The Secret Arrangement

by Vanessa Waltz

  She chews her lip. "What do you have going on today?"

  "Practice. It’ll be on the field." I smile at the disappointment flooding her expression. "Not a lot of places to hide your sexy ass. Don’t worry. I’ll think of something."

  "You better leave." She leans in to kiss me, her fingers curving into my waist. "Go."

  Giving her one last squeeze, I back away from the sight of Saffie in her camisole, her panties halfway down her thighs, her nipples sheer points on the fabric. With a groan, I turn away and open the door, stepping into a blissfully empty hallway. Not the hardest thing I’ve ever done—but close.

  There must be a room somewhere they’re bound not to check. My head throbs as I think, but it’s hard when your cock holds the majority of your blood.

  A shrieking tone stabs the silence, and I grab my vibrating cell phone. I groan at the name flashing across the screen. Tanner. The team manager.

  I answer the call. "Yeah?"

  "Hey, Grayson. It’s Tanner," he says somberly. "We need to talk."

  Fucking great. "Is it about trading me? Otherwise, I’m not interested."

  He sighs in an exasperated tone. "Grayson, you signed a ten-year contract."

  "When I was fresh out of college and didn’t know any better," I growl into the mouthpiece. "I have to leave."

  "No, you don’t. This is your anger talking. I thought you’d be enough of a professional to set that schoolyard shit aside, but apparently you’re making Henry’s job as captain hell."

  "Do you remember what he did?"

  "Yes," he says in a bored voice. "People cheat, Grayson. You want to play a fucking violin, do it to someone who hasn’t had two divorces already."

  "The cheating is the tip of the iceberg, Tanner."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "All you need to know is that Henry and I can never coexist as teammates again. It won’t work."

  He continues in a frustrated voice. "We qualified for the World Cup for 2018. Don’t be a moron. This is the biggest moment of your career, Grayson. I realize you’re hurt—"

  It burns to turn away from a huge opportunity. "That doesn’t cover it," I snarl. "We’re done."

  "I will not let you make another big mistake. You’re not getting traded, Grayson."

  My fingers whiten around the edges of the plastic. "Then I guess I’ve got more work to do."

  "Do you think the general public gives a shit about your stupid parties? They didn't when Ronaldo was caught fucking a transvestite. So go ahead, Grayson! Make a fool out of yourself. No one will give a damn so long as you keep winning games."

  And I won't throw a game to get traded.

  Fuck.

  He heaves a sigh as I stare at Henry’s closed bedroom door, wishing I could light it on fire.

  "We need to talk about your five-year-anniversary party."

  The hallway rings with my hollow laughter. "You think I care about that?"

  "I’ve already lined up interviews. You will smile for the damn cameras, wave to your fans, and behave."

  "Or what? You have nothing to threaten me with."

  The line goes quiet for a second, and guilt pricks my stomach. "Don’t be an asshole, Grayson. I’m not the one who fucked your girlfriend."

  Few things in the world give me joy anymore except a good woman in my bed and a stadium full of screaming fans. If it weren’t for that feeling, I’d have left a long time ago. But I love this sport to death, and nothing can tear me away from it.

  The happiness that blossoms in my chest when I tear down the field is poisoned by his presence. Henry’s at every match. He talks to the news reporters and waxes anecdotes about the team. The fucking World Cup. How could I pass that up, even as bitter as I am now?

  I want out.

  I must have screamed it a thousand times in my head, to the guys, Coach O’Connor, the manager. I’m locked into a contract with no end in sight. Signed when I was twenty-one. I’m on year five.

  Common sense says stick it through. It’s only a few more years. I should think of what I’m giving up, but I can’t. Instead I dwell on how long I’ll have to look at that jackass and pretend I don’t hate him with every fiber of my being. Weeks of television spots, World Cup promo, photo shoots, and practices.

  I can't have him out of my life fast enough.

  I can’t stand beside the asshole who ruined everything and call him my teammate. The rest of the world still thinks we’re best friends.

  Speak of the bastard.

  Henry walks down the pitch, his white socks pulled knee-high. He shouts encouragement to the guys stretching and jogs toward the goal, kicking practice shots at the keeper. The balls sail into the net, and McGrath throws his gloves on the field. "I’m not fooking ready, you daft idiot!"

  Laughing, I scan the stands for the photographer I invited into the stadium. I spot him huddled near Chris’ parents, dressed in casual clothes. As far as anyone’s concerned, he’s a family member of someone on the team.

  And Saffie’s here, prepping a plastic table filled with water jugs and Gatorade. She wears her black hair in a cute ponytail through a Grizzlies baseball cap. She beams at Coach, who takes a cup from the stand and toasts her. Her smile widens when she catches my gaze.

  Pink tinges her cheeks as I tie the last knot on my cleats and walk toward her. Saffie pretends to ignore me, waving at her brother across the field. A black tank top slips over bone-white shoulders. Years of living in fog city kept her from developing a tan, no doubt.

  "Hey, gorgeous," I say, not bothering to keep my voice down.

  She smiles, lips slicked dark red. "Hi, Grayson!"

  I pretend to be very interested in the plastic cups stacked beside the jug. "So you’re going to act like it never happened?"

  "They can hear you," she says through her teeth.

  I don’t care. "You weren’t concerned about keeping quiet when I had my tongue in your pussy."

  "Jesus!" she hisses. "Will you keep it down?"

  "Not possible around you, doll. At least my cup hides everything."

  "Okay." She massages her temples. "Maybe this was a mistake."

  I roll my eyes at her. She can play coy all she wants, but when we’re alone, she can’t resist me. "Did you come here to tell me that or stare at my ass while I run across the field?"

  She laughs. "I’m here to help, not gawk at you."

  She nods at the massive cooler sits underneath the table. "What the hell is that?"

  "Lunch," she says.

  I crack open the lid and gaze at trays wrapped in aluminum foil. "You made all these?"

  Early this morning I saw her cooking a storm and thought she was having people over later.

  "Yep. It’s all lean meat. I know you guys are freakishly obsessed with that, so I got ground turkey, mashed sweet potatoes, and mixed vegetables."

  I close it, unable to miss the way she glances at Henry, as though she hopes he’ll notice. Her brother marches across the field, making a beeline for Saffie. A scowl darkens his thin face, and he snatches a cup from the table, barely acknowledging his sister as he drains and tosses it, missing the trash by a foot. Saffie’s grin doesn’t crack as she bends over and picks it up.

  "Grayson," he barks. "Get on the pitch and warm up!"

  Go fuck yourself. "Sure." I turn my warmth toward her. "See you later, Saff."

  I jog onto the grass as he turns to her with a puzzled expression. He shakes his head at her, and Saffie hugs her sides, crestfallen.

  I scrimmage for a good twenty minutes, waiting for the perfect moment to feign an injury so I can join her. Saffie cheers from the sidelines and helps the staff by offering the benched players water.

  Coach waves his hands. "GRAYSON, PAY ATTENTION!"

  I ignore him and sprint down the field. All I have to do is fall. My opportunity comes as Titus. He snatches possession from Juarez, and I aim between Titus' legs, deliberately missing the ball. My foot slips, tangled in his limbs, and I crash to the earth.
I roll on my back, clutching my right ankle, and I let out a guttural moan.

  The distant screech of the whistle blasts across the field. A half-dozen footfalls thunder the ground, and I look at Chris and Juarez. "Doesn’t hurt much."

  At all, actually.

  I test my weight as Titus hauls me up, wincing.

  "No good," Titus says. "Go to the bench."

  "Shit." I lean heavily on Titus’ shoulder as he helps me limp off, and the coach sends out a replacement. Coach O’Connor jogs toward us, his portly belly bouncing over his cinch-like belt. He wipes a hand across his dark skin, swearing. "What the fuck happened?"

  "I don’t know. Sprained my ankle."

  "Jesus. Get yourself on ice right away."

  I gesture at Saffie. "I think I should bind it. Just in case. Saffie, can you help me?"

  White with shock, she nods, hurrying to my side. Saffie’s tiny arm curls around my waist. Titus runs to his position. Across the field, Henry stares as we sit down.

  "What happened?" Saffie says, looking frantic. "I’ve got the first-aid kit right here."

  She pulls rolled-up bandages from the bag and removes my cleats and shin guards. Her cool hands wrap my foot as she winds the tape. "Does it hurt?" she asks when she’s done.

  I relax on my arms, content to let her fret. A grin tiptoes across my face. "It’s a little tight, but I’m not complaining."

  "That’s what he said."

  My laughter booms over the field, and Saffie casts her eyes down as though embarrassed. I look at the stands. The photographer has his lens out and ready—perfect.

  I lean close and brush Saffie’s cheek. "Thank you."

  She beams at me, and I take a strand of hair hanging around her face. I tuck it behind her ear. A violent blush creeps up her neck.

  "Mind helping me to the locker room? Nature calls."

  She looks at the guys seated on the bench, the question blazing in her eyes. "Um, sure."

  Saffie stands and, bless her heart, tries to pull my one-hundred-and-eighty-pound ass to a standing position. I let her think she helped me, and then I drape my arm over her shoulder. I hobble down the sidelines, smirking at Henry as he sprints after the ball.

  Once Saffie and I are out of sight, I turn in her arms and grab her waist.

  She laughs. "What are you doing?"

  I sweep Saffie off her feet and carry her down the hall.

  Her shrieks bounce from the walls. "What the hell? You’re not injured!"

  "And Bingo was his name-o." I do a running jump, laughing when she screams.

  "You are such a dick!"

  I round the corner and push her against the brick wall. "Needed to get you alone somehow."

  Her lips curve as I press my hips into her khakis. They stop mid-thigh, which is a damn shame cause I could totally see her rocking bootie shorts. I slip underneath them, cupping her silky ass. She rakes my hair. "You’re a bastard."

  "That’s not what you said last night."

  Red patches rise to her cheeks. "Grayson, we can’t."

  "No one’s here, babe." My blood runs wild with her touch. She digs into my neck, eyes burning with the need for more.

  "I don’t want to worry about someone walking in on us."

  "They’re running around outside. I’m all yours." I silence her protest with a kiss. I graze her panties, snapping the fabric against her thigh. She melts into me, moaning loud enough to echo through the lockers.

  Mortified, she pulls back, hands against my pecs. "Oh my God."

  I laugh. "No one’s here. Jesus, relax."

  She gives me a doubtful glance. "They saw us go in here together because you needed to take a piss—God, I’m so stupid."

  "Don’t feel guilty. You fell victim to my charms."

  She pounds my chest. "Eventually, my brother will start looking for me."

  I want to take her against the lockers, make them rattle with the force of my thrusts. She wouldn’t be the first girl to be fucked on these lockers, and probably won’t be the last.

  "Then we’ll be fast."

  She grips my jersey, eyes darkened with rage. "I don’t want a quick fuck. If we're doing this, we need some ground rules."

  Not again. "Fine. Lay them on me."

  Saffie irons her face with her hands. "No strings."

  "We already established that, darling. What else?"

  "Yeah, except you clearly hate my brother. I’m not stupid, Grayson. You want to rub this in. That's not going to happen. This is just about fun."

  She has a point. "I’ll try not to goad Henry, but I’m not making promises."

  "No more fucking around where he’s likely to discover us! No lying about being injured to sneak me away. They will find out."

  Yes, they will.

  She takes my hand and pulls toward the hallway. I yank her. "I can’t go back there without a taste."

  Her crimson lips open in a surprised gasp as I pin her against the lockers and pull down her tank top. Her creamy tits spill from her black push-up bra. I pull that down, too, and lash her nipple with my tongue. She digs into my neck as I suck her into my mouth and bite. An angry red mark swells against her skin. I move on to the other one, the bud hardening against my lip.

  The locker room echoes with her deep moan. The memory of my cum draping her body suffuses my blood with lust. My cock stands like a flag, but I force myself release her. I tug the bra into place and slip the straps over her shoulder.

  She glares at me. "You’re not playing fair, Grayson."

  I grin at her before walking down the hall. "I’m sure you’ll think of a way to get back at me."

  7

  Grayson

  Smoke spirals into the sky, escaping the fire until it's swallowed by black. The campfire smell triggers a hundred memories of summer weekends at Yosemite. Hard, cold dirt against my back as I tried to sleep. The guys would fight over who would light the fire. Henry usually won, his hands working methodically as he fashioned a bow and sparked flames into the kindling. Sometimes his dad would tag along, and we'd hike up Vernal Falls or go whitewater rafting.

  During those late nights when we had too many beers, Henry would talk about his mother. His father. Never Saffie.

  Firelight ripples over her face as she sits in front of a stack of burning logs. Titus lies beside her, roasting marshmallows, cracking a joke that makes her smile. Gentle waves roll in from the beach, the moonlight casting a glow across the water. It's a beautiful night. Humid for California. Thick, warm air rides the tide, playing with Saffie's long hair. She keeps watch over the row of blackening tufts of sugar speared on sticks, handing them out. Choosing one for herself, she peels the charcoaled layer and wraps her lips around the marshmallow, sliding it off.

  Sand kicks across my vision, followed by a pair of hairy legs. I look up. Henry blocks my view of the fire, his hands planted on his hips.

  I sit on my elbows, in awe with his ability to suck the fun out any event. "The hell is your problem?"

  "You. As always, you are the thorn in my ass."

  I smile. The photos must've published. "I'm just sitting here."

  He stares toward my line of sight, sneering. "You're staring at my sister."

  "I like the way she eats marshmallows."

  A growl erupts from the back of his throat. "Fuck you."

  "It's a free country."

  "I know what you're doing." He swipes his thumb across the iPhone, showing me a picture of Saffie and me sitting on the sidelines. I'm tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and she's beaming at me with a smile like a schoolgirl with a crush. Wow, the photo is more damning than I thought it would be. The headline above reads: Grayson and Henry's sister PDA at Grizzlies Practice.

  He snatches the cell away before I can read the comments. "That guest you invited was a paparazzo, but of course you knew that. What the hell are you doing inviting reporters to our practices?"

  "That's my business."

  Henry shoves the phone in his back pocket, ou
traged at my indifference. "You'll ruin this team's reputation."

  "When Kris' little secret gets leaked, that'll happen anyway."

  The simmering anger evaporates, replaced by wide-eyed fear. Henry runs a hand through his hair. "You found out."

  "She called me months ago. Personally, I'm hoping like hell it's not mine to watch the fallout when the whole world knows you're a bastard."

  "No one will," he growls. "She's on the payroll."

  Disgust roils my stomach. "Do you expect me to thank you?"

  "Christ, Grayson, I hoped you'd act like an adult, or at the very least, like someone who cares about the fate of this team. What is wrong with you?" Orange light flickers over Henry's thin face. "If it's money you want, I'll give it to you."

  "I have all the cash I need, you moron."

  "Then what is it?" he says, his voice carrying to the beach. "Why the fuck can't you let this go? For Christ's sake. You're destroying us over a woman."

  "Maybe I should repeat that to your wife next time I see her." I push myself off the ground and brush past a stunned Henry.

  He won't follow me. Last thing he wants is to make a scene, and there are other things I'd rather do.

  Like Saffie.

  She walks along the ocean, her bare feet sinking into the wet sand. Her gasp hits the air when the tide washes her toes. Fucking California. Everyone thinks the beaches here are warm, but the water is ice year round.

  I grab a rolled up towel from the ground and head toward her. Saffie's long hair blows behind her. I catch it in my fist and let the strands trail my fingers. Saffie turns, her white T-shirt billowing over her red bikini bottom. I take her shoulder without caring if the other guys notice.

  "Want a walk down the beach?"

  The suggestion in my voice burns. I'm not offering a stroll, and she knows it. She glances behind. Titus squirts the small canister of propane into the fire—fucking moron. The others relax on the sand, sipping beer. Henry has disappeared. Good.

  She folds her hand in mine, and we follow the moonlight across the beach. The breeze plays with her hair. "What were you and my brother talking about?"