"Of course." I turn up my chin. "I have had beer before. I enjoy beer."
"Sure you have. Let's go."
We walk briskly, fading into the flow of students. I feel a little more comfortable with the sunglasses covering my eyes. I can look around without worrying about avoiding eye contact.
It takes almost half an hour to reach Main Street with all the foot and vehicle traffic. Dee veers left, heading toward the bar.
It's an aged building, one of the oldest on the block, all brick with big windows. Inside, the floors and furniture and bar are all worn smooth by feet and hands, though the floor is covered in sawdust. Dee and I weave through clusters of students to the bar.
"Barkeep," Dee shouts, slapping the bar. "Bring me two of your finest cheapest beer."
The aging bartender doesn't even spare me a glance as he sets bottles in front of us.
"Run me a tab," Dee says.
"Pay now."
Dee fumbles in her pocket until I slip out a twenty and slap it on the counter. I turn my back to the bar and sip the beer.
It's bitter and watery. I glance at Dee, wondering why she's downed half the bottle already.
Jason
I don't think I'm going to feel dry again for a long time. The mist soaked me to the bone, and my joints are achy and stiff.
After I shower up and dress, I find a cluster of players waiting for me. Aheahe and Akele, my offensive linemen, stand a head taller than everyone else. Even people who know the Thunder Brothers do a double take when they see them. Almost seven feet tall and completely identical—they are twins, after all—the brothers weigh almost a half a ton when you put them both together. Despite their rotund appearance, they're solid masses of muscle and move with a fluid grace made almost eerie by their sheer size.
They both grin when they see me.
"Deerhead!" Akele shouts.
I roll my eyes. Last thing I'm in the mood for is booze. I need a long, hot soak to get the ache out of my joints. The curious fire I felt from seeing the princess on the sidelines has turned into a weight in my chest, like I swallowed a bag of lead and it's working its way down.
I can't deny them though. For one thing, I have to live with these two. Maybe seeing their drunken escapades will cheer me up. They have a massive appetite for alcohol—and everything else, really—and Akele turns into a philosopher when you get the booze in him. Last week he gave the other drunks at the Deerhead a three hour lecture on deindustrialization in the American South and how it relates to… something. He makes it funny somehow.
The players aren't the only ones heading our way. The cheerleading squad has changed into a colorful array of crop tops and booty shorts and is sequining their way down the sidewalk behind us. Gabriel and the color guard are behind them, mingling with a press of students. Quincy is a senior, and he's been the De La Warr Knight, our mascot, for two years. He takes it deadly seriously, especially when he's hammered.
I have a suspicion we'll all be in dire straits tonight. Sure we won, but the Badgers almost clawed our throats out on the field. I feel like half the hits I took should have gotten a penalty flag, and that's just me. Maybe I'm just being a sore winner.
I don't feel like I won anything today.
By the time we get to the bar, I'm ready for a drink after all. I need to loosen up. Maybe this week I'll actually take one of the cleat chasers home with me for the night. For some reason, the thought of that leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
I don't know why. It's not like I have a shot at my dream girl. I'm sure princesses don't frequent dives next to railroad tracks.
Akele and Aheahe stomp into the bar, pressing through the narrow, little doors, and I walk inside behind them.
The world freezes over like someone hit a giant Pause button. I stop in my tracks, because Princess Anastasia herself is sitting in a booth with Dee, holding a beer in her slender fingers.
She looks at me, and it's like a physical blow, all the air shoved out of my lungs at once. I can feel the heat of her gaze on my skin. Her hood is down and her thick, blonde braid hangs over her shoulder down her chest, shining like pale gold in the dim lighting of the bar. The big goofy shades she picked up somewhere make her mysterious, like a femme fatale.
She looks cold, but she must be warm. Warm, soft lips, pale pink like frozen berries. Her jeans cling to the lush, curvy lines of her long legs, and even in a baggy sweatshirt I can tell she's curvaceous and soft in all the right places, begging to be held, caressed, squeezed, licked. My dick starts to harden just from looking at her, and then her eyes lock on mine.
She has the most fucking beautiful eyes I have ever seen.
A cheer goes up in the bar, as if we won a real victory today. The sound washes over me as the princess stares back, and I can barely hear it over the rushing of blood in my ears. I don't know why, but it's like I've never seen her before. Hell, this feels like I've never seen a woman before. Every fiber of my body wants her. I take a step toward her without thinking.
Dee scowls at me, but she takes Anastasia by the hand and pulls her out onto the floor as some jackass puts "We Are the Champions" on the jukebox.
I glance at Akele. He grins.
Ana
"They're here."
A cheer goes up as the players walk in. They no longer wear their uniforms, but they're easy enough to pick out. Even the smallest is one of the largest men in the room.
I recognize Jason as he walks in at the back of the procession, flanked by the two biggest men I have ever seen. Jason is well overs six feet, but they tower over even him and are both twice as wide as he is, so much so they go through the door in single file.
My eyes lock on him and I stare dumbly at him. I have never seen a man so handsome in my life. I can just imagine those full lips on mine, touching his massively muscled chest with my hands. His own look big enough to circle around my waist with ease. A flutter of desire in my chest sends a shiver through my body, and I remember the electric tug I felt toward him on the football field.
"Go talk to him," Dee urges.
"Who, me?"
My answer is cut off by more cheering. There is a music machine in the corner, brightly covered in neon lighting. Someone slaps it and it starts playing a song.
"What is that?" I shout at Dee.
"'We Are the Champions.' Queen. If that thing starts playing Loretta Lynne, run."
"Who?"
"Write it down and look it up later," Dee says, sighing.
I'm about to do just that when she grasps my beer and forces me to tip it back until I've chugged it.
My head swims a little, but I am no stranger to drink. Mother started cutting wine into my water at table when I was thirteen. There is always drinking at state dinners, and I have to be able to keep a clear head.
Nevertheless, I stumble a little bit as she pulls me out onto the floor, at the same time shoving another beer into my hand.
"What are we doing?"
"Dancing," she yells.
Dancing seems to consist of grinding up against other people, who have also been drinking this so-called beer. I gulp some down to wet my dry throat and do my best to start dancing.
I have no idea what I'm doing, but no one seems to care.
By the third beer I have begun to enjoy myself. Sweat prickles on my forehead, so I throw my hood back. Dee gives me a sharp look.
My two-foot-long rope of a braid falls down my back. I turn and suddenly find a pair of arms looping around me.
Jason Powell pulls me against him, my chest pressed to his.
"Hello, Princess."
I flinch. Did anyone else hear him?
My eyes travel from his chest up to his face and meet gaze as he looks down on me. The naked lust in his eyes makes my heart pound, but there is something more. Almost a reverence in the way he looks at me, touches me. He pulls me closer still, and the heat of his body soaks into mine. I can feel the ridged muscles of his belly pressed against my stomach, and my hands rest on his si
des and start moving on their own, caressing him.
"Did you really think I wouldn't recognize you? Your eyes are incredible. Let me have a look at them."
He reaches for my cheap sunglasses, and I smack his hand away.
"You presume too much," I snap.
"Well excuse me, Princess," he grins, resting his arms on my shoulders.
I sway, caught up in the music. He pulls me closer and looks down at me. I am tall for a woman, but he's taller, towering over me by close to a foot.
"What did you think of the game?"
I swallow, hard. I need another beer. Where's Dee?
"You played well."
"Liar," he says. "We got our asses kicked."
"You won."
"It's not about winning."
"No, it ain't," a big voice booms. "It's about a beautiful death."
I flinch at his words. The giant, one of the two that followed Jason into the bar, looms over us both, hefting in one hand an enormous beer mug so large it must hold a liter or more. He drains half of it in one long pull.
"Don't let him scare you," Jason chides me. "I'll protect you. Besides, Akele here is a cuddlebug. He just likes that woo-woo bullshit."
"Woo-woo?"
"He means philosophy," the giant named Akele thunders. "Jason does not understand the ways of the warrior poet."
"Whatever," Jason says.
I start tugging at my hood. The swimming confusion of the alcohol fades and it dawns on me. He knows who I am.
Jason pushes the hood back down as I fumble to pull it up, but my braid dragging it back down.
"Hey, it's okay. We're all friends here."
The other giant strides up and nods his agreement.
I feel a little surrounded.
"Easy," Jason says, letting his arms fall away from me. "Why don't you come over and sit down with us. Akele, grab Dee, will you?"
"You know Dee?"
"Know her?" Akele thunders. His laugh sounds like it comes from a storm cloud. "She's my ex!"
"What are you doing to her?" Dee shouts, appearing behind me. She grabs my arm. "I'm not letting you get your hooks in her, Jason."
"Oh calm down, Dee," Akele rumbles.
"Don't tell me to calm down, gumdrop. Love 'Em and Leave 'Em here isn't touching the Princess."
"I decide who touches me," I cut in, folding my arms over my chest.
"Ana," Dee warns.
"He asked me to sit at a table with him. Not go to bed with him. I think I will."
"Awesome," Jason says, taking my arm. "Barkeep! Two screwdrivers!"
"Stop calling me barkeep!" the barkeep shouts back.
"Make it three," Dee interjects, then loops her arm through mine, on the other side.
Jason rolls his eyes. "I'm insulted. Are you implying I'm going to try to get her drunk?"
"She's already drunk," Dee says.
"So are you, point being?" Jason says.
"I don't know if she can hold her liquor."
"I can hold your liquor," I shout. I drop into the booth, and Dee crowds in next to me. A waitress brings our drinks.
"What is this?" I ask, flicking the glass with my finger. It's orange. That's all I can tell.
"Orange juice and vodka. It's a drink for people who don't fuck around," Jason says.
"Then you should skip it," Dee says, acid in her voice.
I sit up straighter. "So you do not think I fuck around."
"I hope you do."
I blink. "Did you just make a pass at me?"
"I sure did, Princess. Take those glasses off. I want another look at those eyes."
I look at Jason Powell coolly and drain my drink. He does the same. Dee gulps hers down, and I slap my glass on the table.
"More."
"Ana," Dee says, her voice rising.
I look at her. The world only wobbles a little. "Do you think I'm a child? I need four drinks before I'm ready to even finger dance."
"I have no idea what that is, but I think I want to try it," Jason says with a grin.
"No you don't, little man. Are we here to drink or talk?"
"Another round," he yells.
The second drink goes down a bit harder. The third goes down a bit easier.
"So," Jason says, obviously trying to keep his voice from drunken wavering, "What's the whole princess thing like. Do you have a castle and shit?"
I turn up my chin.
"Stop doing the chin thing," Dee sighs, leaning over the table.
"I don't want to talk about castles. I want to dance."
I half shove Dee out of the way and stride back out onto the floor, my hips swaying heavily from side to side. Jason comes up right up behind me, his back pressed to mine. I wiggle my hips and glance over my shoulder at him, grinning.
He is very handsome. When he touches my shoulders, a shiver goes down my spine.
Dee watches us the entire time, paying little attention to her dance partners. Jason seems a gentleman to me; I do not know why she is so worried. Besides, I can handle myself. I am not that kind of princess.
I turn around and face him. The song is not a slow song, but our dance becomes a slow dance.
"Can I ask you something?" he says, grasping my hips.
I rest my arms on his massive shoulders.
"You mean, can you ask me something else."
"Yeah."
"No. Just dance."
"If I told you that you have a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?"
"Do you think I'm a…." I search for the word. "A bimbo?"
"Why would you say that?"
"Because you think I will fall for a dumb pickup line. I am not going to sleep with you, Jason Powell."
"I wasn't thinking of sleeping."
"What were you thinking of?"
I turn around and grind back against him. I know exactly what he was thinking of. I can feel the evidence pressed against my rump.
Very hard, thick evidence. Heat floods my body, the first stirrings of desire. No, not the first, they're too strong to be the first. Something in my mind wakes up and wants me to bend over in front of him. I stop myself and push my back into his chest instead. I can still feel him throbbing against my butt. I want to turn around and leap on him and knock him to the floor. I've never felt this way before. It's intoxicating, gripping. I feel like my blood is on fire.
"I was thinking of how great you'd look on my bed while I rock your world."
"Hmm, good. You can think about that while you are alone with your hand tonight."
I turn around and give him a playful shove with one hand. He doesn't scowl or frown; he grins and steps closer, pulling me into him as we dance.
"Oh, so you're going to play hard to get."
"I'm impossible to 'get.' I am a princess. You should address me as your grace. That is my proper royal style."
"I think your proper style is your birthday suit," he says, running his hands up my sides.
How dare he! I should slap him, but I burst out laughing instead.
"Oh you think you're such a big man. Too much for little old me, right? I'd eat you for breakfast."
"If you let me try eating you, you won't want to."
"Oh, and if I let you take me to bed now, what would you do to me?"
"I'd read you poetry and we'd make s'mores."
"Is that a euphemism?"
"Trust me, after I'm done with you, we'll need s'mores. Baby, you'll be on fire."
"That was a little better than the 'hold it against me' line. You're improving. Perhaps in fifty years a girl might actually kiss you."
"I think you're going to kiss me right now."
I look up at him looking down at me. He does have inviting lips, and a hint of stubble on his chin that I think would feel very good scratching my neck. My pulse quickens at the thought. I find myself staring at him again, and he stares back. He's going to do it. We're going to kiss.
Jason
Yeah. I need to kiss her. Badly.
> This close, I can smell her. Anastasia's scent is exactly what I would expect it to be—sweet and light, like berries and salt, if salt has a smell. She smells like a warm day on the beach, like cake, like a dozen pleasant memories all wrapped up in one. I can't help it, I duck my chin down and sniff her hair and the scent floods my lungs like a drug, burning hot. I fucking need her.
Anastasia looks at me with mismatched bedroom eyes and flexes her body, grinding against me, her lips parted in a sinful suggestion. I see a hint of her little pink tongue as she grinds against my cock, and I want to shove inside her and explode right now. I lean down to kiss her and just take a taste of her lips, but she turns aside, and I brush her cheek with my chin instead. It makes me even harder. Her lips tremble in a tight, playful smirk, like she's laughing at some secret joke.
As the music changes tempo, we sway together. Her eyes grow lidded, going half-closed, and she leans up, lips open and ready as her hands grip my sides, her nails raking down my flanks over my shirt like she's going to claw it open.
Her eyes widen as I grab a double handful of her firm ass, and she digs her nails in harder, in challenge. My hands slide up her back and catch her top for a moment, and I feel a hint of silky-smooth skin against my fingers before it falls back down. Her hands spread wide across my chest, and she digs her fingertips into my muscle, and her hot breath washes over my chin.
We writhe together, wrapped up in the heat of the music. I almost kiss her once, twice, but she pulls away, mischief sparkling in her otherworldly eyes. She spins in my grip and grinds her ass on my dick, and I take her hips and pull her to me, driving against her. Fuck, even her back is sexy.
My hands almost reach her chest before she pushes my wrists down and holds my palms against her stomach. Her body flexes under my grip as she undulates against me, her back rubbing against my chest as her rump rubs against my throbbing cock, and it's like I swallowed the sun and it's burning through my veins all around my body.
I have to have this girl. I have to.
"Let's get out of here."
She turns me around, suddenly holding me at arm's length with her hands on my chest. I rest my forearms on her shoulders as she gropes me. I flex my muscles under her grip, and I swear I can hear her getting wet as she gasps a soft breath through her pursed lips.
Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance) Page 2