I glance down at his crotch. Sure enough, he’s at full mast or close. “Care to join me?” He throws me a wink and I want to slap him for being such a charming devil.

  “What happened to the sensitive guy in the elevator who asked about kissing me?” My question is more a tease, because this ornery version of Brady is likely the real one.

  “Even after an hour plus on the bike, I am still worked up, as you can see.” He nods down at the magnificent cock outlined by his black shorts. My fingers itch to trace it like I did his tattoo. I lick my lips instead and decide I need to escape back to my room before I do or say something I’ll regret.

  “Enjoy your shower,” I say, focusing my eyes on his face, since it’s possibly the least dangerous part of him. “I’m going to go call my mother and Taylor. Maybe watch a movie in bed.”

  “Can I join you later if I promise to behave?”

  “I don’t think that’s possible.”

  “Me either,” Brady says, and follows it with a quick peck on my lips. He turns and walks away and I stare at his awesome ass with my mouth wide open. The view gets me all hot and bothered. Add the sweet kiss, and it further breaks down my defenses to hold him at bay.

  When he turns a corner down the hallway and disappears from sight, I sigh in frustration—and relief. He’s a dangerous sight for my sex-deprived body.

  I head back to my over organized closet and lie down on my chaise, contemplating sex with Brady. It’s boiled down to a should I or shouldn’t I, like a perverted Shakespearean question.

  However, there’s only so much a woman can withstand in close quarters with a gorgeous guy who packs a nine-inch cock.

  I wonder if I can make it past the weekend. If I do, it will be a miracle.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Brady

  After two rounds of hand-to-dick combat in the shower, my need for Cali still hasn’t been quenched. All I can think about is how sweet she smells and how soft her lips are when I kiss them. Add those innocent blue eyes of hers and I want to devour every square inch of her.

  Getting ready for bed, I pull some clothes out of my dresser to sleep in, stuff my half-inflated dick into a pair of boxer briefs, and laugh. Here I was worried about my dick being dead and now it’s like a heat seeking missile with a bullseye set between Cali’s legs.

  Before crashing, I decide to go check on the legs in question to see if they need anything, or Cali needs anything—her, too. I spray on a shot of cologne for good measure and walk toward her room.

  Standing outside her closed door, I listen for any sounds from inside. When I don’t hear anything, not even music playing in the background, I wonder if she’s fallen asleep already and knock lightly on the door just in case.

  “Come in,” Cali calls out. “Door’s unlocked.”

  I open the door and find her sitting against her headboard with her laptop. “Good time?” I ask.

  “I guess.” I can’t miss the stress in her voice. “I just got off the phone with my mother. She’s freaking the hell out about our engagement. I couldn’t tell her I’m living in your penthouse, but I know she’s going to find out.”

  “I had a similar conversation with my mother. I won’t even go into what my brother said.”

  Bryce asked if I was off my meds and needed a straightjacket. I told him to go fuck himself, he said I was the one who was fucked, and I ended the call shortly after that.

  “Anyway, my mother wants to meet you tomorrow. My brother’s having a pool party at his house and we’re invited. You up for it?”

  “It’s part of my gig,” she says with no enthusiasm at all and draws her mouth into a straight line. I hope she’s just tired.

  I clear my throat and reach to grab the door handle. “Well,
I’ll let you get some sleep.”

  “I was going to watch a movie on my laptop. Care to join me? You’ll have to stay on top of the covers, though. No touching beneath the sheets.”

  “What are you going to watch?” I let go of the handle and take a few steps into the room.

  “Um, The Notebook,” she answers, and I roll my eyes, trying to think of any reason not to watch it, but how can I say no to her favorite movie? It’s the least I can do for the hell she’s getting from her family.

  “Are there boobs in it?” I tease.

  “Maybe,” she singsongs, patting the empty side of the bed next to her.

  “I can work with that.” I ease onto the bed and scoot close to see the computer screen. Her scent hits me and I take a deep breath. “Damn, you smell really good.”

  “Thanks. It’s called Black Opium.” She moves her cursor and clicks play to start the movie.

  “Perfect name,” I mutter, feeling high just from being near her. I move my nose closer to her hair and inhale.

  “Are you sniffing me?” she asks, turning away from the computer to face me. Our faces are so close, her breath washes over my skin. Our eyes lock and my world stills until soft piano-type music begins to play.

  “The movie,” she rasps, “it’s starting.”

  “You don’t say?” I whisper back, so tempted to consume her lips.

  “Watch it with me,” she pleads. Hell, I can’t say no if I want to. This moment has me—hook, line, and sinker.

  “Okay. Bring on the sappy shit.” She hits me in the arm and I flinch in surprise. “Ouch, what was that for?”

  “Quit being a big jerk.” She scoots away from me and though it’s only a couple inches, I don’t like it one bit. I want her back and Black Opium hitting me with every breath.

  “Okay, okay.” I hold my hands up and settle against the headboard. “Promise to wake me up when the sex starts.”

  “Shut up, Brady,” Cali orders with a side-eyed look that would make me cringe if she weren’t so damn cute.

  The movie begins and I wonder when the romance crap is supposed to start. “It’s just a bunch of old people running around a nursing home. Maybe I don’t want you to wake me up for the sex after all.”

  Cali gives me an elbow to my ribs. She’s as bad as my brother with all this punching and jabbing. But I can overlook the slight pain, since her killer rack is barely hidden behind her tank top. Shit, I see the perfect outline of her nipples too. I can make it through this movie as long as I have this view.

  “Be patient,” she says with a sigh. “The old man is telling the woman a story from back in the forties.”

  Finally, Gosling appears and I relax. Things are starting to look up. Until this fiery redhead named Allie won’t go out with him.

  “Well, shit. She just dissed him.”

  “She makes him work for it. It’s part of the fun between them.”

  “The chase,” I conclude as he stands around waiting for her at a Ferris wheel.

  “Something like that.” She searches my face and something passes between us, “but when he finally catches her, it’s worth every bit of the struggle.”

  “We’ll see,” I say in a challenge, and she laughs.

  “What the fuck?” This Noah dude is one crazy ass motherfucker. He’s purposefully dangling from the spokes of a Ferris wheel trying to get Allie to go out with him.

  “Are your hands sweating?” Cali asks in a tease, but my palms are sweating.

  “She better tell him yes fast.” Finally, Allie agrees to go out with him and I’m thinking he won the battle of wills until she pulls down his pants while he’s still hanging there. “Shit, that girl’s got balls. I like her.”

  “Told you it was a good movie.”

  Before I know it, I’m sucked into Allie and Noah’s story. I even quit talking and just enjoy the movie, which shocks the hell out of me.

  Occasionally, Cali will glance over at me and smile. Other times, I’ll do the same and catch a tear rolling down her cheek or hear a quiet sigh.

  Yawning, Cali leans her head against my shoulder.

  “Tired?” I ask as I put my arm around her.

  “Exhausted. This getting fake engaged wiped me out.” She eases down on my chest and I gently run my fingers through her hair. This type of touching, the kind that doesn’t lead to fucking, is intimate and foreign to me, but I like the feel of just holding her—I like her in my arms.

  After realizing she hasn’t moved in well over fifteen minutes, I say her name in a quiet voice, but she doesn’t stir.

  I should lay her down against her pillow and turn off the movie, but I have to watch it to the end now. I don’t like Allie’s father and her mother does everything she can to keep them apart, but they’re stronger than all the forces pulling at them, including another guy. He seems like a nice guy, but he’s not Noah. That dude is made for her.

  I cringe at my thoughts, already hearing the laughs from the team if they find out I watched this chick movie and liked it. It’s not even a funny chick-flick. The guys on the team will never let me live it down. Maybe I should add this incident to Cali’s NDA.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Cali

  Once we’re inside his penthouse, Brady closes the door with a slam and spins me around. Resting his hands on my shoulders, he looks down at me, raw hunger in his eyes, and I can’t turn away.

  “That kiss in the elevator was only a warm up, baby.” Shivers run down my spine and my nipples tighten under my clothes.

  He bends down, places his hands under my ass, then lifts me up. Wrapping my legs around his waist, he presses my back into the door with the length of his body. And shit, speaking of length. His big cock pushes into me at just the right spot and it feels beyond good. I moan, unable to suppress what he’s making me feel.

  “You like that, don’t you?” he asks while attacking my neck with kisses. Lost in the sensations, I roll my head from side-to-side as he trails kisses up to my lips.

  “Yes,” I breathe, “but we shouldn’t do this.”

  “Please, we’ll leave our clothes on,” he begs. “Just a little harmless dry humping like in middle school.”

  “That was late high school for me.”

  “I was progressive.”

  “You were a teenage manwhore.”

  “Yeah, but I learned a lot of tricks. Let me show you.” He circles his hips and my eyelids flutter with each pass over my clit.

  “The night we met. I thought about fucking you against the wall.”

  “You did?” I ask through his thrust.

  “I thought of pressing you up against a wall in the back of the bar and fucking you senseless,” he continues, his dirty talk edging me closer to an orgasm.

  “You have to quit saying things like that.”

  “Why?” he asks as he continues to swivel his hips while pressing up into me.

  “Because I’m about to come,” I moan as he grabs my hands and holds my arms over my head, pinning me to the wall with his cock and hips.

  Soft cries and mewls escape my lips as I close my eyes. He thrusts upward a few more times and I throw back my head, imagining what it would feel like being impaled by his nine inches. A tightness builds at the thought and I come with a spectacular cry.

  I begin to open my eyes and realize the dry humping was all a fucking dream—literally. My heart races as my body comes down from the post-orgasmic high. Holy shit, I just had a wet dream involving Brady.

  I try to move, but a heavy weight is wrapped around my waist. Before my eyes are fully working, I reach down to feel what has me pinned to the bed and find Brady’s arm.

  Shit. The first night here and I’ve not only slept with him in my dreams but also my bed.

  I glance over my shoulder. Brady’s fast asleep next to me, but lying on top of the covers. I let out a quick breath knowing we didn’t actually touch skin to skin under the sheets. It’s too soon.

  Slowly, I turn onto my back so I can look at
him closer. When he’s awake, there’s something about the look in his eyes and the nearly permanent smirk. They combine to make him that adorable cocky player I have crushed on for two years. But asleep, his face is totally relaxed, making him look younger and less edgy.

  His long lashes rest against his high cheekbones and his dirty blond locks are a beautiful mess, but it’s his lips that draw my eyes. Full and slightly open, they are way too inviting. I want to kiss him, maybe even nibble on that glorious jawline of his, which has the most delicious covering of scruff.

  Then I wonder what the hell I must look like. I am not like Brady where sleep only makes him hotter. I slide out from under his arm, sneaking out of bed to protect my dignity, and tiptoe to the bathroom.

  One look in the mirror and I’m glad I escaped when I did. My hair is a rat’s nest of tangles and I look like a raccoon with mascara smeared under my eyes.

  After a quick shower, I get dressed in yoga pants and a tank. Brady’s out cold, because he hasn’t moved an inch, even with me stirring around the room.

  I wonder how much of The Notebook he watched as I spot my computer folded closed and sitting on my nightstand.

  I leave him asleep and head to his—I mean, our, kitchen to fix him some breakfast.

  As soon as the sinful aroma of bacon permeates the air, Brady appears, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. My jaw hits the floor as all six foot three of him stretches, relaxing his sleep stiff muscles.

  “Morning,” he says, smiling at me. I close my mouth, trying to recover.

  “Hungry?” I squeak out, but I’m not just asking about the food.

  Lord knows I’m hungry for a taste of him. What woman wouldn’t be as he stands before me, all rumpled sexy from bed.

  “Very hungry,” he says, giving me a direct stare. I look away from him, more to hide my own desires than deal with his.

  ***

  Stuart drives us to Bryce’s house for the pool party and we arrive around one o’clock. Bryce lives in the upscale Chicago suburbs of South Barrington, complete with an ornate metal fence surrounding the property as well as a guarded gate. I suppose he needs privacy from crazed fans and the media, but it’s more a fortress than a home.