Game On (Hometown Players Book 6)

by Victoria Denault

  The butterflies that have been fluttering inside of me suddenly turn to stone and drop like a cold mass of dread into the pit of my stomach. I move off him and back to the other side of the couch. He runs two hands through his hair again this time pausing to pull on it gently out of frustration. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like you,” he says but somehow looks stricken, like the admission is horrifying or painful or something. “And I mean, obviously I’m attracted to you.”

  His eyes drop down to the bulge in the front of his jeans and mine can’t seem to help but follow. Yeah, he’s definitely hard. It makes me flush but his next words are like being doused in cold water. “But I can’t be anything but your friend.”

  “Why not?” It’s a simple, honest, yet painfully needy question. And I can’t help but ask it.

  “Because I’m different,” he replies gruffly and stands up creating an even bigger void between us, which I hate. “I don’t just mean because you grew up differently than me. I guess that’s the root of it, because it made me who I am, but it’s not that I think we can’t make something work because you grew up with everything and I grew up with nothing. It’s not that. It’s just I can’t be someone’s boyfriend. I’m not capable of that.”

  My mouth falls open and I find my heart wanting to scream the words “I don’t care” but the fact is, I do care. My heart wants him—as is, with all the broken pieces, and even if some pieces are missing. But my brain knows who I am and what I need from a relationship and it’s more than just sex. “I can’t be someone’s bed buddy. I’m not capable of that.”

  His face falls, like he was hoping beyond hope for another response. “I know. So I kissed you because it’s going to be the last time. Because we want different things.”

  I’m not buying it. I stand up too and cross my arms. “You want to be single forever?”

  He shrugs.

  I glare. “That’s not an answer, Alexandre.” I say his name with a rolling French R and it gets under his skin, I can see it.

  He shoves his hands in his pockets defiantly. “I’d rather be single than be rejected because I can’t be what someone needs.”

  “How do you know what I need?” I ask. “I’ll be honest, I don’t even think I know what I need. I just know that everyone who seemed right so far, didn’t feel right. And this thing with you is different…and overwhelming and confusing and even a little terrifying. But that feels right.”

  He wants to consider the possibility that I’m right but he doesn’t. Instead he steps over to the window and glances out at the street below, face set in the mask of cocky smile again. “You’re beautiful and sexy and we could have a lot of fun together. But that’s all it would be. I’d love to have fun with you. Friends with benefits is my thing. It’s my only thing. I’m trying to be a good guy here and be honest up front. I’ve never lied to a girl about it before and I certainly don’t want to lie to you. I do think you’re special, Brie, but I can’t be your boyfriend.”

  “I guess we’ve found something you’re more afraid of than closets.” It’s mean and I instantly hate myself for it. I should know better. His claustrophobia is real and I just shamed him for it. I step closer. “Alex, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he replies in a hard clipped tone but he still sports that stupid, easy smile. “I should get going.”

  I follow him as he makes his way to the front hall and slips on his shoes. I’m still feeling like a massive pile of shit for what I said. I lean on the archway that separates the living room and hall. “Alex. I’m just…disappointed. And confused. I don’t get it. I just don’t.”

  He’s not about to try and explain it to me again. He gives me an authentic smile instead of one of his fake ones. “I hope we can be friends. I still want to volunteer and hang out with Mac too and I hope that means I can see you and maybe hang out together.”

  “Is that going to be easy for you?” I have to ask because I know the answer for me. It’s not going to be easy. I like him. I want him. Pretending those feelings don’t exist is going to suck beyond words.

  He’s already opening the front door but he pauses and looks over his shoulder to meet my eye. “No. It’s going to be hard as hell. But that’s the story of my life.”

  He walks out without another word.

  Chapter 16

  Brie

  I feel like I shouldn’t even be going. I haven’t heard from Alex—not a word—since we ended whatever it was we were trying to start. He’s purposely showed up at Daphne’s when he knows I’m not there. Not just last Saturday but again on Wednesday when I was at court with Laura and Mackenzie, which he knew because I texted him to tell him she had another hearing. He responded with nothing but a “Thanks” and a crossed-fingers emoji. When he texted me hours later to see how it went and I told him, he responded with a smiley face and a thumbs-up. I forced myself not to respond with the middle finger emoji. I hate that he’s just walked away from me. And I hate that not wanting him to walk away makes me feel like a lovelorn fool.

  Still, when Rose Caplan and her sisters sent me an Evite to his housewarming I accepted. I would have invited Len for moral support, but she offered to stay at my place and unofficially babysit Mac, who pitched a fit when I used the actual term “babysit.”

  Yeah, she’s almost fifteen but I still feel like someone should be with her. She thinks it’s because I don’t trust her. I do, but I’m new to this guardian thing and I’m terrified something will happen if she’s alone at night, like a murderer will try and break in or the gas will leak and explode or something. What if she goes to sleep before I get back and gets woken up by a sound and thinks someone is trying to break in and terrifies herself? I did that the first night my parents left me alone to go out to dinner when I was thirteen. They came home and I was hiding behind the couch, holding a croquet mallet and sobbing. I don’t want Mac to have to freak out like that. Is this the level of worry my parents went through when I was a kid? God bless them.

  Anyway, I really should have lied and said I was busy, but Rose mentioned that her sisters were really hoping to talk to me more about Daphne’s House and there was no way I was going to miss the opportunity to get any kind of help for the place. If they were interested in donating or volunteering it would be stupid to miss out on that because of a guy.

  I turn onto his street in Tribeca and start looking for his address. It’s a loft building. There are many in this area and none of them is cheap. I’m not shocked he wanted a loft, with his aversion to small spaces. I’m greeted by a smiling doorman and tell him I’m here to see Alex Larue. He grins. “The housewarming. Head right up.”

  Everything about the building is big and airy from the lobby to the hallways and I see, as he opens the door, his loft. He gives me a tight smile and motions for me to enter.

  Everyone is already there and the people I’ve previously met call out greetings. I wave and smile and walk slowly into the expansive, sparsely decorated space. He’s got twelve-foot ceilings and enormous windows on two sides. His bedroom is a large nook. You can see a track where there used to be sliding doors but he’s removed them. The bed is positioned to face out into the living room, toward the giant windows, none of which have curtains. I’m sure someone tonight will make a joke that he’s an exhibitionist, if they haven’t already. I’m also sure he’s used to it. I have a feeling he’s never lived in a space with many walls or curtains.

  “Thanks for coming,” Alex says but his tone is gruff and cool.

  “Yeah, you sound super excited to see me,” I scoff back and move quickly toward the kitchen to Rose and her sisters. Their greeting is much warmer and much more believable. Each of them hugs me and thank me for coming.

  “Please excuse your host,” Callie adds with a smirk. “The guy who will talk to anyone in a skirt is suddenly as perky as Oscar the Grouch.”

  Alex rolls his eyes and walks over into the living room area where a bunch of guys are drinking beers and talking. I recognize Devin, Jorda
n and Luc, but there are other guys here too who, judging by their hulking sizes and in some cases scars and bruises, are also Barons players.

  I spend the first forty minutes at the party talking to Rose, Callie and Jessie. They’re genuinely interested in the charity and they tell me tales from their own childhood. There’s no love lost for their grandmother and they don’t hide it, but Callie tries to find a bright spot. “In the end, Lilly did us a solid when she kicked the bucket because that’s the only reason we went back to our hometown. If we hadn’t, Jordan wouldn’t have found Jessie again and I might not have found Devin, and Rosie would still be wishing she could make Luc notice her.”

  Rose gives Callie a shove. It’s light but it makes her clutch her stomach and turn green. I worry she’s about to puke, but she seems to gain control of the situation. Jessie narrows her green eyes suspiciously. “You’ve had the flu for a while now.”

  “Uh-huh.” Callie grabs the glass in front of her that is filled with what looks like sparkling water.

  Rose watches both her sisters carefully for a second and then the oven bings behind us and she jumps off her bar stool. The delicious smell of caramelized onion and melted cheese fills the air as she opens the oven door. Except Callie turns green again and jumps off her own stool. “I’m going to go ask Devin something.”

  She’s darting across the living room before either of her sisters look up. Jessie looks suspicious again. She grabs her glass, which also appears to be filled with water, and follows her sister. I watch Rose take a tray of bite-sized appetizers out of the oven. She looks around for her sisters. “This is Callie’s favorite. Goat cheese and caramelized onion in puff pastry. Where did she go?”

  I point to the living room. Rose’s dark eyes dart from Callie to Jessie. “And why is Jessie wearing a baggy sweatshirt to a party? Sure, she’s glamming it up with a scarf but I didn’t even know she owned a sweatshirt.”

  I smile and Rose starts to smile too. “Oh my God…I think they’re both…”

  “Pregnant?” I conclude for her and she immediately starts to tear up.

  “Oh my God, you think so too? Oh my God!” I step closer to her and put a hand on her shoulder to calm her down.

  “It’s just a guess. Don’t freak out until you know,” I advise her cautiously but I have a feeling nothing about these girls is cautious.

  Rose walks around the island, puts her hands on her hips, one of which is still covered in an oven mitt and asks in a loud voice that seems very un-Rose-like, “Are you two pregnant?”

  The room is suddenly and completely silent. Jessie and Callie both look up at their sister. And then turn to each other. I feel like I’m watching a reality show on TV, but judging by the way these girls act no one is surprised by this and honestly, their honesty and bluntness are refreshing.

  “You girls are horrible liars and ridiculously bad at keeping secrets so I’m going to tell the truth for you,” Alex says firmly.

  “Alex…” Jordan and Devin both say in a warning tone and then they’re looking at each other, baffled.

  “They’re both pregnant,” Alex announces firmly.

  Rose starts screaming. Callie and Jessie start screaming and pointing at each other. Alex walks over to watch the show next to me. He leans down and with a half smirk on his lips whispers, “And not by me. I thought I should make that clear since people think I like to mess around with my friends’ girlfriends and wives.”

  I roll my eyes.

  Two hours later, everything is back to normal. The night turned out to be really fun. Everyone I met was great. Most of the guests have left and Callie has offered to teach the kids the tips and tricks she learned when she started cooking for her sisters as a kid, and Jessie has offered to give a talk on what her childhood was like. And all three of them have offered donations.

  Now the only people left are Jessie and Jordan, me and Alex. Jordan helps me pick up empty glasses and carry them to the kitchen area while Alex loads his dishwasher.

  “So where’d you get the name for the place?” Jordan asks casually. “Who is Daphne?”

  “She was my birth mother,” I tell him and Alex stops loading the dishwasher. “She died when I was almost two.”

  I can feel Alex’s eyes on me, but I don’t look over. Jordan looks the way people always look when I tell them—stunned and sad. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you,” I smile softly and out of the corner of my eye I see Jessie yawn where she’s stretched out on the couch. “I think you need to get her home. Congratulations, by the way.”

  Jordan looks back at Jessie and his face softens into pure love. It’s the kind of look you see in movies or read about in romance books and dream someone will give you one day. It’s nice to know it actually exists.

  “Thanks. I’m thrilled,” Jordan replies. “And I think having Callie going through it too will be great for Jessie. And hysterical for me. So there’s that.”

  He chuckles and walks over to the couch. “Let’s go home, babe.”

  Jessie stands up and smiles at me. “It was great seeing you again, Brie. And I can’t wait to come by Daphne’s.”

  I give them a little wave as they head for the door and glance around for my purse so I can get the hell out of here too. Being alone with Alex doesn’t seem like the best idea, even though he did seem to relax as the night went on.

  I see my purse hanging on the back of one of the chairs by the island so I walk over and grab it. Before I can tell him I’m leaving he curses in French. “How do you work this thing?”

  He doesn’t know how to work the dishwasher? I walk over and watch him stare helplessly at the inside as he holds a small detergent pod in his big hand. “Where the hell does this thing go?”

  “You’ve never used your dishwasher?” I ask.

  “I’ve always had one but never used it. I usually eat out, and I hand wash the one or two plates I use.” He looks up at me with helpless, almost puppy dog, eyes.

  “Mon Dieu,” I say with a smile and my use of French makes him smile too. I walk over and take the pod from him. I pop it into the little holder on the inside of the door and close it then punch the appropriate buttons on the front. It makes a soft gushing sound as it begins its cycle.

  “Merci,” he replies softly.

  “Anything else you need help with?” I ask and I can’t help but flash him a cheeky smile. “Like how to use a washing machine or set your alarm clock?”

  “You’re hilarious,” he snarks back. “Making fun of a man in need.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re a big boy, you can handle it.”

  He’s standing so close I can smell the woodsy scent that engulfed me seconds before he kissed me the other night. My skin starts to tingle. I try to take a deep breath, but it’s hard suddenly. He’s smiling but it’s dark, in the most delicious way. “You have a nice place.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Very open.”

  “Yeah. I like open spaces,” he says. “You know why.”

  I adjust my purse on my shoulder and suddenly remember. “I brought you a housewarming gift.”

  “What?” He looks startled and not in a good way. He takes a step back and blinks. “I told the girls to make sure no one brought gifts.”

  “I know. I wasn’t going to, but there’s this little store near the courthouse.” I feel suddenly stupid again. Why does he always make me feel like this? “I bought it on a whim. It cost nothing and if you really don’t want it, I’ll keep it for myself.”

  I pull out the bag and shove it into his chest. He doesn’t take it so I just hold it there. My knuckles are between the gift and his chest and it’s like pressing them into a rock. He’s pure, solid muscle. I think of how he looked in that tight shirt after the game and I flush. “Just take it. It’s not a big deal.”

  He makes a noise almost like a groan and finally takes the bag. It’s a simple paper bag. The gift is unwrapped inside because I wasn’t lying when I said it really wasn’t a big deal. He loo
ks inside. The scowl on his face softens and softens until it’s nothing but amazement. He pulls out the tiny metal, handmade fleur-de-lis with little LED lights hammered into it.

  “It’s not a nightlight, but it’s not like a real light. It’s kind of useless really but it’s a fleur-de-lis,” I explain even though it’s obvious. “and I rarely see those around New York and it reminded me of you. If you don’t want it, I’ll keep it.”

  “I’m keeping it,” he replies quickly and turns it over and pushes the little switch on the back. The tiny lights come on. “It’s perfect. I use ambient light all the time. I don’t sleep in the dark.”

  He points and I follow his hand and notice a tiny light in a socket in the corner of the living room. I force my face to remain neutral but holy shit, is this big, hulking, man afraid of the dark? Once again he’s making my heart ache. He turns it over and stares at the lights twinkling off the metal.

  “People don’t buy me things,” he mumbles softly.

  I look around at the sparsely furnished apartment. There’s a sectional, an ottoman, but no chairs, bookcases or pictures. The nook for his bedroom only contains one three-drawer dresser. His bedside lamp is on the floor beside the bed because it doesn’t have night tables. “You don’t seem to like things.”

  He shrugs and those deep blue eyes find mine. “I don’t have a lot of things from my past worth holding on to.”

  Oh this man…I reach up and gently cup the side of his face. He reaches up and grasps my hand and I think he’s going to pull it away but he doesn’t. He holds it to his face and pushes into it. He’s like a puppy looking for love and I want desperately to give it to him. But he won’t let me. “And you seem to want to throw away things now that are worth holding on to.”

  I force myself to step back and start walking toward the front door because if I don’t leave now I’ll let things happen that are going to mean more to me than they should. Than he wants them to. But he speaks and his words stop me in my tracks.