Dirty Player (The Dirty Suburbs Book 2)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  Faith

  “You’re awfully quiet…”

  The open road stretches out ahead of us through the swish-swash of the windshield wipers. The rain comes down heavy as we approach L.A. The only sounds filling the car are the rumble of the engine and the voices of the commentators on the sports talk radio station playing on low. Maxwell has one hand on the steering wheel and is propped up by the window sill. He appears lost in thought and his deep scowl tells me that whatever he’s thinking about isn’t pleasant at all.

  He pushes a thick breath past his lips. “Got a lot on my mind,” he says.

  “Wanna talk about it?” I turn in my seat, angling my body toward him. He’s so hot. Even when he’s being broody and moody with his eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared, the muscle in his jaw pulsing.

  He grunts. “I can’t believe I’m really gonna lose my contract. That’s a lot of money.” He sighs again as he gazes out at the sparse traffic on the highway. He speaks slowly, thoughtfully. All traces of arrogance are gone, leaving behind simply a man baring his soul. “Growing up, we weren’t rich. My mom did odd jobs to support my brother and me after our dad left. We always had just what we needed. No extras. Always the bare minimum. My brother taught me to play ball. And eventually, I got better than he was. Went to college on a scholarship. Got drafted first pick by one of the best teams in the league…” He drops his tense shoulders and scratches his head again. “I can’t believe how I squandered that opportunity. So many guys would die for a chance to be a professional football player. And I was living the dream. I got complacent. I got arrogant. And now, I’ve lost it.”

  My heart melts in my chest as I watch him. I can see the remorse on his face. He truly regrets that he didn’t take this opportunity seriously. I can tell that he desperately wants a do-over.

  “It’s not too late,” I say in a small, comforting voice, even if I’m not sure that there’s any truth in my words.

  He glances at me with a lifted eyebrow as he changes lanes. “Unless you know something I don’t, it is too late. Laureto’s chosen another first-string quarterback. He wants me replaced.”

  I search my brain for something reassuring to say because I hate the puppy-dog look on his face right now. This is a confident, strong man and seeing him plagued by uncertainty is kind of demoralizing.

  “Don't be so hasty, Maxwell. Don’t give up so easily. There's fifty million on the line.”

  His face registers pure, unfiltered agony at the painful reminder. “Fifty-eight million.”

  “What I’m trying to say is, there hasn’t been an official announcement yet. That means that there’s still time to change Laureto’s mind.”

  His lips turn down with skepticism as I sit there in silence rummaging my brain for a way to help. There’s got to be a solution. Something we haven’t thought about.

  And then, it hits me. Of course. I have a half-earned Marketing and PR degree from NYU. I have nearly a year of experience as the events coordinator at the Reyfield Community Centre. I’ve also watched every single episode of Scandal, ever. I can put on my white hat and Olivia-Pope the fuck out of this situation.

  This doesn’t have to be the end for Maxwell. I can help him hatch up a plan to save his career.

  “Okay,” I say straightening up in my seat as my game face slides into place. “Things like this are all about public perception. Right now, everyone sees you as some no good, selfish, irresponsible, arrogant professional athlete.”

  Maxwell turns to me with a glare. “Are you trying to make me feel better or worse right now? ‘Cause it really feels like you’re projecting.”

  I chuckle, waving him away. “C’mon. I’m serious. Hear me out. The media has painted a negative picture of you. We’ve got to change the narrative.”

  He laughs bitterly. “And how do you suggest we do that?” Good – at least, he’s humoring me.

  I purse my lips as I think. He’s a filthy rich playboy who lives an overindulgent lifestyle with his fast cars and extravagant bachelor pad. What’s the exact opposite of that? What can we do to flip his entire bad boy image on its head?

  “Oh, shit…” I say slowly.

  He gives me a quick look before passing a diesel truck slowing down our lane. “What?”

  “I have an idea,” I say excitedly, practically bouncing on the spot. “It’s Christmas time. The time for giving, for kindness. Blablabla.”

  “And?”

  “If we can get Boomerang fans to fall head over heels for you then the team wouldn’t drop you. The backlash would be overwhelming. All we have to do is find an opportunity for you to give back to the community…and make sure that it’s highly publicized…If we can make you look like some under-privileged kid’s biggest hero, all of Los Angeles will fall in love with you.”

  He’s quiet for a minute, then the beginnings of a tentative smile spread slowly across his face. “Do you have any major charities in mind?”

  I shake my head vigorously. “Why go for a major charity when there are hundreds of little charities, little causes that get almost no attention at this time of the year? We’re trying to build a grassroots movement, after all.” I speak dramatically, my arms flailing around. But I don’t care. I can’t remember the last time I felt this excited.

  And Maxwell is feeling it, too. His phone rings, but he ignores it, turning all his attention to me. He gazes at me with fireworks in his eyes. “You are a fucking genius, Faith Monroe! An evil mastermind!”

  “Wait –”I say smugly. “This idea gets better. We could volunteer together, you and me. That would make your story all the more believable. I can see the local newspaper headlines now…The bad boy baller falls in love and becomes a changed man.”

  He gives me a questioning look. “You would do that? For me?”

  I shrug as if it’s nothing. “Why not? I’ve already gone to a highly-publicized gala and brunch on your arm, all to convince your team that you’ve straightened up. I might as well see this thing through to the end, right?” I try to act casual and ignore the little voice whispering that continuing to play Maxwell’s pretend fiancée actually satisfies an itsy bitsy craving deep inside of me. I discreetly twirl my cheap engagement ring around my finger.

  The narcissistic demigod in the driver's seat looks over and bestows a smirk upon me. “I thought you couldn’t stand another minute of being around me. I guess I’m not so bad after all, am I?”

  I feel warmth racing up my chest. I spit out a retort before the blush reaches my cheeks. “Don’t let it get to your head, Masters. I’m doing this for your career…And for the poor, little children you’re about to buy a shitload of toys for.”

  “Sure,” he mutters under his breath, his eyes fixed on the road.

  I ignore his comment, instead turning inwardly as a million ideas bounce around in my head. Which charity should I call? What can we offer them? How can I get maximum exposure for the event and spin it into the city’s human-interest piece of the week? A wicked smile tugs on my lips as I think of the potential ways I can spin this story to Maxwell’s benefit. Suddenly, my insides start to turn with guilt.

  “God – there's a VIP lounge in hell for people like us," I mumble to myself.

  Maxwell turns to me with a big grin. "Well at least we get to skip the long lines."

  I roll my eyes as I struggle not to laugh. Of course he’d say something like that.

  Right then, my phone rings in my pocket. Only one person has called me since I left Reyfield. One person that I never want to speak to again. I ease out of my seat to pull my phone out. All the joy and excitement drains from my body when I see the name glowing up at me from my screen.

  Dustin.

  My stomach tightens. He hasn’t called me in months. Now all of a sudden, three calls from him in the last twenty-four hours. Something tugs at the pit of my stomach. Maybe something’s wrong. Maybe something horrible has happened. Maybe that’s why he keeps calling me.

  I quickly push the thought out of my min
d.

  There is nothing in this world that still links me to that guy. If he’s currently in the middle of some crisis, he’ll have to deal with it on his own. His life isn’t my responsibility. I’m doing my part to move on once and for all.

  I silence the call and shove my phone back into my pocket, my gaze focused straight ahead of us.

  Maxwell taps my chin with his forefinger. “Hey, where’d you go, my evil minion?”

  I blink to clear my mind. “Huh?”

  “You just disappeared on me.” He nods to where I just pushed my phone into my pocket. “Who was that on the phone?”

  I turn my focus to the passing scenery, but I don’t really see it. I don’t really see anything. “That was…nobody.”

  “Yeah, right,” he says. “Spill. Tell me who pissed you off so I can go kick his ass.”

  I smile weakly. “Nobody. Really.”

  “Hey Doll Face, we’re gonna be fake-engaged to each other for a little while so you’d better start spilling the beans or else things might get a little awkward when your secret husband and kiddos come out of the woodwork looking for answers.”

  Just as I open my mouth to tell him to back off, his phone rings. He pulls it out of the drivers’ side cup holder and glances at the screen.

  I turn to face him. “So, who’s calling you, Mr. Nosey?”

  “Nobody.” He smirks.

  I scoff. “Oh the irony! You demand to know who’s on my phone, but you won’t tell me who’s calling you.”

  “Here,” he tosses me the phone. I fumble with the catch and it falls into my lap. “Check it out.”

  I furrow my brows as I scoop it into my hand. “Are you serious?”

  He lifts a shoulder. “Why not? I have nothing to hide.” The tiniest smile curls his lips.

  I slowly bring my eyes to the screen, almost afraid of what I’m about to see. My shoulders slump dramatically with relief. “It’s Keeland,” I say with a sigh.

  Maxwell gasps, bringing his fingers to his lips coquettishly. “Oh my! Scandalous!”

  “Shut up!” I say laughing, as I swat him on the shoulder.

  Grinning, he leans forward and turns off the radio. “Answer it. Put him on speakerphone.”

  I hit a few buttons and Keeland voice pours into the car. “Hey man!”

  “What’s up, bro?”

  “I haven’t heard from you in a few days. What you been up to?”

  “I’m just here in the car with you-know-who.” He throws me a teasing sidelong glimpse.

  My eyes spin exaggeratedly in their sockets and I look away to hide my smile. Asshole.

  “Okay, good. I was starting to get worried about you guys,” Keeland breathes in relief.

  “Well, aside from the emotional injuries she’s inflicting on me, I’m fine.”

  I laugh out loud at his brazen victimhood. “Your brother is a bullshit artist, Keeland. I’m gonna need months of therapy after spending the past few days with him.”

  Keeland laughs too. “Okay, well it sounds like the two of you are getting along just fine.”

  Maxwell looks over at me and his eyes warm over. “We are getting along just fine,” he echoes. Our eyes hold and I feel butterflies in my stomach like a giddy schoolgirl. Damn, he’s charming.

  Keeland interrupts. “So, where are you guys headed?”

  “We’re on our way back from Vegas. We’ll be in L.A. within an hour and a half,” Maxwell says matter-of-factly like it’s no big deal.

  “Vegas?” I can hear the surprise in Keeland’s voice.

  “Yeah, we drove down for the night.”

  “Okay…you guys are getting along just fine.”

  Maxwell’s lips twitch on a grin but he doesn’t look at me. “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Hey, that reminds me – somebody sent me a picture…Of you two…On a red carpet...” Keeland chooses his words carefully but I can tell that the minute he gets his brother alone, he’s going to drill him with questions.

  Maxwell scratches his head as we move into slower traffic. “Uh, it’s a long story.”

  I chuckle at the understatement.

  “I guess that means I’m gonna have to beat it out of you.” I hear the amusement in Keeland’s voice.

  Maxwell looks a little nervous now. It’s cute. He knows that his big brother’s going to give him shit for getting me to pretend that we’re in a relationship for the sake of his career.

  “Let’s catch up later,” Maxwell says quickly.

  Keeland’s laugh roars through the phone. “I know you so fucking well, little brother. Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook until I know exactly what’s going on.”

  “We’ll talk later.” Maxwell hurries him off the phone.

  “Okay, fine,” Keeland grunts. “Faith, don’t let him get you into too much trouble.”

  “I’ll try,” I mumble on the heels of a snicker. “Tell Sammie I said ‘hi’ and give her big belly a kiss for me.”

  “Sure thing.” The line goes dead as Keeland hangs up the phone.

  I turn to Maxwell who is busy fiddling with the satellite radio console and deliberately avoiding my eyes. I could bust his balls about trying to dodge his brother’s questions, but instead, I sit quietly, fully entertained by his discomfort.

  My good mood is short-lived.

  Maxwell’s phone chimes again. Without thinking, I reflexively swipe across the screen. The first thing that pops up is a picture of a curvy redhead wearing nothing but a football helmet and a smile. “Ack!” I yell, wincing as I look away.

  He furrows his brows. “Wh-what?”

  Revolted, I toss his phone into his lap. “Text message from your friend, Vanessa,” I say sounding much more bitter than I have any right to.

  He glances at the phone before facing me with a sheepish expression. “What can I say? The ladies love cool Maxwell.”

  “Whatever,” I mutter under my breath, hating the tightening feeling in my chest.

  “Wait, are you jealous?”

  I shake my head vigorously. “No. Why would I be jealous?”

  “Don’t lie to me, Faith. You’re jealous.”

  “Wow, you’re really conceited. I have no reason to be jealous.” I know that my facial expression is more than likely betraying me right now but I stand firmly on my words.

  Maxwell’s features grow solemn. “Shit – that text message upset you. I’m sorry.”

  “I said I’m not jealous.” I try to deny it but he’s not having it. He sees the truth so clearly…I’m fucking jealous.

  “I wasn’t trying to hurt you.” His tone is soft and placating.

  “Would you just drop it? Please?”

  “Y’know what? I’d be pissed too if I saw that a whole bunch of men were calling you and texting you and sending you nude selfies.” He reaches over and brushes my hair out of my face, his fingers trailing across my cheek. My whole body flushes at his touch. “None of those women matter to me, Faith. None of them hold my attention.”

  I hock without a word. Why is he saying these things to me? Why does he care that I’m jealous? Why am I jealous to begin with? God, we’re both crazy.

  His eyebrows furrow as he watches me. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  I look out the window hoping that he doesn’t see the resentful thoughts scrolling through my pathetic mind. I don’t know why this guy affects me so deeply. We’ve only just met. Why can’t I control the way I feel around him? “You don’t have anything to prove.”

  He grunts. “Look at me, Faith.”

  I turn slowly until our eyes lock. “What?”

  And then, he does the unthinkable. He lowers the drivers’ side window, takes the phone into his grip and hurls it into the passing bushes. My jaw hangs loose as the car speeds along, leaving the phone behind.

  “Did you really just throw your phone out the window?” I ask in disbelief as I crane my neck in search of the discarded phone.

  "Uh-huh."

  "Why? Why did you do that?"

/>   He seems flustered for a moment, an ‘oh shit’ look forming on his face, like the gravity of what he did is just beginning to settle in. But the instant that cocky grin twists his lips, I know that the moment of vulnerability is over.

  "You’re my fake fiancée.” He wrinkles his nose and flashes me his pearly white teeth. “Can’t have you walking around feeling insecure. What kind of man would I be if I have other women calling me all the time?” He glances over and takes in my reaction. “And trust me. You’re a whole lot more interesting than any of the women calling. I might as well give you my undivided attention."