I feel my heart clench. Even though he’s only joking, I can’t help but feel special right now. The way he’s looking at me makes me feel like the only girl in the world.
My mind scrambles to fill in the blanks, to put together the puzzle pieces scattered in front of me. He claims that he doesn’t want a relationship but it really feels like something’s developing between us. I need to know that I’m not imagining it.
“Why are you doing this?”
He exhales thickly. He understands exactly where I’m going with this. “Let’s not make this mean anything, Faith. Let’s just go with the flow, have fun.”
That feels like a dangerous proposition. Deep down I know that I could fall for this guy and I could get crushed. Maxwell Masters is the type of guy who breaks hearts. The mature thing to do would be to have a frank conversation about this like two adults but then again, what is there to talk about? He’s made it clear that he doesn’t want a relationship. So, if I’m starting to have feelings for the guy, I’m the one with the problem.
Traffic thickens and he deftly merges into a faster moving lane. After a moment of heavy silence, he breaks the tension in the air. “Okay, so now that we’ve taken care of my phone situation, you have to tell me who’s been calling you. Or else you’re just a dick.”
I look at him, gaping. But I know he’s right. I should tell him about Dustin. It might actually do me some good to get it off my chest. “Fine,” I concede. “It was my ex-boyfriend, Dustin, calling. We haven’t spoken in nearly a year and now, he’s started calling me out of the blue. I really don’t want to talk to him.”
I keep my gaze ahead but I can feel Maxwell watching me. “I’m guessing that your relationship ended badly.”
My shoulders drop along with my spirits when I recall what happened between Dustin and me. “It did end badly,” I say. “We met when I was at NYU. I lived in this rundown little apartment a few blocks from campus. I was on the third floor, he was on the fourth. One day he helped me bring up my groceries and we sort of hit it off from there. He was just finishing up the police academy and I was working on my degree. Long story short, things seemed to be going great for about a year and a half. He kind of sucked in bed, but you can’t expect a guy to be perfect. And besides, I have ten perfectly healthy fingers to do the job, if you know what I mean.”
Maxwell titters before I continue.
“Anyway, one Sunday, he took me out to this great restaurant for brunch. I actually thought he was going to propose. Instead, he confessed that he’d been sleeping with my roommate the whole time.” As I speak, the bandages holding my heart together threaten to give way. “The coward wanted to break up with me at an upscale restaurant because he thought that I wouldn’t freak out if there was a crowd. Boy, was he wrong.” I mutter bitterly. “I smashed him upside the head with the vase of carnations sitting in the middle of the table.”
Maxwell sputters a laugh. “What?!”
I nod at his disbelief. “Felt really good. To me, at least. Anyway, the loser had me arrested. My sister, Gracie, had to come to New York and bail me out.”
“Wait – so, I’m the one with the bad boy reputation but you actually have a mug shot?”
“Stop joking around,” I say, slapping him on the arm. “Anyway, that’s how I ended up in Reyfield. My sister Grace had moved there two years earlier after she married her husband. I took a job at the community center. I get to use my PR knowledge a little bit, I guess. But the best part of the job is that I get to work with the kids and the old folks. Hanging out with them always gets me to smile on the days when I just want to stay in bed and cry and eat rum punch ice cream and watch Oprah’s Life Class all day.”
“Wow,” Maxwell says quietly. “What an asshole, that Dustin. That’s why I stay far away from serious relationships.” He eyes me out of the corner of his eye. “I make that crystal clear to every woman I get involved with. I want them to be fully enlightened about who I am and make an informed decision before dragging me into their bed. The last thing I want is to mislead someone, y’know?”
I feel a weird swell of disappointment in the core of my stomach when he says that. It’s just another reminder that if I begin having emotions for him, I’ll get hurt.
I act nonchalant as I turn to him and say, “What’s got you so jaded anyway? Did you ever get your heart broken?”
He shakes his head vigorously. “Not a chance. But I’ve seen firsthand the type of havoc that love can cause.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve never told this to anybody because I was always too embarrassed but my mother, she ended up having to file for bankruptcy because of my father. She loved him so much that she let him steal from her repeatedly to support his gambling habit. And then, of course, he left her for another woman. His secretary.”
“How unoriginal,” I mutter under my breath. “At least my father got a bit creative with his cheating.” Maxwell looks at me with a quirked brow, waiting for an explanation. “He got my kindergarten teacher pregnant,” I say matter-of-factly.
Maxwell chuffs. “That’s fucked up.”
I shrug. “So, your dad left your mom. That’s sad but it’s not enough to turn you off from relationships completely.”
“Oh, that’s not all,” he informs me. “My brother, Keeland, he ended up in jail for three years. The woman he was with told him a lie that cost him three years of his freedom.”
I shake my head defiantly. “Yes, but now he’s with Sammie and they’re so in love.”
“I’ve seen my friends get burned, too,” Maxwell insists. “Women target professional athletes, con them into marriage and children just so they can get rich.”
I look stare ahead in defeat. “You seem pretty sure that love isn’t for you.”
“Yup. I’m pretty sure,” he says with finality before offering a bittersweet chuckle.
He turns his focus back to the road. The air is heavy as we travel back to L.A. in silence.
Chapter 15
Faith
We must look ridiculous as Maxwell maneuvers the U-Haul truck to the curb. It’s outfitted with antlers and a big, red reindeer nose. It’s a far cry from Santa’s sleigh but the kids waiting on the church steps are tripping with excitement as we pull up.
“Wow, the line is around the block,” I observe, leaning forward to get a better look as Maxwell throws the vehicle into park.
His chin juts out and he grins. “You think we have enough toys?”
I laugh, taking him in in his hideous Christmas sweater and his clichéd Santa hat. “We have an entire department store packed into the back of this thing. Trust me, we have enough toys.”
I spent the last half-hour of yesterday’s drive back Googling local churches and community organizations that could benefit from Maxwell’s generosity. When I found a few places that fit the bill, I did research and made calls until we settled on an organization that we both agreed would be a good fit. We then went straight to Target and spent hours combing the aisles, filling shopping carts with toys, clothes and books for the children of the Sacred Heart Tabernacle, a small church in the heart of one of L.A.’s poorest neighborhoods.
I quickly set up a Facebook post informing Maxwell’s fans that he and his ‘fiancée’ would send this Christmas eve spreading the Holiday spirit in their neighborhood. (The guy has nearly four million followers on Facebook. It’s incredible. Apparently, the ladies love to see Maxwell Masters misbehave.) We stayed up and gift-wrapped literally hundreds of presents last night. But it was fun and easy. The hard part came this morning when I had to convince Maxwell to forego his fleet of sports cars in favor of a banged-up, rented moving truck to transport the toys but I won out in the end. Right now, I’m exhausted but just seeing the excited faces of all the kids in line sends a bolt of excitement zipping through my chest.
I rummage through my satchel for my lip gloss as Maxwell jumps out of the truck and rounds the front. I expect him to go open the back and start unloading
the gifts. Instead, he pops my door open and extends a hand to me.
I do a horrible job of hiding my surprise. It turns out that Maxwell Masters is quite the gentleman when he wants to be. “Thank you,” I say as I take his hand and climb out of the vehicle.
“Getting all glossed up for the eight-year-olds waiting in line?” he asks facetiously.
My eyes rotate in my skull. “Shut up.” I suppress a smile.
A petite woman with short silver hair and thick-rimmed glasses meets us at the bottom of the stairs and introduces herself as Sister Denise. She’s the woman I made arrangements with on the phone. A few teenaged boys help us carry the toys inside and set up. Minutes later, Maxwell is sitting in a folding chair in the church’s basement with that Santa hat on his head, handing out gifts, taking pictures and signing autographs for the eager children. I linger on the sidelines, manning the camera and posting to social media the whole time.
I know that when we devised this plan, the goal had been to convince the people of L.A. that Maxwell is a good guy so that the Boomerangs would keep him on their roster but right now, that’s the last thing on my mind. Just seeing how much this evening means to these kids is all that matters. And looking at the grin on Maxwell’s face as a toddler in a Boomerangs cap gives him an enthusiastic fist bump, I can tell that he’s enjoying this just as much as they are.
“This means the world to them, you know?”
I glance behind me to find Sister Denise standing there with her hands clutched over her chest. I smile at her. “They all look so happy.”
She nods. “It’s good to see them smile. Some of them don’t have much to smile about. You see that boy with the red jacket? Third in line.”
I bring my attention to a lanky, freckled boy who can’t be more than eight years old. “Yes,” I say.
“His father was shot a few weeks ago. A couple of blocks from here. He’s in the I.C.U., hanging on by a thread.”
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
But Sister Denise isn’t finished. “And the two little girls behind him, they’re twins. Their family got evicted from their apartment this week. They’re staying with their uncle just down the street.”
I nod as I stare at the adorable girls.
“I could go on,” the nun says, “but I think you get the picture. Some of these kids don’t have much to smile about. You’re really making a difference in their lives right now.”
I feel my eyes brimming with tears as I absorb the importance of what Maxwell and I are doing right now. It’s bigger than his contract. It’s bigger than the Boomerangs. He’s literally saving Christmas for these children.
Right then, I feel an arm slip around my waist. I’m startled to look up and find him standing right behind me. “My new friend, Kara, wants a picture with my fiancée,” he announces, his pastel blue eyes glinting playfully. “Do you mind?” he asks motioning for me to hand my phone to Sister Denise.
Soon, we’re posing with the kids and taking pictures and talking and laughing. And nothing is more precious than seeing them smile.
Maxwell leans into my ear as we pose with a family of five brothers, all Boomerangs fans. “Thanks for this, Faith. I haven’t felt this purposeful in a long time.” His lips press to my temple and my heart skips a beat.
Chapter 16
Maxwell
I’m fucking exhausted.
But as I pad into the bedroom, I realize that I’m happy. For the first time in weeks, my football career isn’t my main concern. The smiles and laughs of the kids from the church are the only thing on my mind. That and the beautiful woman sitting on my bed in my oversized t-shirt and extra-tall socks with her lopsided blonde ponytail.
“Pizza, my lady?” I say as I hand her the warm box that the delivery guy just dropped off. "I got a Hawaiian pizza. y'know, in honor of your flopped romantic getaway to Honolulu."
She bites back a smile. "Asshole." I like making her smile even when she’s trying not to. I like teasing her just to see the pink blush that lights up her cheeks.
I wear a satisfied grin as I stretch a beer can out to her and plop down on the mattress. “Kidding. I got pepperoni. Is that good?”
She nods. “That’s perfect. I’m starving.”
I lean back against the headboard and watch her as she throws open the pizza box and digs in. Her eyes flutter shut and she draws a long inhale as she savors the first bite. Then, her tongue darts out and she swipes away the smudge of tomato sauce on the corner of her mouth.
I shake my head. This girl.
She’s unassuming. Vulnerable. She wears her emotions on her sleeve and follows her heart. She’s raw. She’s beautiful. She’s everything I’ve never had in a woman. In a place like L.A. where every person you meet is playing an angle, Faith Monroe is real. She’s one of a kind.
She chews thoughtfully for a moment before raising her eyes to mine. "Can I ask you a personal question?"
I snort before taking a swig of beer. "I'd rather that you didn't but I'm guessing that you will anyway."
She laughs. "No seriously. I wanna ask you something.”
I wave my hand, gesturing for her to proceed as I bite into a slice of pizza.
“If fate hadn't thrown us together a few days ago, how would you be spending your Christmas?"
I shrug. That’s a good question. I hadn’t made any plans. I like to act blasé about the Holidays but the truth is I’d been dreading them. They tend to remind me of how alone I am sometimes. Three hundred and sixty-four days out of the year, being a bachelor is fantastic, but I’ve got to say that on Christmas, it kind of sucks. "I would have probably gone to a bar and picked up a pretty aspiring model or actress with stars in her eyes, a girl who left her small town against her parents wishes and has a big chip on her shoulder, someone who knows she can't go home for the Holidays without facing the glaring reality that maybe her parents were right and she should have gone to nursing school instead of moving to L.A. to become a star. I'd whisper some bullshit line in her ear and she'd let me take her out into the alley behind the bar. Because I'm Maxwell Masters, star quarterback of the Boomerangs, of course. Then, I'd pin her to the wall and fuck her till she was screaming like a ‘ho ‘ho ‘ho." I nonchalantly grab another slice of pizza and take a hearty bite.
Faith falls back onto the bed laughing. "You're nuts."
I shrug again. "Maybe." We fall silent for a while but from the way she’s staring blankly at the duvet, I can tell that there’s something on her chest, something she’s dying to say. “What?” I prod her.
"If you’d met me at a bar on Christmas, would you have taken me out to the alley?" Her voice shakes with vulnerability.
My eyes survey her succulent lips, her swollen breasts, her toned legs. I shake my head. "Nah..." I watch her flush, embarrassment covering her face as my rejection settles in. I reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head, flinging it to a corner of the room. "Nah, I wouldn't take you to the alley. I'd take you home. Because I'd want to lay you out on my bed and watch you naked and feel your pussy on my tongue."
She gasps and her pupils dilate. "Wow – I was expecting a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer." She licks her lips as she looks at me.
I smirk as I lean forward and take the beer bottle from her hand, setting it on the table before pushing the empty pizza box aside. It slides to the floor. My lips press against hers as I climb on top of her, weighing her down with the force of my body.
I lick and savor and suck her lips and she tastes better than dinner. When she groans against my mouth, I accept the invitation to slide my tongue inside. Her hands lace at the back of my neck and she pulls me closer, like we still aren’t close enough.
I slide my hands under the fabric of the shirt she’s wearing. It’s my shirt. And I want to be the one to rip it off of her. I can’t help the possessiveness pooled in the pit of my stomach. It’s feral and predatory.
The fabric gathers above the swell of her breasts. I reach up and cup her sof
t globes, feeling their heat beneath my fingertips. Goosebumps cover her delicate fair skin as I roll her nipple between my thumb and index.
She moans as her fingers find the waistband of my jeans, searching drunkenly for the opening of my fly.
“I want you,” I whisper as I kiss slowly from her collarbone down to her belly. Her head falls to the side and she whimpers my name. My teeth latch onto her lace panties and I yank the fabric down her long, slim legs. “Do you have any idea how sexy you are?”
She inhales sharply. “Tell me.”
I grin deviously against her naked hipbone. “Oh baby, I’m about to show you.” Without wasting a second, I wrap her legs around my neck and press my mouth against her slick folds. My cock spasms at the taste of her pussy coating my lips. I spear my tongue into her repeatedly, drowning in her scent and her flavor and the sounds pouring out of her shivering body. Her spine arches off the bed and her nails claw at my skin as she cries and swears and prays her way over the edge. I look up and admire her as she plunges into euphoria.
Dirty Player (The Dirty Suburbs Book 2) Page 11