Perfect Game

by Collette West

  I humor him, tapping his glass before draining mine in one gulp, relishing the burn. "Man, how did Chase do it?" I ask angrily, glancing around at the temptation that's surrounding me. "How did he go off women like that, cold turkey?"

  "Because he knew what he wanted. Don't you?" he replies, reaching for the bottle again.

  "I mean, look at that girl on the dance floor grinding it out there," I groan.

  Jackson leans forward, whistling when he sees the little, blond hottie I'm talking about.

  "My dick is telling me I could be all over that fine piece of ass if I walked up behind her and pulled those sweet hips of hers up against me. It wouldn't take much to ease my fuckin' anxiety."

  "But is that what you really want?" he asks, unable to tear his eyes away from her gyrating hips.

  "I haven't gotten laid since we broke camp in Panama, Jackson." I take the vodka from him and chug it straight from the bottle.

  "Damn, man. You?" His eyes dart back to me, my statement the only thing able to take his attention away from the blonde on the dance floor.

  "Yeah, I know," I moan, feeling the alcohol rush to my head and sliding the bottle back to him.

  "Finish it," he says, shoving it back to me. "It's all yours."

  "I just need to forget for a while, you know?" I reply, taking him up on his offer.

  "What? Carrie won't put out for you?" Jackson questions, shooting me a knowing glance.

  "Uh…no."

  "Sucks for you," he snickers.

  "Why are you laughing?" I glare at him.

  "'Cause she stuck to her end of the deal, and you've never hit better, Scotty-Boy. Just goes to show that you don't know your own strength."

  "What do you mean by that?"

  Jackson reaches over to grab my shoulder. "I hate to break it to you, but you're practically in a committed relationship now, dude, being that you haven't nailed any other chick since you met this McKenzie broad."

  "Because I'm holding out for her." I give him too honest of an answer, the liquor loosening my tongue.

  "Have you ever held out this long for any girl?"

  "Never."

  "Well, there you go." Jackson smirks. "She already has you whipped."

  I stare down into my empty glass. "Or maybe I'm just sick of playing the field."

  "Yeah, tell that to your dick," he laughs, opening another bottle. "Drink up, Scotty-Boy."

  ***

  "You are here to get some from your ex, aren't you?"

  I lift my head off the bar, and the room is spinning. "Wh…what?"

  "Isn't that Jessica Wallace over there?" Jackson asks, elbowing his way in next to me from two barstools away.

  "Where?" I mumble, trying to get my bearings.

  He puts his hands on both sides of my head and moves it in the right direction. "There."

  I gulp when I see her. "Shit…yeah."

  She's in a simple, black tank and jeans, but she still stands out from the crowd. It's that "it factor" that made her a star and what attracted me to her in the first place. I thought she was funny, always speaking her mind, not caring who was listening. She's opinionated and smart, a refreshing change from the airheads I usually hook up with. I just never realized how unstable she was until I got to know her. Once she gets her claws in, she never lets go. She thought I'd be her little bitch boyfriend on her arm at premieres and award shows. I don't think so.

  "Jesus, dude. Did you really come here to hook up with Jess?" Jackson yells in my ear.

  "No! Big D. was supposed to warn me if something like this happened." I dig my phone out of my pocket. "Fuck, I have three missed calls from him."

  "Yeah, you're pretty trashed," Jackson chuckles. "I don't think you'd know your own name right now, much less your ringtone."

  "Jackson, you gotta help me get outta here." I try to stand up. "I can't be seen anywhere near that girl."

  "I think it's too late for that. She's already spotted you."

  And Jess bears down on me like a thunderhead. She starts screaming from half a room away. "Thanks for jumping out of my limo in the middle of traffic, asshole!"

  "Here we go," I moan, feeling like my head is going to explode.

  "Yikes. You're on your own, dude. I came here to have a good time, not listen to some scorned movie star bitch you out." Jackson slides off his stool, grabbing his drink.

  "Thanks, Jackson. Thanks a lot." I give him an aggrieved look as he backs away.

  He throws, "Hey, you made your own bed, Scotty-Boy," in my face before blending into the crowd.

  "Jess, I was just leaving," I say hastily, throwing a wad of bills on the bar.

  "Like hell you were. You can't even stand up." She glares at me with her hands on her hips.

  "It's late, and we have a game tomorrow." I feed her the usual excuse. "I gotta go."

  "So does that schmuck, but he's still here," she says, lifting her chin to where Jackson is chatting up the hot blonde we were staring at before. Jess steps in front of me, blocking my path, and I know she's far from done with me. "I keep seeing those photos of you with that tramp reporter kissing your bat. What the hell is that all about, huh? You think you can replace me with a set of double Ds and act like the photos we took together mean nothing to you?"

  "Jess, not now," I groan, doing my best to move toward the exit.

  "I know you want me. You're practically saluting me down there." Her eyes drop suggestively below my belt.

  "Jesus. Back off, all right?" I growl, trying to push past her.

  "C'mon, big boy." She stalks toward me until my back is up against the far end of the bar.

  I lift my head away from her when she steps between my legs and tries to kiss me. She persists, pressing her breasts against my chest in time to the music, grinding her core against my aching cock. I don't want her. My dick is just long overdue for a release. I grit my teeth when she slams my hands onto her waist, guiding my rhythm, while she works herself over me.

  God, I'm so drunk that I almost don't even care. Everyone's already seen the photo of my dick in Jessica Wallace's hand. So what does it matter? I'm sick of having to prove myself, especially to assholes like Charles McKenzie. Why bother? There's no salvaging my reputation now. I'm just a loser who gets by on his looks. Everybody knows that.

  "Let me be the one to break your streak and show all those other one-time girls you've been with that you couldn't get enough of me," Jess whispers against my jaw, her fingers on the top button of my pants.

  "Jesus, Jess." I spread my legs farther apart, closing my eyes.

  "That's it. Let me take care of you, baby," she says, lulling me into a false sense of security.

  She grabs my shirt, lifting herself up, and before I know it, she's pressing her lips to mine. She kisses me hard, feverishly, possessively, and I don't like it. It doesn't feel good. It doesn't give me that sensation of flying I get whenever Carrie kisses me. Instead, it feels heavy, like she's shackling me to her, forcing me to do things I don't want to do.

  "Stop!" I cry out, shoving her away from me.

  She peers up at me, startled. "Why are you playing hard to get now? If you don't want this, then why are you as hard as a rock for me, huh?"

  "Because I'm loaded," I respond bitterly, wiping my mouth.

  "And horny, I think." She smiles, a predatory glint in her eye. "You know I can help you with that. Take me home and let's finish this."

  No way. I have to get out of here. I can't stop until I'm free of her. I start running clumsily through Rosewood, probably looking like a complete fool, but I don't care. I have to get away from her before I do something stupid, something I won't be able to take back.

  I rush down the steps and keep going until I burst through the main door and stumble across Big D.

  He catches me, breaking my fall. "Didn't you get my calls?" he asks, looking at me worriedly.

  "A little too late," I mutter, feeling like I'm going to puke.

  "All right. Let me get you a cab," he says, poi
nting at my pocket. "Are you gonna get that?"

  I blink at him until I hear the muffled ring of my phone. I mistakenly hit the speaker button while trying to answer it and Jess's agitated voice comes through loud and clear.

  "Scott, you are not walking away from me again!"

  Big D. props me up on my feet, his arm around my shoulders, as flashbulbs start to go off all around us. Leave it to Jess to be calling me already. It's just like her.

  "Jess, it's over, all right? I'm with somebody else now." I clutch my stomach, hating that she drew me into something I didn't even want. "I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry."

  "You're gonna be the one who's sorry!" she screams, hanging up on me.

  "That didn't sound too good," Big D. mumbles, opening the door of the cab that just pulled up and depositing me in the backseat.

  "What more can she do to me?" I ask.

  He looks in at me, shaking his head. "A girl like that? Plenty."

  "Let's hope you're wrong, Big D."

  But we both know he's right.

  He gives me a sad grin, shutting the door and tapping the roof of the cab for the driver to go.

  I rub my forehead and stare blindly out the window. Who am I kidding? I don't want Jess. I never wanted Jess. I only want Carrie.

  I swear to God I'm never drinking with Jackson again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Carrie

  "Holy shit, Carrie. You gotta see this," Alex says, hoisting herself onto my bed and scooting up beside me.

  "What?" I mumble, turning over as she shoves her phone in my face. "Jeez, Alex. Gimme a minute. I'm not even awake yet."

  "It's photos of Scott…with Jessica Wallace," she pronounces like it's a death sentence.

  "Yeah, so?" I squint at the screen, not having my contacts in. "Nothing I haven't seen before."

  "But it's not what you think." Alex gets up on her knees next to me. "It's not the naked selfies."

  "What, then?" I grumble, trying to ignore the feeling of dread invading my stomach.

  Alex consolingly pats my arm, her eyes full of concern, which is freaking me out even more. She takes a shaky breath. "It's photos from last night at Rosewood."

  I sit straight up, grabbing her phone and holding it right up to my face. "You have to be kidding me!"

  "He's full-on kissing her on the lips," Alex says despondently.

  "And you're sure these are from last night?" I ask, frantically trying to come up with some kind of explanation for them.

  "Yeah. TMZ posted them a little while ago, and that's the same shirt he was wearing when he left here, isn't it?" She leans in toward me, tapping her finger to the screen to enlarge the photo.

  "I can't believe he'd do this to me, especially after what Dad threatened him with." My hands start to shake as I lower her phone onto my lap.

  "Maybe that's why he did it," Alex murmurs, hanging her head. "To show that no one ties Scott Harper down. Not even you."

  "Yeah, but when he left here, he was tense after what happened. But"—I run my fingers through my hair—"I thought he'd tell me it was over before…" I can't even bring myself to say it.

  "Well, you thought wrong," Alex says softy, giving me a hug, but that only makes it hurt all the more.

  "I can't believe it!" I cry, balling the blanket up in my hand. "I thought I knew him, like really knew him. Alex, it felt like he was opening up and letting me in, but what if he was just playing me the whole time…just like every other guy I've ever been with?"

  "I don't think so, sis." Alex tips my chin so up that I'll look at her. "He seemed genuine enough to me. Yeah, he was thrown for a loop when he found out who our grandfather is, but he recovered nicely. He even stood up to Dad."

  "That's why none of this makes any sense." I bend my knees, resting my chin on them.

  "You have to talk to him. Straighten it all out," Alex urges, running her hand up and down my back. "Text him that you wanna meet for coffee or something."

  "Give me my phone." I hold out my hand.

  Alex stretches over, retrieving it off the bedside table for me. "Let him have it, Carrie. Give it to him good."

  She remains quiet while I type away furiously:

  How dare you do this! Do I really mean that little to you? Are you such a prick that the minute things get a little rough you have to go and throw it all away? I deserve an explanation, and you're sure as hell gonna give me one.

  "All right. Sent." I lean back, feeling exhausted even though I just woke up.

  "What did you say to him?" Alex inquires, looking at me anxiously.

  "Enough."

  My phone pings two seconds later. I look down and see that it's him.

  "Wow. That was fast!" Alex exclaims.

  I pick up my phone, hardly believing what I'm reading.

  I'm standing outside your front door. Can I come in?

  "Shit, he's here." I nervously glance at Alex wondering if Dad left for work yet or if even came back at all last night.

  "Man," Alex puffs out her cheeks before letting the air out of them in a rush. "He's ballsy."

  "Yeah. Tell me about it."

  We hear the doorbell, and my heart starts to race.

  Alex grabs my arm. "Carrie, what are you going to do?"

  "I'll take him out back on the terrace." I roll my legs off the bed, thinking it through as I talk. "Can you make sure nobody interrupts us?" I slide my feet into a pair of slippers and start combing my hair back with my hands. "This won't take long."

  "Are you really gonna break it off with him?" Alex asks, handing me a hair tie off my dressing table.

  "I don't know, but I'm not in the mood to hear a bunch of excuses. If he tries to lie his way out of this, I'm done." I grit my teeth, hating how he put me in the exact position I never wanted to find myself in again—the somewhat-girlfriend of a lousy, cheating ballplayer. Then I toss a bulky terry cloth robe over my nightie, tightly cinching the waist.

  No matter how much I'm attracted to Scott Harper, I'm not going to be made to look like a fool by him or anyone else.

  ***

  I pace up and down the stone walkway, shivering against the damp morning air. It's April, but it sure doesn't feel like it. Damn, these New York springs.

  I stop when I hear Reginald say, "Miss McKenzie is right through those doors, Mr. Harper. She's expecting you."

  "Thanks, Reginald," Scott replies.

  I almost don't recognize his voice. It's raspy and hoarse like he's been up all night. And when I see how terrible he looks as he steps onto the terrace, it's clear that he was.

  He comes to a halt and just stands there staring at me, looking for all the world like the most guilt-ridden man alive.

  "Can I get you anything to drink, sir?" Reginald beckons, ever the proper host.

  "He's fine, Reginald," I snap. "He won't be staying long."

  "Very good, miss." Reginald closes the glass double doors, giving us some privacy.

  "Sit down," I command, taking a seat on the base of the fountain, not trusting my legs to support me—not with the way he's looking at me.

  "Listen, I can explain." Scott advances. "It's not what you think."

  "Scott, the minute I let you into my bed, why did I know that, someday, we'd be having this conversation?" I sigh, running my hand across my forehead. "If not about Jessica Wallace, then about somebody else?"

  "Care Bear, look at me," he pleads, reaching for my hand.

  "Don't think you can talk your way out of this," I bristle, hating how good his fingers feel against my skin.

  But he doesn't start on a litany of excuses. He waits until I meet his gaze. Then he leans forward, piercing me with the sincerity in his eyes.

  "She kissed me."

  I pull my hand away and hug my arms to my chest, kicking myself for how much I want to believe him.

  I catch a tear that is threatening to fall, making it look like I'm just rubbing my eyes. "Yeah, with your hands on her hips."

  He slides his hand bene
ath the folds of my robe. "I was drunk. Really, really drunk."

  "And that excuses everything, right? Because you didn't know what you were doing." I glare at him, hating how much this hurts. "Yeah, somehow, I'm just not buying it."

  "I'm trying to be up front with you." He sits down next to me. "I was outside, waiting all night. I rang the doorbell the minute you texted me. I couldn't sleep."

  "Yeah, I hear guilt does that to a person."

  "But the old me wouldn't have given a fuck. I would've blown you off and not even have thought twice about it."

  I recoil at his words, but he draws me back to him.

  "But I can't do that to you. You deserve an explanation. You deserve the truth."

  "The truth. What's that?" I sputter. "Do I even want to know?"

  He turns my face to him, caressing my cheek with the back of his hand. "I haven't had sex since the last night we spent together. I've never gone that long without getting laid before. And the funny thing is I don't want to sleep with anyone else, I just wanna be with you."

  "But you were all over her, Scott." I glare at him, tugging his shirt in frustration. "I saw the photos online."

  "I'm not saying that, if an attractive woman sticks her tongue down my throat, my body isn't gonna respond. It's second nature to me." His words burn like acid, and I struggle against him when his hands encircle my wrists, holding me close to him. "But I pushed her away. I shot her down. I sent her home—alone."

  "What was she even doing there?" I cry bitterly when he pulls me to his chest, resting his head atop mine.

  "I dunno," he says, stroking my hair, trying to calm me so that I'll listen to him. "I went to hang out with Jackson and bumped into Drake. Then, about an hour later, Jess walked in." His hand stops moving. "Oh, and while we're on the subject, Drake knows all about you."

  "What do you mean?" I sit back to examine his face, searching his eyes for an explanation.

  "He's known who you are from the get-go," Scott says, his cheeks getting red. "He remembered you from some on-the-field event years ago."

  "But you didn't, right?" I goad him, knowing he'd never look twice at the fatty I used to be.