Playing To Win: The Complete King Brothers Collection (A Contemporary Romance Box Set)

by Teagan Kade

  Maybe the hurt’s put a dampener on it too, the idea he’d go off with another girl so easily, ‘cheat’ on me even though I know that’s not the right way to put it. The fact he cannot remember us and everything we had planned—that hurts far more than any casual fling.

  He’s a little more subdued when I arrive. Maybe it’s the on-off rain outside or the frustration at trying to work through these papers, but he remains far less talkative than previous encounters. Of course, this doesn’t stop him openly trying to flirt with me. At least that provides the quick ego boost I so desperately need.

  I catch him side-eyeing me at one stage while I pretend to scroll through my phone. He licks his lips, a clear sign I’m making him nervous.

  Good.

  He leans back in his chair twirling his pen through his fingers and I just know I’m about be to hit on.

  Be cool. “Struggling with those Hamiltonian dynamics?” I ask, my tone even and casual.

  Titus smirks. “I know why a bouncy ball does what it does.”

  “Is that so?”

  His eyes fall to my chest. “And other, more complex dynamic systems.”

  I laugh it off. “Next you’ll be ranting about ass conjecture.”

  “Which was shown false by Huang and Sudakov.”

  “Hmm,” I muse, “perhaps you didn’t forget everything.”

  Only what’s important, my head adds.

  “Given your pea brain is swimming in the gutter then, perhaps you can tell me what the tits alternative is?”

  He smiles because he knows. “A group is said to satisfy the tits alternative if it is either virtually solvable or contains a free subgroup of rank at least two… but I’m more of an ass man. You want to continue with the Wiener measure, Cox-Zucker machine, perhaps? Because I can talk dirty all damn day, baby.”

  I’ve missed him calling me that, as lurid as it is in context here. I try not to let it show and fold my lips, playing along. “I trust you’re familiar with the Hairy Ball Theorem?” I can never say it keeping a straight face.

  “You can’t comb a hairy ball, I know, I know.”

  “Because there is no nonvanishing continuous tangent vector fiend on even-dimensional n-spheres.”

  “Keep talking,” he smiles. “You’re turning me on.”

  “Is this your seduction method, how you ‘game’ the other Crestfall girls? Dirty math isn’t really my style.”

  Damn. I think I’m getting good at this.

  He smiles. “What is your style, Ms. Riordan?”

  “You know my last name?” I ask, hopeful.

  His gaze shifts to my notebook on the desk. “It’s written right there.”

  And snap, the hope is snuffed away.

  “You sure you want to study, because I could think of a whole list of far more exciting activities that involve numbers. Like, say—”

  I remember this exact line. “Like sixty-nine?”

  He jerks back a little before correcting. “Great minds think alike.”

  “Not that alike. You ready to drop this sleaze act so we can actually have a conversation instead of talking like some porn botnet?”

  He looks back through the window where the rain’s continuing to fall in a murky blur. His eyes find me, somehow glacial and burning at the same time. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

  I shake my head. “Afraid not.”

  He puts his hands out. “So tell me what I have to do. I don’t think a dozen roses is going to fly, and I doubt a box of chocolates is going to be much better.”

  “I am partial to chocolate,” I purr, which you would remember if only you could get your damn brain in order.

  “There’s that new chocolate café on Main. What do you say?”

  “We should really get back to your studies.”

  He puts his hands together and I’m reminded of the charming side of him I fell in love with, which only makes it that much harder to resist him. “Please, break the rules, for me. Just this one time.”

  “I’m not forcing you to study,” I tell him. “I’m trying to help you, remember?”

  “And I am trying to get you to smile a little, so help me out. I promise we can do all the mind-numbing math you want tomorrow. Hell, I’ll linear algebra my ass off if that’ll do it.”

  “I’m not that cruel,” I tell him. “Perhaps regression algebra is more appropriate?”

  He laughs. “I took a knock to the head. I’m not ready for the retirement home.”

  I roll my shoulders back. “I’ll be the judge of that, thank you.”

  Smiling, he reaches to the bed and takes my jacket, tossing it to me. “Come on, we’ll walk.”

  “But it’s raining,” I protest.

  “Which is why the ancients invented the umbrella, I imagine.”

  He stands, waiting for me. “Let’s go. There’s a tutti frutti waffle with my name on it.”

  I nod at his stomach. “Shouldn’t you be watching what you eat, elite athlete and all?”

  His smile grows and god I miss it. “Baby, athletes eat and train. We don’t diet and exercise.”

  It’s true. I’ve seen him put away a meal for four and somehow look even more toned and cut the following morning. It’s like he’s got an incinerator inside him. Kind of wish my body worked the same way. “That’s fine for you, but I’m no athlete.”

  “Not even a mathlete? I’d bet my left ball you were in math club in high school.”

  We’ve had this conversation before, but I’m happy to relive it. “I was at an Olympiad almost every weekend.”

  “While the other girls were busy cheerleading and deciding who to blow behind the bleachers, right?”

  “Right,” I laugh, only because it’s true.

  He extends his arm. “Come on.”

  I loop mine through it smiling because this feels just like it was, so natural and easy and meant to be.

  I just hope it lasts.

  *

  The chocolate shop is bustling, but as always, the sea of people parts for Titus. He’s Moses with a six pack.

  The waitress brings over our meals, and that’s exactly what they are. Titus has two waffles piled high with strawberries and banana, chocolate running like a river from top to bottom.

  “I think my arteries are clogging up just looking at that thing,” I tell him.

  He takes his fork. “When you’re a King, dear Maya, cheat day is every day.”

  By comparison, my tiny chocolate sundae seems somehow underwhelming. I dig in—literally. “Do your brothers share this view?”

  He scoffs. “My brothers do what they damn well please. You try to tell them to do something and I guarantee they’ll do the exact opposite. It’s always been that way, especially with Phoenix.”

  “Yet you’re all sporting heroes around campus, so I guess you must have followed some rules growing up.”

  “Sport’s a different ballgame, pardon the pun. We were taught it’s sacred almost, like religion.”

  “Because of your dad?”

  Titus uses the side of his fork to carve through the waffle. “To Dad it’s one and the same. We didn’t worship the Good Lord growing up. Our gods were Michael Jordan and Kobe, Tom Brady and Barry Bonds. Family dinners for us were spent in front of the TV watching old games, analyzing them and breaking them down, play by play. Dad had a whiteboard right next to the TV, I kid you not.”

  I know, but I smile all the same simply because I like to hear him talk about his passion.

  “You’ve seen me play?” he queries, genuine curiosity in his voice.

  And again, I have to carefully place the pain aside, to compartmentalize and pack it away. “I have. You’re quite the superstar out there. You think you have a shot at the Major League?”

  He stops eating and pins me with that mile-long stare. “It’s a given. There’s no maybe. I’m going to MLB and it’s going to be my name on the wall in the Hall of Fame one day. I won’t stop until it’s done.”

  I
play devil’s advocate. “You might get injured like, I don’t know, take a hit to the head, say.”

  He laughs at that, tapping the side of his head. “A little kiss like that isn’t going to stop me going after my dream. No, Kings are made of tougher stuff than that. We fixate on our goals and we achieve them no matter what. If I broke my leg today, I’d be back at practice tomorrow. I guarantee it.”

  “You’ve been back at practice?” I ask, horrified.

  He concentrates on his waffle, fast depleting on his plate. “Of course.”

  “But the doctor said—”

  He stabs a strawberry, popping it into his mouth. “The good doctor said to avoid strenuous activity. For me, practice ain’t strenuous. It’s sort of meditative, actually.”

  “I can appreciate the dedication, but isn’t there more to life than baseball?” It’s a delicate question I’ve danced around before, but now seems as good a time as any to press.

  Titus puts his fork down and gives me his full attention. It’s a look that has my stomach in knots, twisting and turning and flipping over itself. It’s the wave of heat I feel further south I’m more concerned about, that tug of desire that blots out the reason I so need right now. I can’t be impulsive. Not now.

  Titus takes his time answering. “Of course, but not to my father.”

  “And you need his respect, is that it? Because there are four of you. You can’t all be celebrity athletes.”

  “Have you met my brothers?”

  “I don’t really know how they feel about me,” I confess, and this is new. “They seem… protective.”

  “They are. I am. We might squabble and bitch, sure, but we are brothers. Blood is stronger than anything.”

  “Even girls?” I ask.

  “Even girls.”

  I clear my throat and decide to hit him with it. “You never feel the need to settle down, go steady with anyone?”

  “Go steady?” he laughs. “What is this? Pleasantville?”

  “I’m just saying, the bachelor life must feel pretty empty at times.”

  “At times, he nods,” returning to eating.

  I leave it at that not wanting to let my emotions get the better of me. I’ve raised some valid points, got him thinking. At the moment that’s about all I can do. If I go too deep, I’m liable to find myself around the back with my panties around my ankles and a hefty dose of regret as soon as it’s over. I won’t allow it.

  I can’t.

  He needs to remember, to chase me on his own terms. If I let him have his way too early I could lose him forever.

  We talk about my family and his, about the loss of my father and how it affected me. And through it all there’s not a hint of sleaze or come on, simply listening and a quiet attentiveness that drags me right back to what we had. It feels like home again.

  I just want someone to turn on the damn lights.

  We finish up. I offer to pay, but Titus won’t have it. It’s on the house anyhow, a giggly cashier who looks about twelve putting the bill through.

  The rain stops the moment we step outside.

  “I didn’t know you Kings controlled the weather too,” I tease.

  He runs his hands down his body. “All part of the package.”

  I nod. “Well, as much as I’d love to stay, I should really be getting back home. Chrissy has plans for us tonight.”

  “Nothing too dangerous, I hope.”

  “The only thing in danger will be my calorie intake.”

  He looks me over. “You have nothing to worry about on that front.”

  I have to stop going beet red every time he pulls out these lines. I should be immune to them by now. “See you tomorrow.”

  He slides his hands into his pockets, as casual and cool as the moment I saw him across the room at Peyton and Erin’s engagement party, that fateful glance that would change my life forever. “See you then.”

  I turn and walk even though my head’s screaming at me to spin back around and beg him to take me home, somewhere, anywhere we can be alone. It would have been easier if he kept the jock act up to resist him, but now that the charming Titus I remember is back, things will only get more and more complex from here on out. It’s a rocky road that’s going to take some serious navigation.

  I want to be with him, yet the same reservations I used to have remain. We’ll go home, we’ll make love, and I’ll be discarded after one or two lays, another notch, another distant memory for him. There’s far too much at stake here to satisfy my own, childish sexual urges, so I’ll put my big girl pants on and resist him for now.

  I’ll resist.

  Barely.

  CHAPTER NINE

  TITUS

  Another day, another study session with Maya. More and more I find myself drawn to her. I want her, bad, but it’s going to take more than the King playbook to bring this one home. No, I’m going to have to deep dive way, way down into my bag of tricks to pull this off.

  I’ve got the window open in the bedroom. Trying to drag my attention from Maya back to math is proving difficult. I can’t concentrate with her in such close proximity. There’s no way I’m going to get with her when my dirty talk’s limited to quadratic equations.

  I look out the window, a light breeze blowing out the drapes. “Hey, you want to get out of here? I think I’ve had my fill of the books for today.”

  She sits there beside me lightly tapping her fingers on her knee. Her nails are short and trimmed, far from the neon eagle talons most Crestfall girls get around with. She checks her watch, a rainbow Swatch somewhat at odds with her Driving Miss Daisy demeanor, the one breakaway. “And where, pray tell, are we to go?”

  I swivel around to face her, legs spread. “Let’s call it a surprise. You do like surprises, don’t you?”

  She’s doing her best to suppress a smile, which buoys me. “If they don’t involve candles and creepy clowns, sure.”

  I put my hands out. “Well, I don’t know about the creepy clowns, but I can promise you a good time”

  “Is that what you tell all the poor girls you whisk away?”

  “I don’t have to tell them,” I reply. “They know they’re going to have a good time with me.”

  “I bet,” but it’s said with the kind of slick sarcasm I know has me burrowing deeper under her skin. Before long I’ll have her below me, clawing at my back and begging me to fill her, to make her come all over my cock.

  I stand and swipe up my keys. “Come on. You won’t be disappointed.”

  “I’ve heard that before,” she trills, but I sense a whisper of excitement in her voice.

  We head downstairs and into the garage, Maya whistling when she sees the heavy machinery collected there. “Is this a garage or the set of Pimp My Ride?”

  I nod to Phoenix’s neon orange Dodge Ram. “If you’re referring to the vehicular cheese puff there, it’s not mine. That is mine,” I point.

  She struts over to my ride and I swear those jeans weren’t that tight yesterday. She runs her hand down the fender. “Mmm, Mustang Fastback. The same color as Steve McQueen’s in Bullitt—Highland Green, I believe.”

  Well fuck me. “You know your cars.”

  “I know Mustangs. My father was a closet mechanic, had a bit of a thing for the Blue Oval.”

  I walk over. “And let me guess, you hung out with him in the garage growing up, passing him wrenches and leaning into the engine bay while the other girls played dolly?”

  “Hell, no,” she laughs. “I loved my Barbies growing up.”

  I open the passenger door for her. “And now?”

  “Now I think Barbie could do with a cheeseburger or two, but I’m no tomboy, Titus. Just because I like math doesn’t make me any less feminine.”

  My eyes are glued to her peachy ass as she climbs in. “Oh, I understand. I understand perfectly.”

  I head around to the driver’s side and hop in, turning the car over and heading out.

  Maya looks oddly at home in the passenger seat,
reaching across and setting the radio with ease. “You’re still not going to tell me where we’re going?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  We head out of town limits talking about college and taking a tangent into travel. Seems Maya’s been to almost every state. Her dad had a thing for road trips. I wouldn’t mind a road trip with her myself, sitting on the hood, lying on the hood.

  It’s heading into mid-afternoon as we make our way up the famous Mount Abbott that overlooks the greater Crestfall area. I pull into a dirt parking lot, my buddy and fellow teammate Reggie already there and set up.

  Maya climbs out yawning, looking around. “Wow, it’s beautiful up here.”

  I get out and join her surveying the valley and town below. “You’ve never been up here?”

  “Canoodling in the back seat of a car wasn’t really part of my college plan.”

  “Pity,” I muse.

  Her eyes settle on what Reggie’s holding. “What the hell does that guy have?”

  I walk over to Reggie, fist-bumping him and looking back to Maya. “Hope you’re good with heights.”

  “Heights?” she questions, trailing before me.

  I introduce the two of them, following Reggie’s gaze down the valley. “How’s it looking?”

  Reggie sucks on a finger, holding it up. “Fucking perfect, man. It was honkin’ yesterday, but the air’s magic today.” He spots Maya. “And you must be the lucky lady. First free flight?”

  Maya’s looking increasingly nervous. “Say what? We’re not…” She starts to back away. “No, no, no, no. Like no, no.”

  I follow her, taking her by the shoulders and smiling. “Yes, yes, yes, yes. Come on.”

  Her reluctance doesn’t ease as I help her into the harness, hand brushing the space between her thighs. I pull the straps tight and place the helmet on her head, noting the soft skin under her chin as I tighten it in place.

  “We’re not seriously going paragliding, are we?” she queries.

  I laugh. “You think I’m gearing you up for a roller derby? You’ll be in safe hands. Don’t worry.”

  “Your hands?”

  “The very best, and that goes for more than gliding.”

  She rolls her eyes and pulls in a deep breath, her chest lifting and falling. She’s so damn beautiful in this light it fucking hurts, an intangible sense of déjà vu overcoming me I cannot place. As far as I can remember, this is the first time I’ve ever brought a girl up here. I prefer to fly solo. I don’t tell her this, of course. I don’t think it would make a difference.