Double Team: A Menage Romance

by Sabrina Paige

  "Noah Ashby and Aiden Jackson said they were your boyfriends?"

  "Yes. I mean, we agreed they were, I guess. They decided they were and I agreed." I pause. "God, it really does sound like I have no backbone, doesn't it? They wanted to be my boyfriends and I wanted them to be my boyfriends." I pause again. "That just makes us sound like we're all in junior high."

  Vi laughs. "Love always makes us sound like we're teenagers."

  "Stop using that word."

  "What would you like me to use instead?"

  "I don't know, all right? Not that word. That's a big fucking word, Vi."

  "We'll come back to it. Noah is pursuing contracts outside of Colorado…"

  "Right. Noah drops his bidding war news on me, like it's good news. And it is. It's great news for him. I'm happy there's a bidding war over him. I'm thrilled. He loves football and he should get paid well for it and – it's wonderful."

  "But…" she prompts.

  "I don't care that he's going to Miami or Dallas or wherever - at all. I'm a big girl. It just… it rubs me the wrong way that they lied about it. Or omitted the truth."

  "It feels dishonest."

  "I feel like a terrible bitch. I walked out when they told me the news. He was happy, giving me this good career news, and I just walked out. I don't know why. They were saying I was… theirs, that I was their girlfriend, but there's this big piece of information they just didn't tell me. I mean, sure, it's public information. You and other people knew. Hell, you and the rest of America knew."

  "But that almost makes it worse." Vi voices what I'm thinking before I even say it.

  "Yeah, I'm the only idiot in this country who didn't know. And if I didn't know that…"

  "What else are they keeping from you?" Vi finishes.

  "Exactly. And, I mean, they're athletes. If they hid this, it makes me wonder what else they'd hide– girls, drugs… oh hell, I don't know."

  The look on Vi's face makes me stop.

  "I know. I sound crazy," I admit. "It's just… I'm taking a lot of risk by even being with them."

  "I know," Vi says. "I'm proud of you."

  "For screwing two football players and getting myself into a hot mess?"

  Vi laughs. "I love that this is your version of a hot mess, doll."

  "This is a hot mess!"

  "Oh, honey," Vi says. "This is hardly a hot mess."

  Her tone makes me laugh. "I know, I know. It's not a hot mess unless someone is pregnant or there are twenty tabloid articles being written about your scandalous behavior."

  Vi waves her hand dismissively as she looks over and gives me a grin. "Even then. It's all good publicity, right?"

  "For you, yes! Not when you're the president's daughter. Not when you're my father's daughter."

  "Well, maybe it's time the president's daughter got herself into a little bit of trouble."

  "Isn't that what they call it when women get knocked up?"

  "Yeah, in the fifties, maybe. I'm referring to you not playing it so safe anymore."

  "I'm not playing it safe! I've been… with both of them. A lot. That's as unsafe as it gets."

  "It's a little unsafe."

  "It's a lot unsafe."

  "More unsafe would be admitting you L-word them," Vi says.

  I glare at her, but her eyes are on the road. "I told you to stop using that word."

  "You don't know that I meant love. I might have meant that you like them. Or that you want to lick them. Or that you lust after them."

  "Like. Like is fine."

  Vi is silent for a moment as we near the building. "Do you think maybe it's not just about the fact that they didn't tell you?"

  "Like what? It's not enough that they omitted pertinent information that everyone else in the world knew about?"

  "Maybe," Vi says, downshifting and coming to an abrupt stop in front of the building. "But maybe there's a part of you that's a little afraid of where things might be going?"

  "They're going nowhere, obviously," I say, suddenly annoyed. "If they didn't think it was important to tell me about that, what the hell else are they going to hide?"

  But Vi doesn't stop. She keeps talking, even as a valet nears the car. "Or maybe you expected this to be nothing more than a crazy, wild fling, the kind of thing you've never done before and that's it. And now it's not. It's more than that and now the consequences are starting to be real. Your feelings are starting to be real and now you're afraid of where it's all going."

  I'm silent for a minute as the valet stands outside Vi's door. I watch couples walk up the stairs to the building entrance dressed in tuxedos and gowns. "When the hell did you become so insightful about relationships, Oprah?"

  Vi grins. "Just because I don't enjoy serious relationships myself doesn't mean I don't see what it takes to have one."

  "Maybe you just need more than one guy," I tell her.

  She pauses with her hand on the door handle. "Honey, if you find me three hot football players, I'll give a relationship a whirl. Triplets would be preferable."

  I grimace. "Vi, that is – how would you even manage–" I hold my hand up. "Nope, I don't want to know."

  She grins as we get out of the car. "I can see you just figured out how I would manage."

  "I need to rinse my brain thanks to that image."

  Vi waits until she's beside me with her arm linked in mine to whisper. "I have a feeling there are far dirtier images in that brain of yours now, thanks to certain men who shall remain nameless."

  "Shhh." I slap her lightly on the arm as we walk inside the building and straight into the crowd. We're immediately spotted by a couple who head straight for us.

  "Oh God, it's that lobbyist and his wife – you know, the guy who smells like cheese," Vi whispers. "Quick, run. It's every man for himself."

  "Thanks a lot, Vi," I whisper, but I dodge them by walking around another couple, turning toward a canapé tray and pretending to be mesmerized by the selection, and winding up out of the line of fire. But when I look back for Vi, I see she's been sidelined by the cheese-smelling-lobbyist.

  Vi peers around him, mouthing, "Save yourself."

  I'm about to go rescue her when I run directly into the chest of a tall man in a tuxedo.

  "Grace," he says, looking down at me as his hands grip my forearms. I look up into the eyes of a classically handsome man– well-bred, white-collar, obviously wealthy– and I feel… nothing. Nada. No spark, nothing like when I ran into Noah that night, when he stepped on my dress and cupped my breasts in his hands.

  Heat rushes through me at the recollection, followed immediately by a pang of regret. I should talk to them. I shouldn't have just run out of there the other day. I should tell them it was more about being afraid to trust them than it was about their lie.

  "Yes," I say, giving the man my best press smile. There's something familiar about him, but I can't quite place how I know him.

  "Brandon," he says, as if he can read my mind. "Redding. Our mothers know each other, I believe."

  "Oh. Right." Oh, God. It's my would-be suitor. "Brandon. It's… lovely to meet you."

  He smiles warmly. "You know, it's not often that I get stood up."

  Stood up? "Oh. I didn't think my mother actually arranged a date between us. I mean, you called and I was just so busy that I didn't have time to respond and–"

  He laughs, turning to grab two glasses of champagne from one of the catering staff that passes by and hands one to me. "It's okay. I know when I'm being blown off. My ego can take it – I don't need to be let down gently."

  "I wasn't exactly blowing you off," I explain lamely. "It's just that I was–"

  "Busy," he finishes for me, sipping his champagne. "As you say."

  "Yes." I swallow half my glass in one gulp. "And I wasn't especially thrilled about being set up."

  "Ah, there we are," he says, the edges of his lips turning up. "Admittedly, I'm intrigued by the fact that you didn't want to be set up with me."

  I
raise my eyebrows. "Narcissistic, much?"

  "Just confident. And not used to being turned down."

  "What if I said, 'it's not you, it's me'?"

  "Well, Grace." He leans in close to me, and I'm suddenly uncomfortable, but when I step back, I bump into a woman behind me. He whispers in a conspiratorial tone. "I'd say that you were being disingenuous."

  "Excuse me?"

  "I'd say you were lying."

  "I know what disingenuous means." I don't know this guy, but his condescending attitude certainly isn't endearing him to me. "I'm asking what makes you an expert on my truth-telling ability?"

  "Because there's a man over there who's looking at me like he'd like to kill me right now, and I assume it's because I'm standing where I'm standing."

  I spin around far too quickly to appear nonchalant. "What?"

  But he's wrong. It's not one man standing there. It's two.

  42

  Noah

  "I'm going on record saying this is not a good idea," I grumble under my breath as we stand on the outside of the crowd at the event hall.

  Yesterday afternoon, Aiden called Grace's assistant Janice and sweet-talked her into telling him where Grace would be tonight. As it turns out, Janice is more skilled in negotiation tactics than my cutthroat agent, so the price of that knowledge was donating to tonight's auction to support Grace's father's re-election campaign: dinner with two of Colorado's "golden boys."

  "Yeah, well she left because of your bright idea not to tell her anything about your negotiations. Let's go apologize. We were idiots and we screwed up. Grace is reasonable. She'll understand."

  You made me fall for you - for both of you.

  Her words have run through my head all night.

  I'm on edge. I've been on edge since Grace walked out the door after I told her about the bidding war. To be honest, I was on edge the second my agent called with the news about Dallas and Miami in the first place. Before Grace, the only thing tying me to Colorado was my family. I love them, but they understand that my plan has always been to go where the best team is. Playing for the best team has never been about the money, though; it's always been about my desire to play the best football I can, to be part of the best team I can.

  I've never had any loyalty to a place. Hell, I never had any reason to before Grace, before whatever the hell is happening between the three of us, before she somehow became our girlfriend and I somehow became unable to picture a future that didn't involve sharing her with Aiden.

  "This is anything but discreet," I hiss. "You think no one is going to notice us talking to her?"

  Aiden shrugs. "So? We'll wait until she's alone."

  "She's the president's daughter. She's never alone."

  Aiden gives me a look. "She's been alone with us plenty of times."

  Suddenly, there's movement in the crowd, and I catch a glimpse of Grace looking breathtakingly beautiful in a long black gown, her hair pulled up on top of her head.

  Talking to a man.

  A man who's leaning in close to her, his hand on her arm, looking like far more than just an acquaintance.

  Aiden sees them at the same time I do. "Should we kill him?" he growls.

  "She's not with that guy," I tell him, sounding far more casual than I feel right now. Right now, I feel like walking up to them, punching him in the mouth for talking to her, and throwing her over my shoulder like a caveman so Aiden and I can show her exactly who she belongs to. That makes me a pig. I know it does. The rational part of me knows it does. Which is why I stand there, not throwing anyone over my shoulder or punching anyone.

  "Look at him. He's a suit."

  "We're wearing suits, in case you haven't noticed."

  "We're wearing tuxedos because this is a black tie event," I say. "We're not suits."

  The guy leans in close again, and adrenaline and anger course through me at the sight of her and another man. I clench my hands into fists at my side. He's standing there, with his mouth near her ear and it's all I can do to not walk over there and stake my claim on her – our claim on her – right in the middle of everyone. "Yeah, killing him sounds good," I admit.

  But we don't get to kill – or even tackle – anyone because right then, Grace's gaze meets ours, and her eyes go wide.

  Then she turns and disappears into the crowd.

  I'm about to follow her, but Aiden stops me. "Don't."

  "Don't what?"

  "You were about to go after her," he says. "Don't be obvious about it. You know her parents are supposed to be here tonight, and her security, and a million people with cell phones and cameras. Don't be stupid."

  I shake off his hand on my arm. The irritation with the man standing near her is making me jumpy. "Fine. Then I'm going outside for air."

  I edge through a couple of people and pretend not to hear Aiden’s or my names being spoken.

  Then I feel a hand on my arm.

  "Noah Ashby!" a voice says brightly. I look down to see Grace's friend, the one I met at the charity event before - the one who saw me and my boner in the back room with Grace. What was her name? Something to do with flowers. Daisy?

  "Hi -" I start.

  She turns to a couple she's talking with, her hand still on my arm. "I'm so sorry, I'd love to chat more, but I've been looking all over for my dear friend Noah!"

  Dear friend? I give her a puzzled look as she steers me away using my arm. She smiles broadly, looking ahead.

  "Just keep walking, doll," she says. Doll? "Thanks for getting me out of that conversation. Can't stand that guy."

  "Okay."

  "I take it you're looking for Grace?"

  "Nah. I mean, just to – because Aiden and I donated something tonight and so that's all we're doing, I mean – if we see her here – I mean, tell her we, you know –"

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. I sound like a bumbling idiot.

  Grace's friend – Rose? – just laughs. "You definitely don't have a career in politics, doll. Anyone ever tell you you're a terrible liar?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "I'm her best friend," she says. "I know. You want to see her, right?"

  "Yes."

  She looks behind us at Aiden. "You too?"

  "Are you taking us to her?"

  "Depends," she says, stopping as we get to the hallway. Both of Grace's security detail stand in front of a door at the end of the hall. Grace's friend – Violet? That's it. Violet. No, Vi—crosses her arms. "Why are you here?"

  "To see her," I answer.

  She looks around before dropping her voice to a whisper. "Why?"

  "To apologize," Aiden says.

  Vi scowls. "You effed up."

  I nod. "We did."

  "She might not want to see you."

  "We know."

  She narrows her eyes. "So why should she talk to you? What are you going to say that she'd want to hear?"

  Irritation rushes through my veins, and I look around the hallway, my fists clenched into balls as I lean forward and whisper to Grace's friend. "It's none of your business what we want to tell our girl, so quit cock-blocking us and get out of the way."

  I expect her to slap me and call Grace's security detail, but she doesn't. A smile slowly spreads over her face. "I'm only getting out of your way if you're about to go in there and tell her that yourself."

  "Tell her that you're cock-blocking us?"

  "The part about her being your girl." Vi looks at Aiden. "Does that bit go for you too, hotshot?"

  Aiden's face turns pink and he shuffles awkwardly. "Yeah. Me too."

  "All right. Then I'll take you in there."

  43

  Grace

  I text Vi again while only half-listening to my father's campaign manager give me instructions.

  Are you stuck with the lobbyist? My dad is late. Now I'm going onstage a little earlier.

  "We'll just have you kick off the first speaker introduction instead of your father's. Notes are on this card." The campaign
manager – I can't remember her name, my father just fired his old one for some hot-shot new one - stands in front of me wearing a no-nonsense silk suit and directing one of her assistants. "Get her a mic. No, not that one. Why would you bring her one we were having problems with earlier tonight? Get one that works, for Christ's sake." She turns toward me, her voice low. "I swear, these college interns don't know their heads from their asses."

  "I'm sure my parents will be here in a few –"

  The door opens and Vi stands there. Thank God.

  "Could I just steal her for a tiny second? I'm her designer and I need to adjust her dress." Vi asks the question in a way that's not really asking.

  "Perfect," the coordinator says as a young girl in a black cocktail dress breezes past Vi with a battery pack and a mic. "We'll just need to get you hooked up and –"

  "I can take care of the mic," Vi says, smiling sweetly. "We'll just be five minutes. That's all I need. It's really a delicate fashion issue, and I'm sure the First Daughter would prefer a bit of privacy."

  "Okay." The woman holds up the pack. "The switch is on the back. You've used a million of these, I'm sure. You'll exit there and walk out down the hallway, where we'll be waiting to escort you on stage. Don't turn the mic on – we'll do it when we get out there. It won't be a live feed until we introduce you anyway. I'll have another mic for you in case this one's a dud. I swear we've had nothing but technical problems tonight already." She whirls around, whisking the frightened-looking intern away with her and out the door.

  As soon as she leaves, Vi takes the mic pack from my hands. "I'll help you get this on, but there's someone – someones – here to see you."

  My heart races. "They cannot be back here, Vi. You need to tell them to leave."

  "Two seconds," she says, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Brooks and Davis will get them out of here before your parents even get near the building."

  "I don't want to do this here –"

  "Just hear them out, that's all." She gives me a long look. "You admitted yourself that walking out was a mistake. You were afraid. And they make you happy. Make up with them and go home and screw their brains out and be happy."