Heat spiraled up through my stomach and chest, forcing me to bite back something like a gasp. I had no words for a response, no idea how to act. If I should press closer, something almost obscene—if I should pull away, give us both some space to calm down, regain propriety.
He had other things in mind apparently, because he pulled back, looked me in the eye, his own eyes glimmering just for me. “Do you want to see the VIP rooms in the back?” he asked, and in that moment there wasn’t one single part of me that wanted to say no.
The universe thought differently, however.
“Reade! Oh my God.” The squeal came from somewhere to the left, cutting through the soft music and the tension holding me in a spell. Reade blinked, something like irritation flitting over his face as his jaw twitched, and then he stepped away from me, pasted on a grin, held up his arms. “The birthday girl,” he drawled, his tone oddly pleasant and…well, brotherly. Entirely different to the tone he’d breathed into my ear only a few moments before.
It seemed the birthday girl wasn’t in the mood for a birthday hug. She had a face like thunder as she stomped over to us, and there was no denying this was Reade’s sister—she looked almost identical to him, with the same dark eyes and hair, the perfectly angled face, the almost invisible smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. But she didn’t possess his same charm, not with her face twisted into anger, the reason for which came all too clear when Reade said, “Hey, Georgia, let me to introduce my date—” But Georgia cut him off with a snarl.
“I don’t care what her name is,” she said. “You need to make her go and change her dress.”
I jerked my head back. “What?” Change this dress? This dress? God himself wouldn’t get me out of this dress, not after how long I’d wanted it. Birthday girl or not, Georgia Lennox did not get to dictate what I wore, for God’s sake.
“We can’t wear the same thing!” Georgia hissed, and yeah—I could see it now, after taking a moment to look at what the she had draped over her slim, youthful frame.
We were both wearing slinky red dresses, although I didn’t think they were that similar, not up close. Georgia’s didn’t even have the beading in the hem. Although I guessed at a distance they could be mistaken for the same, if you squinted.
“And this is my party,” Georgia added, thrusting her hands on her hips. She looked in her early twenties, but in that moment she could’ve passed for a petulant teen, stamping her foot for Mommy and Daddy.
Reade’s eyes narrowed, something harsh forming, and I didn’t want this night spoiled—or to get caught in the middle of a sibling argument. I stepped forward and hitched on a smile. “Hey Georgia, can I just say how lovely you—”
She raised a hand, and the look on her face was full of so much condescension that for a brief moment, I imagined wiping it off her with a well-placed slap.
“I know you’re feeling pretty special right now,” Georgia said bitingly. “What are you? A cheerleader? An underwear model? Trust me, you’re nothing more than his latest fling—”
“Georgia.” Reade’s tone was sharp and dark, and a shiver coiled around my spine. There was something within me that almost liked that voice on him. “Enough.”
“Reade—”
“You’re being a rude brat, cut it out,” he said, sounding more like her father than her big brother. “I’ll give you a few minutes to think about your behavior.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but he soundly cut her off by pointedly turning his back on her. “Come on,” he murmured to me, touching my elbow and encouraging me to turn with him and walk away. I got one last look at Georgia’s gaping mouth and her eyes full of fury, before falling into step with Reade.
“Listen, I’m sorry,” Reade said, embarrassment now evident in his tone. “My sister can be…difficult.”
I waved him off, because what did I care about a bratty sister? Except…well. I hadn’t planned on getting involved with a man whose sister hated me. It was a complication I didn’t need.
This is just a date, I reminded myself as he led me away from the dance floor, his hand warm on the small of my back. It doesn’t have to be anything more than this, no matter how close you’d come to almost following him back to the VIP rooms… I swallowed thickly and smiled up at him when he suggested we swing by the bar for fresh champagne.
He got stopped by a stuffy-looking gentleman who immediately pulled him into a conversation about the press allegations, and I broke away from him, heading over to the bar to get the drinks myself. Once there, I got talking with the bartender, a Latina woman who introduced herself as Jazz, purple streaks in her hair and an oversized nose ring decorating her face. “No offense but you don’t look like you belong with this crowd,” Jazz drawled, and it pushed us into a conversation about the obscene wealth that emanated from everyone in this place, how no one here had a stray hair or a bit of smudged make up. “You’re about the only real person I’ve seen here tonight,” Jazz whispered to me, pretending to be busy with champagne flutes as she eyed the crowd.
My gaze drifted over to Reade as I watched him talk in animated gestures, and I smiled. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”
Afterwards, two champagne flutes in hand, I met Reade in the middle and he suggested we head out to the rooftop to get some fresh air. He’d apparently gotten into an argument and needed to cool off. The temperature outside was chilly but not unpleasant; he draped his jacket over my shoulders as we strolled towards a bench sitting amongst rose bushes planted on the roof, with twinkling fairy lights overhead and moonlight spilling onto the vast expanse of the hotel. We could still hear the music and the chatter, just slightly, and the soft sounds mixed with the scent of Reade’s cologne lulled me into a sense of comfort and ease, allowing me to sit a little closer to him, feel his warmth.
“So…” I said, taking a sip of my champagne. “Latest fling, huh?”
He eyed me, something like a dry joke on his face. “You’re not a fling or my latest anything. You’re my date,” he said, hand coming down on mine where I had it laid against my thigh, “and I’m pretty fucking happy to have you on my arm tonight.” He stroked his thumb over my knuckles, adding, “Ignore her,” and my heart gave a stammered beat.
“This place is beautiful,” I said after a few moments of quiet. “Must cost a fortune to rent out the whole lounge for an event like this.”
He waited a beat, then said carefully, “A fortune is relative.”
It took me a second to realize what he meant, and I quirked my mouth into a smile. “Yeah,” I drawled, pressing the rim of my glass to my lip. “Because you’re an NFL player. And your father owns the team and probably half this town.” He raised an eyebrow at that, and I waved my glass at him. “I read the papers,” I said. “Your fame goes beyond just Sports Illustrated, you know.” At his continued look of amusement, I added almost defensively, “Plus, I googled you.”
“Hmm.” He put his glass on the ground and shifted closer, twined his fingers through and around mine, playing with them almost absently—at least for him, because I was acutely aware of it, every second of his touch sending electric bolts into my gut. “Find anything interesting?”
His women. His cars. His MVP title. His public outbursts. All that money…
“You’re a very busy man,” I said, and polished off the last of my champagne, bubbles fizzing in my throat.
He inclined his head. “I am.”
“Is that why you’re still single? I mean, the media has linked you to no end of beauties.”
He took the empty glass from me and placed it on the ground beside his own. “Maybe I was waiting for you,” he said, the words sounding almost careless, thrown out there like he thought they wouldn’t have any effect on me. Like he wouldn’t trip my heart, or make me want to press into his heat.
He looked back at me, straight-faced and surprisingly sincere.
My breath hitched. “Now that sounds like a line you use on every girl you meet.”
“And yet, strangely, it’s the first time I’ve ever said it.” He smiled and brought his spare hand up to brush a loose strand of hair from my face. “I’ve been thinking about you since the first time we met.”
“I doubt that,” I said, and I couldn’t help the undignified snort that escaped me. The idea that I’d made that much of an impact on him…I wasn’t buying it.
And yet, he did call me. He bought me this dress. He was here with me now, at a family event.
He tilted his head and asked in soft tones, “Why do you find it so hard to believe my attraction to you?” Then he brought our joined hands to his mouth, pressed his lips against the back of my knuckles—the briefest, most delicate touch, almost like an afterthought, and yet I was reeling from it. He touched me like it was the most natural thing in the world and I didn’t know how to deal with it, how to calm my body, how to tell myself this was meaningless, it was just a date…he was just having some fun…
“If anyone should be insecure here,” he added, his expression unguarded and disarming, “it’s me.”
Yeah, right. I blinked myself out of my hazy thoughts and said, “What?” He had to be kidding. Insecure—him? He had everything going for him, with the whole world at his feet, and there was no possible way he wasn’t teasing me here, making me think he carried any vulnerability with him.
But he wasn’t kidding apparently, because he smiled wryly, ran the fingers of his spare hand along the edge of my hem, tracing over my thigh. My skin pebbled with gooseflesh.
“It’s hard to know if you’re interested in me,” he said, “or this dress,” and it was like the breeze disappeared and the music stopped and he stared at me, and I held my breath, and I licked my lips to speak but my words came out as little more than a whisper.
“You could kiss me,” I said, in the boldest moment of my life, “and find out.”
And he did, instantly and without hesitation. Cupped my face and brought me in and pressed his soft lips to mine. I made a sound that got caught somewhere in my throat and he parted his lips, licked into my mouth and I tasted him, and moonlight shone through my closed eyelids, made me feel dreamlike and drifting as he pulled in closer and wrapped an arm around my waist and kissed me deep.
He kissed without reservation, without fear. Kissed like he wanted to taste the very air in my lungs. Made small, stifled noises and held me tight and my mind couldn’t catch up to what was happening but I didn’t care, I just held on.
“Ahem,” said a wholly unwelcome voice nearby, but I didn’t pay it any attention, and neither did Reade. He leaned his weight into me, made me tilt backwards, almost as if he was going to lay me out on this bench and—
“Reade,” the unwelcome voice said.
Reade stiffened instantly, the kiss coming to a shuddering halt, and his hand, which had been dragging up my back towards my zipper, went still and hard against me.
Then he pulled away, his lips slick in the moonlight, and looked up at the figure currently cutting a shadow across our little bubble of intimacy.
“Dad.”
Oh God. Instant embarrassment burned through me and I sat up, wiped a hand over my mouth, and tried to look up at Mr. Lennox but found I couldn’t, not yet.
“Reade,” his father repeated. “Have you forgotten the speech you’re supposed to be giving?”
“No.” Reade’s voice came out cracked and dry and he cleared his throat, smoothing hands down his thighs. “I’m coming now.”
There was a long pause, and the tension of it was too much for me to bear—I looked up into the face of Vernon Lennox and felt the sobering sensation of a bucket of ice water being poured very slowly down my back.
He didn’t look at me.
“Need I remind you,” he said to his son, “that half the people in that room are highly influential NFL media contacts I introduced you to. People our team depends on—especially right now,” he added, arching an eyebrow over cold eyes, “while we weather this storm.”
“Don’t you think I’m aware?” Reade’s jaw was locked tight, and he gave his father an icy glare. “I said I’m coming.”
“We’ve talked about this,” Vernon said. “There’s a plan in place for you—and it doesn’t involve wasting your time on inconsequential distractions.” His eyes flicked to me, before training back on his son. “You can’t be a football player forever, you know. You need to think of your future and repairing the damaged reputation of our team. An event like this is a prime opportunity to create certain links—”
Reade got to his feet, effectively cutting his father off. He didn’t quite get into his face, but he gave off a vibe that said very clearly that he was done with this discussion. “I said I’m coming to give the speech,” he snapped. “Just give me a fucking minute.”
For a worrying instant, it looked as if Vernon planned on starting an argument, with his face twisting and his eyes flashing. But then he shot me a thunderous look as if he put the blame for this squarely at my feet, and stormed away.
Reade released a breath and held out his hand for me, and I took it without question, unable to even consider his touch. I was reeling from Vernon’s words, and the world didn’t feel as steady beneath my feet as I stood up.
“I feel like this night is just gonna be me apologizing for my family over and over.”
“It’s okay,” I said, speaking through a throat dry with shock. “Go and do your duty.”
“You’re not coming?”
I looked at him and saw his concern. Saw echoes of his desire for me.
Saw the younger version of his father’s impulsive eyes, shaped into a handsomer face.
“I’ll wait here for a while,” I said, trying on a smile. “The night’s so beautiful.”
When he left, with a lingering kiss on my cheek, I sat heavily on the bench and dropped my face into my hands, shuddering out a breath that felt heavy with loss. The feeling twisting around my heart wasn’t one I could put into words, but it felt a little like I was mourning something I didn’t even have yet.
Chapter Five
Reade
I was pissed at my father, and pissed at my sister, and pissed at myself for subjecting Kylie to my fucking obnoxious family.
Our first date should’ve gone a lot smoother. Instead I’d brought her to the world’s most boring birthday party, and exposed her to my family in all their glory.
She deserved my protection and care, and instead I’d thrown her to the wolves.
I gave my speech, denying all allegations, because that was my duty, and amidst the smattering of applause, I slipped away and headed back towards the gardens, eager to see her again.
I was stopped in my tracks by my mother, because obviously I hadn’t had my fill of annoying relatives just yet.
“Reade, honey,” she said—no hello, no kiss, no anything other than her calculated attempts to extend the family’s influence, proven a moment later when she continued, “There’s someone here I need you to meet. She’s the daughter of Colin Montgomery—you know him. Very big in media comm—”
I pulled my wrist out of her grip. “I have a date waiting for me, Mother.”
“A date? Who?”
I considered saying her name, but that would leave her exposed to more of my family’s scrutiny. “You don’t know her.”
“I know everyone,” she said lowly, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“She’s not from…these circles.”
My mother stared at me, distaste slowly filtering into her eyes. “Then why are you wasting your time again?” she asked me. “We’ve been telling you for months that you need to start focusing on finding a match that’ll benefit both you and your—”
I’d heard enough, and it was a phrase she’d repeated to me a thousand times before. I was pretty sure I would go fucking nuts if I heard the words “match” and “suitable wife” one more time.
“Mother,” I said, cutting her off. “I’ve got to go.” Then I tried to walk away, but she caught my wrist a
gain, sharp red-painted nails digging into my skin in warning. I had to steady my breath not to blow up.
“I don’t approve of this,” she said, and I pulled myself away from her.
“Do you really think I care?”
Outside, on the rooftop, I found Kylie talking to a guy I didn’t know. He was skinny and barely taller than her, so I was pretty sure he was not an athlete. A journalist maybe? Then I caught a whiff of their conversation, and my blood began to boil.
“Oh, come on,” the weasel was saying. “Just one dance. Obviously your date has forgotten all about you.”
“Actually, I just want to be left alo—…Reade?” she finally saw me, and took a sharp step away from the guy.
“What the fuck did you want with her?” I barked out, barely able to contain my voice. The kid was still smiling, fucking idiot. That loser grin had to be quickly extinguished. Preferably with my fist on his teeth.
“Hey, man, I was just keeping your lady entertained while you were busy. No harm done, I swear.” He was backing away already. Fucking pussy.
“I thought you wanted a dance. Huh? You still want that dance, buddy?”
“No, man. Totally kidding. Ha-ha. I would never try to catch a dance with one of your girls,” he said, his eye refusing to meet mine. And then the idiot added under his breath, “As if you would see her again, entitled prick.”
What the poor douche-bag didn’t know was that I had perfect hearing. And that was all I needed. My fist flew in the air before his words even fully registered, landing on his jaw with a satisfying thwack. His head flew back, and I advanced on him again.
“Reade, stop it!” Kylie yelled, and it was like an alarm clock going off somewhere in the periphery of my mind. Except I didn’t want to wake up. I wanted to end this guy. “He just wanted to chat, he’s harmless,” I heard her say in a pleading voice.
Bad Boy's Cinderella: A Sports Romance Page 4