Players to Lovers (4 Book Collection)

by Ketley Allison

  The boys are meeting us around six, an hour before Easton hits the stage. The bar’s within walking distance, but if Carter and I stroll really slow, maybe get there around 5:30, there could be some good time put in to put Lachlan Hayes the Charmer to the test.

  A quick peek through my window, and I let out a curse. There’s definitely a storm brewing, but water hasn’t broken on pavement yet. I’ll swipe an umbrella on the way out, and I’m grinning at an idea. Both of us, under an umbrella, Carter tucked against my side, raindrops splashing against our arms, our legs, as we make a break to hide under scaffolding half a block away.

  Could be a moment, making out with her under a storm.

  If Carter still allows that kind of thing to happen.

  Sounds reach my ears, of two women laughing and a baby playing, and I rush through the smoothing back of my hair, the spritzing of cologne, so I can go out and be part of the action.

  Carter and Astor are on the floor with Lily, playing hide-the-blocks. Lily’s screeching and clapping her hands, finding some behind their legs but missing most because she’s too distracted by…anything and everything.

  “You ready?” I say to Carter as she looks up at my arrival. Again, I’m grounded by those pale gold eyes. More primal than human, they’re a color I don’t think I’ve seen on any other woman, and probably won’t again.

  “Sure.” She stands, smoothing out her dress and picking off a few crumbs of a teething cookie. “This is how I go out most days.” She laughs as she brushes her hands together. “Be thankful I don’t smell like spit-up this time.”

  I return the smile, but it seems to scare her since hers winks out. I contain a growl of frustration.

  I fought against the crushing depression of losing my dream. I battle the allure of painkillers and smack down any remaining cravings for alcohol on a daily basis. I took on an eleven-month-old before ever meeting her, never mind becoming aware of her existence before she was almost a year old.

  I could make a girl trust me again.

  So why does it feel so damn impossible?

  “Be good. And I mean you,” I say to my sister.

  Astor rolls her eyes from where she’s curled up on the floor. “Carter’s given me detailed instructions; don’t you worry. This kid will be taken care of to the minute. Your girl’s ensured it.”

  Astor’s gaze widens at her last sentence in typical pretend oops, did I say that? flair, a trait she acquired long before taking the fast track to becoming a lawyer, so I give her an eye roll right back.

  Carter remains uncomfortably silent.

  “We’re off,” I say to her and offer my arm. It’s a relief when she takes it, and I grab an umbrella from the line of hooks on the wall by the door.

  I hold the door open for Carter both times, and soon we’re out on the sidewalk and into the humidity, the wind too quiet to be normal.

  “It’s going to rain soon,” Carter says as she looks up to the sky.

  I nod and shake the umbrella as assurance. “We’ll be fine. It’s four blocks away.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about something,” Carter says as she, unfortunately, picks up the pace. She untangles her arm from mine and puts a good amount of space between us.

  “Yeah?”

  “At the coffee shop, there’s a cork board.”

  “Huh.” I have no idea where the fuck she’s going with this.

  “And it’s got a list of classifieds on it sometimes,” she continues.

  My chin lifts. Ah, there it is.

  “Listen,” I say before she can go on. “My buddies are on top of helping me figure out my career. You don’t need to take on the same responsibility.”

  “You’re not an obligation,” she says.

  “I’m fully aware I need to find something to support both myself and Lily once my cash runs out. I can’t live day-to-day forever, especially with a child. I’m aware of all of it, Carter.”

  I’m on the defensive, but I can’t help it. If Carter’s questioning my ability to support Lily, if she’s worried I’ll fuck up as soon as she leaves…well. I snort. Of course, she is. That’s all she ever does. Not a day goes by when Carter doesn’t consider me a fuck up.

  “I’m not scanning it for you every day thinking something will pop up,” she says. “I happened to be looking at it this morning while waiting for Pierce to finish my latte…”

  Fucking Pierce…

  “…and an ad caught my attention. It’s for the local high school. A part-time football coach.”

  I frown, my defenses unclear on how much higher they should rise.

  “And I’m only letting you know because I think it might be perfect. Lily could go into day care part of the day; you can coach nearby and still have a ton of time with her. At least,” she says, retreating under my silence, “that’s what I thought. I could be way off base. This is your life, your decision. I only…well, football’s something you love. Maybe this is a way to get some of it back. And now I feel like I’m yelling into a void. Locke, say something.”

  Our pace has sped up, and I slow my steps as I register her scurrying beside me to keep up.

  “I don’t know,” I say at last.

  Because I really don’t. This girl, who claims I tell her nothing about myself, has taken it upon herself to find a type of career for me that really could work. Ash, Ben, East…they mean well, but they point to traditional routes, even though not one of the fuckers has one of those. Financial shit, hedge fund stuff, basically become a suit behind a desk since I was so good with numbers—on the field, anyway. But none thought to mention another route in football. Maybe they figured it’d hurt my feelings, send me spiraling, to have to watch other men take the field while I was benched on the sidelines. And that was a real concern.

  Yet…the thought of coaching young athletes, of having them reach whatever potential they want, yeah. It’s easy for those imagined kids to morph into Lily in my mind, encouraging her to do whatever she wants—please be sports—being there for her when she goes down, helping her get back up.

  Helping kids.

  That sounds pretty fucking fantastic.

  “It’s not an end game, but it could be a stepping stone,” Carter says, her voice barely a squeak. “Maybe a way to open the gates into professional football coaching, I don’t know. I’m not familiar with the inner workings of—”

  “You did good, Carter.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” And I’m laughing at the shock of it. “I’ll call, schedule an interview.”

  “Awesome!” Carter hooks my arm and squeezes, her breast coming close to my side, then predictably flies away once she realizes what she’s done.

  I shake my head, but say nothing, since what she’s done is more of a gift than she’ll ever know.

  The bar is packed by the time Carter and I arrive. It’s unusual for a Wednesday night, but I’m a moron.

  I consistently forget the siren call of Easton Mack.

  He’s acoustic tonight, but his usual gig is as a drummer in a well-known band, at least in these parts, called Nocturne Court. But they’re gaining traction outside of Brooklyn at warp speed. Whispers of a record deal circle, and so do the ladies.

  “Wow,” Carter says when I open the door, and she ducks under my arm. She echoes my thoughts. “Isn’t it, like, five p.m.?”

  I nod while pointing to the bar. “My buddy, East, remember him?”

  After a second, she says, “Yeah, except I nicknamed him Enigma in my head since he said nothing when I met him that one time, and therefore I know zilch about him.”

  I bark out a laugh. “Typical East fashion. The dude doesn’t talk unless it’s necessary.”

  Carter raises her brows. “I guess I wasn’t necessary.”

  Shit. Did I fuck up? “That’s not what I—”

  Carter laughs and smacks me on the arm. “Relax. I’m fine with it. Is he the source of all this?”

  I shrug, but he is. For a guy who hates social med
ia, East sure gets his presence noticed.

  Carter hmms in approval as she scans the people, mostly female. “He’s silent, hot, and I guess very talented at—what does he play?”

  I frown at the back of her head. “Drums.”

  “It makes total sense now.”

  My frown deepens.

  The bartender comes over and asks us what we want. Carter looks to me, so I ask for the special, which is a domestic, watered down lager all chicks seem to dig, and a tonic with lime.

  “Where are the rest of the guys?” she asks as a chilled brown bottle is slid over to her.

  “On their way.” I tip my own drink to my mouth as I lean back against the bar.

  The stage is directly in front of us, and the small wooden platform is already set up with a microphone and two big speakers with wires trailing across the floor.

  “Do you normally go to his shows?” Carter asks, taking up a comfortable position beside me. “And support him like this?”

  “We all support each other,” I admit. “It’s like an unspoken pact we had as freshmen. Ben and me, we were put together in a dorm room, and Ash and East were next door. When we realized we didn’t hate each other, we figured we might as well tolerate each other.”

  “And that led to everlasting friendship,” Carter says, smiling. “How sweet.”

  Her lips, the delighted curve to them, act as a sledgehammer between my eyes. I’m made all too aware we’re having a pleasant conversation, no pressure, no expectation, simply talking. And now that I know it, I’m gonna make it awkward.

  “We’ve helped each other through a lot of shit times,” I say.

  Carter sighs. “You’re lucky you have each other.”

  My attention slides from rattling the ice in my glass back to her. “I’m sorry you lost yours.”

  She nods, her turn to look down into the depths of her bottle. “She was my only.”

  “If you ever want to talk…” I shrug. “Like, if you ever want to tell me about her, I’m here to listen. You know, if you need to.”

  She catches me by surprise by meeting my stare. “You never told me. How you and Paige met, and what…what happened between you two.”

  See, that awkwardness I promised? Here it is. “Oh, that.”

  “Yes, that turned into Lily.”

  Damn it. “I guess it did.”

  “So, you want to tell me? Paige never did. I didn’t push her, and now I really wish I had. Since I’ve met you, for real and not just heard of you or run into you on campus, you’re not exactly the guy I’d picture Paige with.”

  “We fooled around,” I say, and place my empty glass on the bar. Shit, I sucked that back too quick. Now I have nothing to do with my hands. “There’s not much to it.”

  “Yeah, but—while Paige slept with a lot of guys, she never kept them a secret from me. And for some reason—” Carter stops herself, seeming to answer her own question.

  “Paige slept around?” I’m honestly curious, because the girl I remember, she wasn’t…adept, the way I’d think an experienced girl would be.

  “She’s not a slut.”

  “Not what I’m getting at.” I raise my hands. “I’m all for woman power, believe me.”

  Carter’s gaze darkens like she’s reminding herself of my slutty past.

  It’s definitely time to deflect, both from the truth and history.

  “Maybe she kept her thing with me under wraps because of you,” I say.

  Carter stiffens. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “There would have to be a good reason she wouldn’t confess, considering how close you guys were,” I say, and lower my voice as much as I can to soften the blow. “Even before she knew she was pregnant, she didn’t want to tell you about me.”

  “And you have the answer?”

  “Yeah, I kinda do.”

  I don’t want to get into the how, because for the first time, I’m hesitant it’ll come out like I’m a dick. But I know, fairly fast, when a chick is into me. Years of denying and accepting women’s advances have honed me into a sensor where I can bed a chick or let them down gently within minutes. All it takes is a brief rewind to the night of the party where I slept with Paige, and I see, in that younger Carter’s expression, exactly why Paige kept our romp in the sheets secret.

  “You had a crush on me,” I say.

  Carter’s mouth starts working, a fish out of water gasping for something to come out of her gills instead of dead silence, and I don’t have the heart to keep going.

  “It’s whatever,” I say, then signal for another tonic. “In the past. And clearly, you and Paige worked through that night, anyway.”

  “Why am I not surprised you immediately mention your sex appeal as the reason instead of something more realistic,” Carter spits out, and I’m genuinely shocked.

  “Huh?”

  “It always comes back to your penis, doesn’t it?”

  “I—no?”

  I have no idea what to do. I’ve gotten that spark back in Carter, the fire in her eyes that usually turns me on…except, she’s honestly pissed. And once again, I’m left fucking clueless.

  “God, when are you going to see a girl outside of fucking her?” Carter asks.

  “Hey now,” I say, but don’t dare reach for her. “I’m only telling you what I figure—”

  “Well, you figure wrong,” she huffs, then pretzels her arms to her chest and stares straight ahead. “I don’t—didn’t—have a crush on you.”

  I’m dismissed.

  I was about to tell Carter about the bet, and how, at the time, when I was young and dumb, Paige was nothing but a wager and our night together didn’t mean anything. That what I feel for Carter, here and now, means something.

  Doing that right now will land me with nothing but a broken bottle to the dick.

  Carter’s protecting Paige. Even after learning who Lily’s father was and being left with no official plans laid out for Lily when Paige passed away, Carter’s protecting her best friend.

  I look at her with fresh eyes and have to respect it.

  “There you two lovebirds are!”

  Asher’s booming voice comes through, loud and clear. Fuck, Ash, not now.

  Carter cuts over to me. “Did you tell them—”

  “No. Fuck no. They’re natural assholes.”

  Ben’s leading the way through the crowd, but Asher acts like an efficient buffer to anyone who draws too near. Full of tats and some even reach up his neck. Most—if not all—of his chest is covered, and he’s recently started work on his calves.

  I only know about this because his mother shrieks at him for it whenever he picks up his phone. Ash comes from old, old money, back in the Vanderbilt Railroad days, but one look at him and no one would figure his mother’s a dame.

  And the fact he’s gaining a fast reputation as one of the best pastry chefs in the city? Yeah, most people choke on their drinks after hearing that doozy.

  Once Ash’s ink is properly assessed, gazes slide over to Ben and recognition flashes in most of them. He’s a power player this season, a receiver for the Giants, and, despite only having finished his rookie season in the NFL, already has over a thousand yards receiving and caught eleven touchdowns his rookie year. Ben’s living my dream, but I wouldn’t know it, since he does everything he can to respect my situation, and it’s getting annoying.

  Oh, and there’s also the innate awkwardness that happens between us now that I know he’s fucked my sister, and he’s got no clue I’m aware of it.

  My buddies, summed up in a nutshell.

  “Carter, nice to see you again,” Ben says upon reaching us.

  Carter smiles, but since I’m familiar with her skittishness, I can tell it’s a scared one.

  “Nice of you guys to show,” I say.

  Ash punches me in the shoulder, and I fake a wince. He likes to think he’s tough, and who am I to swat away this tatted pastry chef’s fantasy?

  “Being early is for losers,
” he says.

  “Or for people with real commitments,” Ben pipes in.

  He rests against the bar, signaling for a drink. Carter’s attention immediately lands on Ben’s scarred forearm, the result of a childhood trauma he won’t talk about. All I know is, he became an orphan because of it. The press has tried to figure out the source of the burn, but he’s since changed his name, and any court documents indicating what happened are sealed.

  “You seen him yet?” Ben asks me after requesting two shots of Johnny Walker.

  “Nah,” I reply, shooting back my tonic. It’s the second I’ve finished in about twenty minutes. Being sober definitely means I’m going to piss a lot.

  “Where’s the shrimpette?” Asher asks as he squeezes in behind Carter, noticing her ass while tipping up his shot of Walker.

  Carter isn’t paying attention. She’s back to flitting between my phone and my face, an action she isn’t aware she’s doing, but I’ve seen it at least six times. I tear my glare away from Asher, working my jaw, so I don’t rear forward and clamp my jaws on the flesh of his bicep and tear him away from Carter like a pit bull in heat, and glance at my phone.

  * * *

  Sis: All is well at casa Hayes. Tell Carter to relax already.

  * * *

  “Lily’s fine,” I say in response to Ash, but I’m looking at Carter. “Astor’ll have her ready for bed soon.”

  The tension leeches out of Carter’s shoulders. “Great. That’s great.”

  She takes a long draw from her beer.

  If Ben reacts to my sister’s name, I miss it, because I can’t tear my attention away from Carter and how a simple few words have brought color back to her cheeks, a sway to her stance, and a genuine curve to her berry-colored lips.

  Raspberry today. A bright pop to that gorgeous face. It would stain me for sure.

  In all the right places.

  Ah, God. I’ve got to stop thinking of her writhing beneath me. Otherwise, I’ll have to be obvious and adjust my growing bulge. And I won’t be able to hide it. The boys would unleash their hyena laughs and call me out right in front of the girl.

  The lights dim and someone gets up in front of the microphone. I recognize the bar’s manager, Karl, by his giant frame, wide belly, balding head, and massively large arms. His nickname is Green Mile because of his resemblance to the main actor in the movie. His voice booms out.