Players to Lovers (4 Book Collection)

by Ketley Allison

  While she’s here. That begs repeating, since sometimes I forget how soon Carter’s going to move back to Florida.

  You’re no good for her. This can never work.

  But her eyes slide sideways. She’s watching Lily, and I’d pay anything to listen to what’s going on behind that gorgeous caramel stare. “I guess…”

  “You gotta come.”

  “I mean…” She pulls at a loose strand of hair, all curly and swirly from the humidity of an incoming storm. “I did sell a painting today.”

  “You what?” I rise to a stand, taking Lily with me, my knee nothing but an afterthought. I offer a hand and pull Carter up as well. “Dude, that’s awesome!”

  A giggle escapes her, a happy, unexpected twirl of sound that she covers with her hand. “I know, right? Who’d’ve thought someone would want to buy my stuff?”

  “Was it the flower-face one?”

  Her gaze flickers as she studies me. “You know that one?”

  “It’s…yeah. When you had them here, it was the first I opened and, hell, Carter, it was stunning.”

  She doesn’t scoff at me or call me a dumb jock who doesn’t know shit about art. “Really? You think so?”

  I ask, “Is that the one that sold?”

  “Yeah, it was.”

  “Then there’s your answer, sweetheart.”

  She clasps her hands in front of her. “Oh, my God. I sold a painting.”

  “You sold a goddamned painting.” I grin.

  “I sold a goddamned painting!” She squeals, then claps a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and on Lily. But Carter recovers by leaping into my arms.

  When she jumps, this time I’m ready for her. I carry both my girls and even do a little spin. Carter’s hand slips, skimming down my bare back, and I swear she leaves a chemical trail behind.

  “I—” She feels the moment, too, because Carter immediately backs off.

  “So, come tonight,” I say, giving Carter the escape from any awkwardness. “Celebrate.”

  Carter looks to Lily. Maybe Lily can answer, because she claps her hands, then begs to be let down so she can explore the room. If only decisions could come that easily.

  “And,” I add, “while we may be going to our favorite bar, I won’t be drinking. My vice of choice is tonic with lime these days.”

  “I wasn’t wondering,” Carter says, but we’re both remembering that one time a few nights ago when Carter did a full inventory of my kitchen, then my closets, and under every bed—including under Lily’s crib. That last one was a hard hit to my solar plexus. But as expected, Carter found nothing.

  “I’m not sure if your friends like me,” Carter says instead of elaborating.

  “They don’t know you. Give them a chance. Tonight’s the perfect opportunity.”

  I didn’t get into why she wanted them to like her, but I figure in any case, it's points in my favor, so I’m not about to push it.

  “You’re not going to let up, are you?” she asks.

  Carter asks it in a way that tips up one side of her mouth, an expression I haven’t seen since that brutal morning where she found the pill bottle.

  “Not a chance,” I reply.

  “Okay. Yeah, I will. If you can get Astor to sit.”

  “She’ll be here in a hot minute,” I say and mean every word. “Let’s shower up and get ready…separately,” I assure, and I feel like I’m talking to a skittish horse. “You go first.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  Carter hovers, hesitating over something I wish I knew the answer to, but in the end, decides to pat me on the arm. “Congratulations, Dada.”

  That warmth I felt at Lily’s trilling word returns in my chest. “Thanks, Carter.”

  She smiles at her name, but that’s all she’ll give me.

  The last I see of her is that sauntering ass in tight denim before she looks back once, then shuts the bathroom door.

  23

  Carter

  I’m in the shower and haven’t bothered to turn up the heat. I need the water cold, like chillingly, numbingly, cold so I can get the image of Locke out of my head.

  But what’s sexier than a hot, single dad doting on his baby girl? Anything? Anything?

  Add a perfectly sculpted bare torso to it.

  “Crap,” I say, then turn so my face is under the spray.

  I’ve been doing so well these past few days, pretending like Locke means nothing. Like our one night together meant old, faded copper pennies that one finds with dust bunnies under their couch. It’s taken all I have to stay quiet and unmoved while he wanders his apartment without a shirt on, plays with Lily while bending down and displaying his perfect ass, and puts her down for naps, Lily sleepily sucking her thumb while lying against his tanned shoulder.

  And now I get to add exercise to that list. His dewy, muscled body glistening as he makes Lily laugh, or lying flat on the floor, his hair thrown around by activity and Lily’s fingers.

  Was he shirtless so often on purpose?

  You’re mad at him. He lied to you. Kept the deeply important fact of his addiction, however brief he thinks it was, from you.

  That reminder is better than any cold shower. It’s been fueling my blank looks and uncaring stares this entire time. Because nothing, nobody, is more important than Lily’s well-being.

  I scrub hard at my scalp, hearing Lily’s “Dada!” in my head. It was a moment I couldn’t remain stoic for. The sheer glee on Locke’s face, like he couldn’t believe this creature he’s been caring for, doting on, can return the favor by showing him some love as well.

  Now he knows. All those hours of sleepless nights, the constant worry of being a bad parent, the insanely high octaves of endless wails, can culminate to a single, heart-rendering word, making it all worth it: dada.

  Or mama, but Paige hadn’t lived long enough to hear Lily speak.

  Another cold dash unrelated to my shower scrapes across my chest. I’m not sure, if ever, I’ll be able to think about Paige and all she’s lost without such hopelessness following suit.

  I let out a frustrated groan, wishing I could punch the tiles without getting seriously hurt, but settle for turning the tap off extra hard instead. I’m shivering, but revel in it since it centers me in reality instead of any wayward memories, whether they be about Locke or Paige.

  Wrapping a towel around myself, I crack open the door to see Locke—still shirtless—building himself a sandwich in the kitchen. Lily’s nowhere I can see, but the telltale sound of her white noise machine lets me know she’s down for her last nap.

  “Sandwich?” Locke asks once he hears me and turns.

  Water streams down my back from my wet hair, and it feels like ice melting. “I’m good, thanks. Had some scones with Pierce.”

  “I make a mean ham and swiss; just sayin’,” Locke says to me as I head to the nursery. Then he mumbles in a ridiculously bad British accent, “Better than any dry, crumby, fucking crumpet.”

  My hand’s on the doorknob to my and Lily’s room, and I curse. I can’t go in there and search for clothing while Lily’s asleep.

  “I laid out some options for you while you were in the shower,” Locke says, coming into the main room. He’s drying his hands with a dish towel as he gestures to the couch, where I see a few dresses laying. “I wanted to wait until you got out, but she was getting extra cranky, so…”

  “It’s no problem,” I say, tucking a wet tendril behind my ear and scanning his choices, but he remains where he is.

  “I, uh…I didn’t want to be that creep that goes through your underwear drawer, so that’s all you’re missing.”

  I look up, and he’s staring at me like he’s picturing me without underwear. Instantly, I go hot all over.

  “That’s okay,” I say, and it comes out more guttural than intended. “I’ll make do until she wakes up.”

  He nods, but his throat is bobbing like he’s withstanding some sort of pain. “I hope I did right with the dresses.”

/>   I’m clutching my towel like it isn’t knotted securely against my chest. Telling myself to chill, I reach down and sift through the three dresses Locke grabbed from my makeshift closet. I don’t have much to begin with, so I’m not surprised Locke went with the sexiest black cocktail attire I have—the red number I wore out with Astor—and some purple thing that must be Sophie’s. I’m convinced she packed this for my use during a one-night stand since it’s mostly straps and buckles.

  I go with the black. It, at least, has a bit of lace against the cleavage but is sexy enough that I won’t look like a prude in front of the pack of men who are apparently escorting me out tonight.

  Still not sure how I feel about that. Is it possible to be a fifth wheel when you’re the only woman?

  Why did I agree to this?

  I’m ready to throw in the towel—not literally, as I’m still in one—but maybe this isn’t such a bright idea. I’m not here for much longer. There’s no reason to befriend these guys, and I’m still mad at Locke. So why am I allowing him the tiniest fraction of leeway?

  “Part of me was hoping you’d go for the purple.”

  Locke gives a lopsided smile, one I’m sure has led many an unsuspecting lady to his bed.

  “Definitely the black one,” I say firmly, then spin around toward his bedroom for entirely different purposes.

  I pretend he’s not staring at the bottom of my ass cheeks as I retreat. This towel is way too goddamned small. I pull at the hem to redeem some modesty, but I hear his chuckle before I shut the bedroom door and get changed.

  By the time I’m dressed and out of his room, Locke’s in the bathroom, the stream of the shower going strong. He’s left the door cracked open a tiny fraction, some steam escaping out.

  “Crap,” I say. Again.

  My hair dryer and makeup bag are still in there.

  Suck it up, Jameson. He’s just a guy. A naked one.

  Tentatively, I knock. “Uh, Locke?”

  “Yeah?” he says over the shower. “Is Lily up?”

  “No, she’s fine. Um, I need to get my stuff off the counter. Is that okay?”

  “You don’t have to ask.” Despite the sound of the water, I sense his amusement.

  I creep in anyway like I’m a girl who’s never seen a penis before. But this is Locke’s penis. An entirely different species, because while I’ve only seen a glimpse of him, the entirety of Lachlan Hayes is the kind of body only actors get to see—or models. Not regular people like me, leading boring lives—

  Glass doors.

  Why didn’t I remember the shower has glass panels? I was just in it!

  I clap a hand over my eyes, peeking through my fingers and fumbling blindly through the steam for what I need on the counter. Bottles fall and clack.

  “You look gorgeous.” His voice is low, and it echoes against the tiles like a lion circling its prey.

  “Shut up,” I say to him. But my eyes betray me, and I’m already over there, devouring all he has to offer.

  Because he’s not shy. While behind steamed glass, the condensation doesn’t disguise anything. He’s standing there, facing the showerhead but looking at me. And I’m looking at him.

  And he’s completely naked and shining, his blue eyes piercing through the fog. And I have to remember, with every iota I possess, that I can’t be attracted to him.

  I gulp. Look down.

  He’s clearly attracted to me.

  And he’s staring like he’s remembering his mouth on me.

  My heart goes hot, molten, pooling its liquid heat into my core. I’m basically an animal with only instincts to rely on since all humanity has left this body.

  “Found it!” I scream, way too loudly, and clutch my cosmetics bag to my chest. The blow dryer’s electrical cord clatters on the floor behind me as I scramble out of there as fast as my bare feet on slippery floors allow.

  The buzzer screeches as I’m exiting the bathroom in a flurry, and I’m 100% saved by the bell.

  “Come in!” I chirp through the speakers, then go about untangling the dryer’s cord and search for an available outlet.

  I find one in the kitchen, just atop the counter, and figure there is as good a space as any to flip my hair over and start blow drying.

  It’s also as far away from Locke as possible in this small space.

  I don’t hear the door open but notice through the dark strands of my hair two lithe legs clad in denim shorts moving inside.

  “Hi!” I say over the noise of the dryer. “I’ll be with you in just a sec.”

  Astor says something, but I don’t hear it. I straighten, smoothing my hair with a paddle brush while I wiggle the blow dryer around my head.

  Now that I’m right-side-up, I notice Astor, casual in an off-the-shoulder tee and her short hair fashionably pinned back, tipping a can of seltzer to her lips.

  I flick the off switch to the dryer. “Hi,” I say again.

  Astor’s gaze rakes over me. She’s leaning against the kitchen counter, a little too near for my liking, and is sizing me up like a lioness.

  She and Locke really are twins.

  “You look amazing,” she says.

  There’s no duplicity in her tone—or meanness.

  “Thank you,” I say. “I’m kind of improvising here since there’s only one bathroom and very few mirrors.”

  Astor laughs. “Spoken like you’re living in a true bachelor pad. Where’s the munchkin?”

  “Asleep, but she should be awake any second.”

  “Excellent. I’ve missed her.”

  “How come you haven’t been around?”

  I ask it before thinking, or remembering, that my and Locke’s confrontation happened because of what Astor confessed to me. Had I not known and simply found a bottle of painkillers on Locke’s floor, I would’ve believed anything he said, including that it was simply leftover from his surgery.

  The thought numbs.

  Astor’s answering smile isn’t genuine. “Locke…keeps to himself a lot these days.”

  “He’s a vault,” I agree, unplugging and wrapping the cord around the handle. Before I lose my nerve, I ask, “Anything else I should know about him?”

  She wavers. I see it in the way her eyelids lower. “I think I’ve done enough, don’t you agree?”

  I’m right. Astor and Locke are fighting over what she told me. “I’m sorry I’m coming between you and your brother—really, I am. But if there’s anything I need to know, for Lily’s sake, please say it. I’ll find out regardless.”

  I dump my hair stuff on the counter, then fold my arms. Astor may think she’s intimidating—and she sure as hell is—but all I have to do is remember that I have to leave Lily behind, that she’ll no longer have me—and suddenly, no deadly weapon can keep me from knowing the truth, never mind another woman’s warning glare.

  “My loyalty is to my brother,” Astor says. “I like you, but I don’t know you. But, I want to assure you, Lily’s safe. He’s not hiding anything on that, and I wouldn’t help him. So, anything else you want to know, you’ll have to ask him.”

  I shake my head, readying to argue.

  “Or ask his friends,” Astor adds, with a raised brow. She maintains her stare with me as if she’s offering a clue, as Locke makes noises behind us. He wanders into the main room, a towel slung low on his hips.

  “You’re here,” he says to Astor as greeting.

  “Yes, brother, I’m here, as you’ve beckoned. Now give me my niece, the real reason I’ve arrived instead of seeing your sorry face.”

  “Uh-huh,” he says, using a smaller towel to rub at his face and hair. “Go get her, then. I hear some squealing going on.”

  Astor claps her hands and bounces off the counter, actions I’m not used to seeing on such a composed, well-postured lady. The woman has layers, I’ll give her that.

  She departs behind Locke, disappearing into the nursery.

  Locke’s still standing there, smiling.

  “Go get ready,”
I snap at him. And stop looking at me like you want to eat me. Again.

  I blush at the thought, and the action has him zeroing in and holding his towel like he’s readying to rip it off.

  “Go,” I repeat. Then add as a reminder, “Your sister’s here.”

  One side of his mouth lifts up. “I’ll lock her in the nursery.”

  “I have to finish making a list of the things she needs to do for Lily while we’re gone,” I say, and as I predicted, his eyes start glazing over. “Times to feed her, how many ounces in a bottle, diaper changes, watching for poop, bedtime routine…”

  “All right, all right.” Locke waves me off. “Nothing like the mention of poop to deflate a boner.”

  Don’t forget I’m mad at you! I want to scream at his back, but I’m so conflicted with desire, anger, and contentment. It’s impossible to maintain any single emotion with him for longer than 2.5 seconds.

  Since our confrontation, Locke’s been trying. I’ll give him that much. But it’s all for nothing. In two and a half weeks, I’ll be gone for good—Lily will be in his hands.

  And at this very moment, his sister is in the other room with Lily.

  So…nothing, literally zero reasons, point to taking this any further with Locke than I already have.

  I sigh while staring at the spot where he once stood.

  We’re both already so hurt by life.

  Being together would only coat those wounds with fresh blood.

  24

  Locke

  I’m ready faster than a pigskin being thrown at fifty-nine miles per hour at my chest.

  I figure, the quicker Carter and I get out of here, the more time I’ll have alone with her, so I can show her how much better I am than whatever’s in her head.