Players to Lovers (4 Book Collection)

by Ketley Allison

  “Locke…” She raises her arms to my waist. “You pulled me from the grave of my best friend. I feel alive, like an actual, breathing person, because of you. It isn’t just you who needed the spaces filled.”

  I smile wide. “So…does this mean we love each other?”

  She laughs, tears glistening against her cheeks. “We do. I don’t want to fight it anymore. I love you.”

  “C’mere,” I say roughly, and pull her against me.

  Lily bats at our stomachs, begging to get in on the hug. Her lips are covered with cracker crumbs. God knows where she found those.

  “No—Lily!” Carter admonishes. “Don’t go for the gum under the table!”

  I chuckle as we separate, Carter lifting Lily into her arms while I cross mine and say, “You ready for this new chapter of ours?”

  Carter meets my eyes over Lily’s blonde curls and smiles. “I’m ready for anything you two want to throw at me.”

  Locke and Carter are living happily ever after, but what about Astor and Ben? Keep reading for a sneak peek of the next Players to Lovers novel, Daring You!

  Or, one-click Daring You, available now!

  Epilogue

  ASTOR

  My co-counsel’s fucked me, my boss is yelling at me, I missed my salon appointment to cover the gray hairs I know are peeking their grizzled selves through my normal gloss, but I am not missing my niece’s first birthday.

  I didn’t get to be around for her birth. Didn’t know she existed at six months. I’ll be damned if I miss her first cake.

  But try telling that to a room full of middle-aged men who want a merger contract perfected on a Saturday afternoon. Doesn’t matter that I’m a summer law intern stretched so thin I’m see-through and have yet to receive my July bar results (but, believe me, I’ve passed). Or that I chose the fast track acceleration program and completed law school in two years, and if all goes well, I’ll be a junior associate in a few months. In order to do so, I still have to act like I’m less. Appeal to their suit-clad egos as their own wives, mistresses, and children, are being tended to by nannies and housekeepers and glam squads. Ask them to understand I want to be with Lily in person, instead of having my assistant send a diaper cake.

  Or was that only meant for baby showers?

  Damn it. Maybe I should give Phoebe, my assistant paralegal, a call anyway. Because I sure as hell don’t have a present resting beside me in this car.

  My cell vibrates in my blazer pocket as I’m idling in Times Square traffic.

  Why the hell did you choose Tourist Central, Locke? I think as I pull the phone out.

  “Mike, hey,” I say in greeting.

  “Babe. Where’d you say this place was? I’m stuck in traffic.”

  “So am I. Somewhere…I dunno, Locke talked about a shrimp?”

  “I’ve lived in this city my entire life and have no idea what you’re referring to.”

  “Probably because you lived in the Upper West your entire boyhood and only descended below fiftieth street to try coke and loose college women.”

  “Isn’t that how I met you?” he asks dryly. “Now tell me where this laser light-up shrimp is.”

  I give him the coordinates and we say our goodbyes. Mike’s running about twenty minutes behind me.

  I haven’t seen Mike since this morning, when I crawled out of our TriBeCa condo before the sun rose, so I could get a head start on this contract meant to bring in a cool million for our firm. Mike and I are accelerated law school graduates and summer interns at the same firm, but we met long before that, in law school. At first we competed with each other, then fucked each other, and now we’re each other’s fiancées.

  I’m happy, Mike’s excellent in bed, and he doesn’t mind that I don’t speak to him in twelve-hour increments, since we’re both so busy continuing to compete against each other.

  It’s healthy, I think. Keeps the relationship on its toes. I won’t ask a therapist about it, though.

  Finally, the driver double parks near a curb throbbing with children, backpacks, and visors. I thank the man and step out, my Louboutin’s stiletto nearly sticking in a sewer grate. This, I’m used to, considering sewer and subway grates could be found in any part of the city and was a direct threat to most women in heels and skirts.

  I pull it out seamlessly, hook my large, heavy leather tote over my shoulder, and make my way to the bright lights that call to the rest of the world, but act as a blasphemous cross to native New Yorkers.

  “‘Scuse…pardon me, I just need to…” Thwack. Some guy in a t-shirt and khakis bowls into my shoulder. “Why, thank you, sir! How kind of you to step aside!”

  I yell at his back then flip him the bird. Another tourist takes a picture of me.

  “Ugh, Locke, this better be fucking…” I don’t finish my sentence, because a large, firm, scarred hand grabs my arm and pulls me into a gap under the awning of the restaurant.

  It’s Ben. I know it before I recognize the scars, because I’ve felt that hand on me before. I inhale deep and stare at the restaurant entrance instead of meeting those sea glass eyes of his.

  “Is this the place?” I ask breathlessly, looking up.

  “A thank you would be nice.” His voice rumbles beside me, his mere presence hitching my exhale, but I won’t let him know that.

  “I didn’t ask for assistance,” I say.

  “No, you cursed at strangers instead. Typical.”

  “I’m so glad you made it out of that mob at Easton’s concert okay,” I retort.

  Ben leans on the door, sweeping his arm out in an exaggerated gesture for me to step in first. I do. Tartly.

  “They’re in the back,” he says behind me.

  “I know.”

  I stride with purpose, well-versed in four-inch heels, and I’m aware of Ben’s attention during the entire walk to the back. We may have parted minds and bodies a year ago, I may be with someone else now and he’s probably screwed many others, but I still enjoy showing off what he’s missing.

  And that’s my perfect, well-rounded, taut Pilates ass.

  I turn my profile a hare so I can catch him in the act, but I’ve lost him.

  Stopping to the side of the aisle, I frown when I spot him.

  Most of the stares in this restaurant are directed at Ben. He’s a big name in NYC, a sports hero that women and children adore in equal parts, and he’s busy signing autographs for a family with three boys goggling.

  One hand on my hip, I try not to smile at the way Ben engages the boys, arcing a neon pink straw like a football and and clapping the nearest boy on the back. He’s generally interested in what they have to say, and he poses as the parents rip out their phones and photo blast him.

  “Shoulda figured this kind of place would swarm him like ants,” Locke says as he comes up beside me.

  “That’s anywhere,” I say before I can stop myself.

  Locke places a hand on my elbow and directs me to the table instead of responding. “Come see the birthday girl.”

  “Lily!” I exclaim as my tote thunks to the floor and I bend down to hug her. I draw back—only slightly. “How is she so sticky? I don’t see any food in front of her.”

  Carter laughs. “A perpetual side effect to a toddler.” She shrugs. “Or old gum left by someone before us. Who knows?”

  I laugh in reply, but it’s uncertain. I have no idea if parents are supposed to be super germophobes or what.

  “Here. Have my favorite cocktail.” Carter pushes over a fresh Pina Colada as Locke dives into the crowd to save Ben.

  Carter’s grinning over hers, a neon green straw playing against her lips, and I zone in. The other interns don’t call me Devil Lady for no reason. “What’s up?”

  “Huh?” Carter’s genuinely surprised. “Nothing.”

  “You’re leaving tonight. You shouldn’t be this happy.”

  It’s blunt, but it’s honest—something I’m trying to work on. A lot of people don’t like the truth. I should know.
<
br />   Carter sucks on her straw, but her attention is on Locke’s back. And she grins. The straw pops out. “Locke and I, we’re working some stuff out, but…I think I’m staying.”

  “You are?” I haven’t sat down yet, and my gaze is bouncing between Carter and a distant Locke. “What? How? My brother?” I point in his direction. “He’s…he finally sacked up enough to tell you his true feelings?”

  Carter’s genuinely shocked. “You knew?”

  “Not in so many words,” I admit, because I’ve messed words up plenty. Locke’s still in forgiving mode for my spilling about him to Carter. Twice. “But it’s obvious how he feels about you. I’m so proud he’s let you in on it. I thought he was just going to let you board a plane, leaving me to deal with his sad, pathetic self.”

  Carter nods. “It’s taken us both a long while to get to this point. Lily…” She looks down at Lily endearingly. “She’s the glue. But Locke’s my man.” Carter laughs, as if overjoyed to be saying such a thing.

  I’m genuinely happy for them both, and on impulse, I round the table and hug her. “Welcome to New York, Carter.”

  “You mean it?”

  “Of course!” And I’m actually shocked. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  “Not exactly. But you’re—well, you must know this already. You warned me off Locke. And you were scary doing it. And I really want you to like me,” she says in a rush. “Locke’s so important to me, and it’d be devastating to think I’m a disappointment to his family—”

  “First off, no.” I hold up a finger. “Do not lump me and my father in the same familial context. And secondly, you’re the reason my brother’s found his self again. His true self. I’m sorry I couldn’t see that sooner and judged you before trying to understand you. But I can’t thank you enough for how much you’ve helped him. So much so, that I’ll babysit for you two whenever you want.” I say the last part with a deer-in-the-headlights smile.

  The one time I babysat Lily and she pulled down the dishwasher panel on herself…well, that’s something I vowed never to bring up to Locke or Carter. Ever.

  “Astor, you have no idea how much that means to me,” Carter says. “With the move I’ll be making, resigning from my job…”

  “The whole falling in love part,” I add with a smile.

  “Yes,” she breathes. “It won’t be easy.”

  “Anything easy isn’t worth it,” I say, bringing my arm around her for a squeeze. “And you have a friend here in the city. And when Locke’s filth disgusts you, as it eventually will, you and Lily will always have a place to stay.”

  And I’m surprised I mean it. In a world of fabrication and the constant bracing for counter-arguments, I don’t like to ponder how much of myself I’ve lost. I only think to win. But I like Carter, I love how she’s improved every aspect of my brother, and I’m thankful she’s brought my niece into our lives. If she needs me to lug paintings for her, then I’ll do it.

  “Lily!” a familiar voice booms, a low baritone that tickles my spine no matter how many times I scratch at the itch.

  Ben comes through the fray, lifting Lily and smacking his lips to her cheek.

  Locke chuckles. “You saw her in this very spot an hour ago.”

  “You know I can’t avoid an irresistible woman,” Ben says, then tucks Lily against him. She, however, has other plans, wanting to scoot down and away from him to eat the peanut shells scattered across the floor.

  I knew I loved her.

  “This restaurant greeted you like it was your first time entering,” I say to Ben. I don’t like talking to him, but I can’t resist it.

  “Second time, actually.” He passes Lily to Carter, eyeing the ground speculatively. “I was helping Locke set up.”

  “For a one-year-old’s birthday party?” I ask.

  “Yeah, what of it?”

  “Nothing.” I backtrack quickly, annoyed I’m doing it. “I didn’t peg you for the sort of guy who carries pink balloons, is all.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t bother to know about me,” he mutters, but I catch it.

  Then maybe you shouldn’t have left me naked—I clam up before I spill anything. But my glare says it all.

  Ben meets it, blinks, then looks away.

  Exactly, you bastard.

  I’m conscious of Carter at my side, studying Ben and I’s interaction with too much 20/20 vision.

  “Carter, this drink is delish. Let’s have another,” I say.

  Ugh, I’m definitely off my game.

  “Crap, you drink fast,” she blurts, noticing my hourglass cocktail has long since been emptied. “Sure, I can have one more.”

  “Excellent,” I say, and decide to ignore Ben for the rest of the hours I’m forced to be with him.

  “Babe, I made it!” Mike’s booming voice tops the crowd as he breaks through and meets us, also clad in a suit.

  His black hair is disheveled, likely by the wind or navigating tourists, his tie loosened, and he combs his fingers to tame the strands as he bends down and kisses me.

  I wrinkle my nose. Mike smells strange. Not bad, but not his not his usual cologne, either. It smells like….roses?

  “Is this the new addition? Gosh, she’s gorgeous!” Mike turns his megawatt smile on the rest of the guests, kissing Carter’s cheek in hello, shaking Locke’s hand and then patting Ben’s glowering form on the shoulder. He then sidles closer to Lily, back in the high chair, and bops her nose.

  A true politician, I think, marveling at the ease in which he could navigate any group of people, including two men who pretty much hate him. Until I see it.

  The barest pink smudge on the back of his shirt collar.

  “You two lovebirds have a wedding date yet?” Locke asks.

  Conversation has been flowing, Mike’s answering questions, but I’ve tunnel-visioned into that stain on his shirt. I’m unable to blink.

  “…right, babe?”

  I blink. “Huh?”

  “The wedding date. We decided three months from now. October, Hamptons, isn’t that right?” Mike asks.

  “Yes. Absolutely.” I take his offered hand.

  “We wanted to wait until after Lily’s birthday to tell you, so as not to take away from her day. But when asked a direct question…I couldn’t lie to you, brother,” Mike says to Locke. Locke loses a bit of his grin at the title. “And I couldn’t be more excited to make your sister my wife.”

  My lips are numb but acting of their own accord. Ben’s in my periphery, gone to stone, except for his hands. They’re fisted, along with my heart.

  I accept Mike’s kiss at my temple. I squeeze his hand in return. Feel the sharp edges of my engagement ring against my fingers in his tight grip.

  And I smile.

  1

  Ben

  6 Years Ago

  Locker room cocks.

  I’m surrounded by them, should be used to them, and I still think mine’s the biggest.

  The boys and I are fresh off a game, where the Gators yet again beat the ’Noles, and the air is thick with sweat and success. Shouts echo across the walls and ricochet against the ceiling. Locker doors slam as towels are slung on benches or dropped into damp puddles on the floor.

  I’m rubbing my head with a spare one I was lucky to snag before the towel shortage began, and don’t sense the approach before I’m rightly screwed.

  A towel flicks like a whip against my bare ass cheeks, and I flail against my open locker for a second.

  “Fuck, man!”

  “Ha-ha!” Locke crows. “Never gets old.”

  “Save your rat-tails for the rookies, fucker,” I grumble, and avoid rubbing my ass like I want to.

  “Not the same,” Locke says, leaning a shoulder against the locker beside mine. My teammate and best friend prefers to remain in his towel and cool off for as long as possible before getting into regular people clothing, so I’m forced to deal with his damp, half-naked body as I contort and slide into my shirt as fast as possible.

>   My dick, I don’t mind showing off. It’s the rest of me I’m more concerned with. The most obvious burn scar is on my right forearm, but it travels. The flames left a mottled tattoo that curls up my bicep and onto my shoulders. The fire also licked its tongue across my lower back and burned its liquid heat onto my thighs. The faster I get it covered up, the less questions I’m forced to deal with, not that my buddies ask questions anymore. It’s more the stares these days.

  “Get lost,” I say when he tries to trip me up as I lift a foot.

  “You got places to be?” Locke asks. He wipes droplets from his forehead, his light brown hair still streaming from the shower.

  “I’m craving some shut-eye,” I say.

  “You’re not coming out with us tonight? But we just won, man!”

  “I know, I know.” I give my face one last wipe with the towel before tossing it in the hamper across the room. “All this drinking is doing my head in. I’m tired, not gonna lie.”

  Locke stares at me like I’ve morphed into his greatest nightmare—a sober nerd. “But not the fucking, right? Don’t tell me you’re tired of that. ‘Cause if you are, I gotta get me a new wingman.”

  I palm my locker shut. “Yeah, ‘cause we need those.”

  “There he is.” Locke grins. “Knew you were still in there somewhere. All right, go to bed, Granny. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “What, you’re not staying over somewhere?”

  Locke is the only man alive I’ve seen actually waggle his eyebrows. “Not yet.”

  I smack him on the back, remember he’s still wet, and shake out my hand. “Later, bro.”

  “Later.”

  I toss the strap of my duffel over my shoulder and make my way out of the locker room and then the stadium, the rest of the guys taking their time and shooting the shit after a tense, three-point game. I’m not one to linger even on training days.

  Taking the back way, I walk through the darkened parking lot, the tarmac wet from a flash storm Florida is known for, the air thick with the hot, static aftermath. My head is down, I’m looking for my car keys, and the voice catches my attention first.