Players to Lovers (4 Book Collection)

by Ketley Allison

  “Well,” he says as he gets up. “You three are welcome here any time.”

  “Thank you, Pierce.”

  “Uh-huh. Now, scoot. I have some artwork to sell to stressed-out caffeine addicts.”

  Smiling, I make my exit, but not before leaving a few bills on the table for the espresso and excellent service.

  Pierce could be a friend, if I let him. A confidante. Maybe the kind of person I haven’t had since Paige. He’s making it clear.

  I take to the streets on a long-held sigh.

  If I’m not careful, I’m going to start to like it here, and that would be the worst kind of self-destruction.

  I spend the rest of the afternoon cleaning.

  Locke is refusing rent while I stay, so I try to be relevant in other ways, like have him and Lily come home to a spit-shine of an apartment.

  Except, forget about digging into corners. All I have to do is brush a cloth over the hardwood, and it comes up black.

  “God, Lily has been crawling on this?” I ask myself.

  It’s not that this place wasn’t clean when Lily and I first moved in—that I know. It’s what I’m slowly coming to understand: No matter how hard I scrub or how much I pick, these New York buildings are so old and crusty, black soot is permanently wedged into every crevice it can find.

  And any time construction starts nearby, a fresh coat of gray dust will go on top.

  I sit on my haunches, dirtied cloth at my side, and wonder if I can make an exception just one time to use bleach instead of the all-natural, not-toxic-in-the-least, environmentally friendly baby products that are fully stocked in this place ever since Lily came into the picture.

  Maybe this once. In the bathroom, where Lily rarely, if ever, goes.

  I tuck hair that’s escaped from my messy bun behind my ears and go in search. I start under the sink in the bathroom, and, finding nothing but disposable razors and men’s body wash, I make a mental note to add bathroom cleaning products to Locke’s woefully lacking stock.

  I can’t help but pop open the lid to his body wash and take a deep breath in. That’s him—his smell. It’s way better on his skin, but this small whiff sends tingles down my spine.

  A nose remembers, and I know any time this scent drifts near, I’ll think of him.

  At that unwanted thought, I slam the lid closed and shove it back in its place.

  Stop with the empty fantasies.

  Rising, I clomp over to the kitchen sink, thinking maybe, in a two-bedroom apartment, that’s where other homelike products will be.

  I prop open the door and bend down, hair escaping again, and scrape it back with one hand while rifling through with the other.

  Plumbing solution falls on its side, as well as some WD40. Who the frick knows why he needs that, and reach all the way into the back and hear a hollow clonk.

  I pull out the empty gallon and cock my head.

  Antifreeze? Why does Locke need that? He doesn’t have a car. I don’t claim to know anything about New Yorkers’ habits, or why he’d want an empty jug of it in the first place. I unscrew the lid, peering in. Definitely, strangely, clean and empty. I put it back where I found it.

  While I’m continuing to scour, I happen to glance at the oven clock and swear.

  I’m meant to meet Astor in an hour.

  That gives me barely enough time to shower, dry my hair, and look somewhat like a girl who would love a night out with her best friend’s baby daddy’s sister.

  The mere thought has me slamming a palm to my forehead. I get up from my crouch and head to the shower, all the while chanting, stop picturing your best friend’s baby daddy naked.

  18

  Locke

  When I return with Lily, Carter’s practically out the door again.

  “Hey, how’d the picture hanging go?” I ask her. I’m still focused on Lily and getting her out of the stroller and onto the floor before she tangles herself permanently in the straps.

  “Great,” she responds, and when she walks by me, I get a trail of her perfume.

  It’s a gorgeous musk, a floral drift I can’t discern, but there’s a sweetness there, like vanilla. In short, it’s delicious, and I want to lick it off her.

  I try to clear an itch in my throat instead.

  “Okay, buddy pal, you’re free,” I say to Lily. She shrieks and crawls toward Carter, and that’s when I lay eyes on her.

  She’s in red. That much, I register.

  A red dress, with a deep-V down the center, showcasing the perfect curves of her breasts, with some gold sparkle she rubbed into her exposed cleavage.

  That same glitter spreads down her thighs, her shins until she curves into black high heels that show off her calf muscles in a way that makes me want to bite between the lines.

  Her shoulders are covered by her mermaid hair, messy with curls, and when she heaves it to one side with her hand, exposing her neck, it takes every logical fiber I possess not to stalk over and lay my claim on her.

  Carter made her eyes golden just like the rest of her but painted her lips scarlet. I picture the stain of her lips on my chest and smearing her lipstick with my finger before I take her with my mouth.

  Christ, I think instead. Christ, she’s everything.

  “Uh…” I say. Out loud.

  Carter’s mouth parts. “Is it too much? Astor texted that it was a cocktail place we were going to, so I thought—”

  “Perfect,” I said, then recover enough to add, “You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you.”

  She blushes under that fake sparkle and my dick twitches. Hard.

  “You’re all set, then?” she asks, bringing my attention back to her. Not that it ever wavered. Lily’s in my periphery, but this girl, this woman, is quickly overriding every synapse.

  “You bet,” I say, and I don’t think I’ve ever said you bet to anyone in my life—ever.

  And will never again.

  “Good.” She visibly relaxes, and for the first time, I’m noticing the trust she’s putting in me to take care of Lily by myself.

  “She’ll be fine.” To add to my point, I pick up Lily and jiggle her, eliciting a laugh. “She and I…we’re on good terms.”

  Carter smiles, and I want to tell her there’s no need to add any outward glitter because all the gold sunlight she needs is in that smile. “I can see that.”

  She comes forward, and I have to resist encircling her with my free arm and bringing her against me. Carter kisses Lily’s chubby cheek, then laughs as she strokes the red imprint off with her thumb.

  “I know I’m wearing lipstick, but I can’t resist her,” she says.

  Join the fucking club.

  “Have fun tonight,” I say. I want to bury my face in Carter’s hair, make it more of a whirlwind than it already is. “Astor can be intimidating. She doesn’t have many women friends.”

  “Then she and I have more in common than I thought,” Carter responds, then freezes, as if she’d stated more than she expected.

  “Was Paige your only friend?” I ask.

  I sense a vulnerability in her, unusual in its depth. To me, Carter’s always been vulnerable. The minute she entered into my periphery, she exposed her emotions for Lily’s sake. Her weaknesses worn like skin—her fear of losing Lily forever, the anxiety over moving to a new city for a few weeks. All of that was written in each pore. It’s expected, these hesitations. Natural, even. Normal.

  In this instance, there’s a difference. This is a vulnerability that contains her past, a backward focus that unexpectedly gifts me with a deeper look inside.

  “She and I had a crazy connection,” Carter answers. She’s allowing Lily to play with her fingers and is focusing on that instead of me. “We met in freshman year as roommates. It’s not that we didn’t hang out with other people, we always did. Study groups, nights out, all of that. But when it came to sharing secrets and having someone else really get to know you…yeah, Paige was my person.”

  The breath I e
xhale is soft with sorrow. “I’m sorry you had to lose her.”

  “Me, too.” Carter brushes a finger down Lily’s cheek and a smile ghosts against hers. “But she’s still here. The best part of her, she’d say.”

  I hold Lily tighter. “How have you coped?”

  “You’re holding it.”

  I try to imagine what it would be like if Ben were killed tomorrow, or Asher diagnosed with a terminal illness, Easton in a car accident. What would it be like, to have no human aspect left of them if they go?

  Then I think, I’d have two other guys to help me get through it. They’ve propped me up through a shit-ton already. We’d never leave one of us to suffer through grief alone.

  “What about other people? Friends? Family?” I ask. Understanding socks me in the solar plexus. “Have you been going through all this by yourself?”

  Carter shrugs, but her shoulders barely reach her ears. “I’ve been okay.”

  I incline my head. “Have you?”

  “Sure. I talk to my family, kind of. Got another roommate, Sophie Addison. She’s pretty great. Has helped a lot, actually. We work together, too.”

  Carter’s changing the subject. But I don’t want to dump her grief all over her before sending her out to where she’s supposed to have fun. “Yeah? What do you do, anyway?”

  Carter snorts, and I notice a bit of light coming back into her eyes. “Data entry for a pharmaceutical company.”

  “That sounds…interesting.”

  “I’m a drone; you can say it. But it has amazing benefits like all big corporations do. And vacation time. So, I slog through it.”

  But it’s clearly not what she grew up wanting to be. Dreams can be sacrificed as much as they can be lost. Maybe Carter and I have more in common than I think.

  “Anyway, I should get going.” Carter bops Lily on the nose with her finger. “‘Bye, cutie.”

  “Why, thank you. Good-bye to you, too.” I grin.

  She snorts again, and I find it ridiculously cute, especially when it’s coupled with a natural flush in her cheeks.

  “You and my sister might be meant for each other,” I add. “Stick together, okay?”

  Then, in a flash, I’m picturing my two favorite women surrounded by rabid men, rubbing their crotch through their jeans, leering at Carter and Astor, playing grab-ass with them.

  It elicits a low growl, loud enough that Carter tears her attention from Lily to me.

  “Any problems, you call me. Understand?” I say.

  “Of course,” Carter says, brows furrowed. “We’re big girls, Locke. We can handle ourselves.”

  I picture another man cupping her ass, pulling it against his groin. And I do not like it. Even if she wants it from some other dude—a guy like Pierce—I won’t accept it.

  “Promise me you’ll text. Otherwise, I’m putting Lily in her car seat and coming to spy on you.”

  Carter rolls her eyes, and it’s such an oh, Dad, stop being annoying response that another rumbling warning comes from my chest.

  “Fine, you win,” Carter says. She pats my cheek. “Down, Daddy.”

  My new title coming from her lips…I go rock hard.

  She can’t hide the glint in her eyes. This chick enjoys what she does to me.

  Part of me wants to punish her in the sexiest way for it. Make her moan her apology while I satisfy myself by curling my tongue between her legs.

  Lily wriggles in her spot in the crook of my arm, and I’m reminded that no, I am a dad, I’m definitely giving off dad-vibes. Faaaack.

  “I’ll be back before midnight,” Carter assures, then confuses things by adding a wink.

  “Whatever,” I grumble. “Have a great time. I’ll be here. Changing diapers. Dispensing bottles. Singing nursery rhymes.”

  Carter offers a sweet, empathetic grin as she departs. “Welcome to parenthood, Mr. Hayes.”

  Once she leaves, the apartment loses its warmth. I find it again in the bundle against my chest, and when I kiss Lily’s forehead, I can’t deny that Carter’s presence in this household is overwhelmingly fulfilling, and it’s no longer just for this baby’s sake.

  19

  Carter

  I’m in a car on the way to meet Locke’s sister, and all I want to do is go back to the apartment and hang with Locke and Lily on the couch instead.

  We could binge-watch movies well into the night. We might have to put on Disney’s latest until Lily goes to bed, but I can sing all those songs from memory, enlist Locke to do the chorus, and the three of us would have a laugh, sprawled out on the floor in front of the TV, couch abandoned.

  On the clean floors, I’ll add, which Locke didn’t seem to notice, like at all.

  Then again, he seemed all too caught up in…me.

  Not merely physically, either, but sensitively. He showed an unexpected concern when asking about Paige. He should be pissed at her, regardless of whether or not she’s dead, because she kept a crucial part of him secret. Yet he’s asking me how I’m dealing with her loss, instead of focusing on how she screwed him over. How I’m doing, and he’s checking in with kindness.

  Yeah, I definitely want to go back.

  I stare out the backseat window, clutching my small purse on my thighs, wishing I could be clutching Locke instead.

  Does he want it, too? Is that what every womanly part in me sensed while standing in that room with him? Heat sparked, flames encircled, and the only way to bank them was to jump in his arms and topple us to the floor, tearing off our clothes before fire burst through them.

  God, he’s sexy. So hot that he had me forgetting Lily was very awake and active nearby, and nobody has ever, ever done that before. Lily is my priority. My everything. Nothing could set my sights away.

  Until him.

  But he was Lily. Lily was him. There’s no separating the two, and I’m only setting myself up to lose all of my heart instead of half when I leave. I can’t do that do myself.

  I mustn’t.

  Not if I want to keep any of the Carter Jameson that remains after Paige.

  Too soon, the cab clears the bridge—I can’t remember which one—and into Manhattan. I’m so absorbed in my turmoil that I didn’t take in the lights of the city as we crested over the curve, Lower Manhattan sparkling and shimmering bright against a placid summer river.

  Next time. When I’m getting a car back to Brooklyn, I’ll make sure to focus intensively on what’s going on outside instead of the conflict within.

  The car pulls over in front of a tavern-like bar, with wooden beams and yellow-bulb lettering flashing BLU’S in all caps. There are a few people outside, smoking and scrolling through their phones. I thank the driver and exit, fumbling slightly when my heels hit the curb. I don’t wear heels much anymore, but on a whim, I decided that tonight should be the night. Sophie packed them with purpose, and I figure, since Astor was almost as tall as her brother, I shouldn’t look any more of a shrimp next to her than I already do.

  I enter into the bar after showing the bouncer my ID, into a small alcove with more wood paneling and vintage tin signs displaying things like Coca Cola, Campbell’s Tomato Soup, and the “We Can Do It!” woman flexing her arm with a red handkerchief donning her hair.

  I like it already.

  The lighting is warm, more gold industrial lightbulbs lining the ceiling and the bar, which can barely be seen through the thick of people crowding for drinks. Music blasts, bass shaking the floorboards underneath, and I take quiet calm in it.

  Loud music means less awkward conversation. I can dig it.

  I scan the place for a sleek brunette bob capped off with a sleek body in a tailored cocktail dress but see nobody matching such a description.

  I’m about to step up to the bar and order a stiff drink to soothe my nerves while I wait when there’s a light brush against my arm.

  “Hey! You’re on time!”

  I turn to the voice, and it’s—is it?

  The woman standing beside me sounds like Astor, but
her short, brown hair is in loose, tousled waves, her lips bright pink, and her shoulders exposed in a lavender strappy top. She has on tight denim with carefully placed rips and holes and is basically more stunning than she was in a suit.

  Women who can be so comfortably hot in nothing but jeans, a shirt, and a sexy texture to their hair are naturally intimidating. That effortless gorgeousness? I used to wish to emulate that, then gave up when my hair decided it would frizz instead of falling into a come hither side part.

  “Astor, hi!” I say with bright cheer.

  We meet in an awkward, loose hug, before separating.

  “Come on, I’ve got us a table upstairs,” she says. “It’s quieter.”

  “Oh, great.” Oh, crap.

  I follow her through a tight pathway to the stairs on the other side of the bar, bordered on each side by people and laughter and spilling drinks. The lingering gazes and side-smiles are noted, but like Astor, I beeline for the staircase and ignore every holler. Astor walks like she’s on her own catwalk while I stumble behind.

  We take the stairs, and soon we’re at a two-top looking over the bar below. Somehow, Astor’s right and the music is less overbearing at this height.

  “Drink?” Astor asks me. She gestures to the server coming our way.

  “Yes. Sure. Uh, Jack and Coke.”

  She raises a brow in the exact gesture of her brother’s. “Didn’t tag you for a Jack and Coke kinda gal.”

  “This bar has that kind of feel,” I admit, resting my forearms on the table, then drawing back when my skin sticks.

  She laughs. “You’re right about that. Two Jack and Cokes, please,” she says to the server.

  He’s cute, with dark hair and brown eyes, and I squirm when I figure out he’s surveying me, too. Astor’s bright blue eyes slide to me, and she knowingly smiles but says nothing, thank God.

  The server departs, and Astor doesn’t waste words. “So, how are you enjoying the city so far?”

  “It’s great. Nice,” I say, nodding.