Players to Lovers (4 Book Collection)

by Ketley Allison

  “Not possible.”

  I jolt at the viciousness of his words.

  “Excuse me?” I say.

  “I suit up. I always suit up.” Ash points a finger at me. “You can’t tell me we didn’t use protection.”

  “We did, I know.” I nod, though I don’t know why I’m trying to appease him. “But like they teach us in sex ed, condoms aren’t always foolproof.”

  “You weren’t on anything?” Ash’s gaze comes back to me, a storm of dark blue breaking through the gray. “Pills? That IUD thingie?”

  No, because I wasn’t having sex. I’d never had sex before you.

  The truth sticks in my throat. “You’re asking me this now?” I say instead.

  “Chicks always have a plan B. Always.” Ash is back to pointing. Then, his hand drops and he stares through the balcony doors, to where all his friends are seated around Ben’s hearth. “This isn’t possible. It’s not happening.”

  His attention targets Locke, who’s on the floor, sandy hair askew from Lily constantly tugging at it. Locke smiles wide as he grabs Lily around the waist and tickles her. The music of her laughter—the kind only children can make, innocent chimes of delight—reaches our ears.

  “I can’t be like him,” I hear Ash mutter.

  I tear my attention from Lily, a type of tiny human I might have one day. “What did you just say?”

  Ash pulls away from the scene and digs his hands into his hair. “I said I can’t.”

  I speak my next words carefully. “Can’t what?”

  “Be a dad, if that’s where you’re going with this. I have plans, a career. I’m building a restaurant from the ground up that’s three months behind schedule with an asshole contractor who’s trying to charge me double his estimate!”

  “You’re talking to me about a restaurant?”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. He’s weighing being a dad with a restaurant?

  “Yes!” Ash bursts out. “My career, a life I’m building outside of my father’s legacy! I can’t have all this.” He waves vaguely at me, like he’s including my uterus in all this. “It wasn’t in my plans, and it’s not about to be my future.”

  Oh, that is it.

  “I understand this comes as a shock,” I say. “But you’re forgetting that I didn’t plan this, either. It wasn’t in my future to be a twenty-four-year-old mother, yet here I am, trying to make sense of what’s growing inside me and wanting to do the right thing by telling you. And all you can do is stress out about your construction debt! I’m just as shocked, Ash. I’m just as scared.”

  “I’m not fucking scared.”

  I take a deep breath. “You need some time to process what I’ve told you. Stop saying anything more, before you do something you regret.”

  “So you’re keeping it?”

  The utter brevity with which he asks the question, like this is a decision comparable to chocolate versus vanilla, has me baring my teeth and pushing him back a step. “Yes, I’m keeping this baby.”

  By now, we’ve gained an entire audience, but I’m past caring. I shove open the sliding door and storm inside, leaving Ash well behind and cutting through the seated, silent crowd in the main room. I spot Lily, and my eyes well up, but I can’t break down now.

  I whirl. Ash is standing by the open balcony door, bringing with him the cold swell of winter.

  “I didn’t come here with any expectations,” I spit at him. “But you’re an asshole. I’m more than willing to do this alone and decided to give you the courtesy of knowing what was going on. My mistake.”

  Ash opens his mouth to say something, but I’m not done.

  “You’re a greedy, selfish, sad son-of-a-bitch, and I want nothing more to do with you,” I finish.

  I spin on my heel, heart rate pulsing down my arms and through my ears, and head to the door.

  “Sophie, wait!”

  But it’s not Ash who tries to stop me. It’s Carter.

  I turn around enough to say, “I can’t,” to her, before opening the front door with a shaking hand and leaving Ash Whittaker far behind.

  Nobody sees me throw up behind a trashcan outside.

  “So, let me get this straight,” Astor says, a few hours later, as she hands me a mug of ginger tea and sits down beside me on her tapered gray sofa. Carter’s sitting in the matching chair across from us. “You slept with Ash a little over two months ago, and now you’re having his baby.”

  I nod. When under Astor’s ice-blue stare, it’s hard to do much else.

  “I can’t believe it,” Carter near-whispers. “Are you okay?”

  “Not really,” I admit. “But each day, the realization gets a little more concrete, and I can deal with it better.”

  “Do you want to keep the baby?” Astor asks.

  If asked by anyone else, I’d bristle and say it’s none of their business. But Astor’s a lawyer, and with that comes a calm bluntness containing no judgment, not even curiosity. Just facts. The matter-of-fact tone is exactly what I need to hear.

  Again, I nod, then bury the lower half of my face in my mug and take a scalding sip.

  “You know I can help you through this,” Carter says, and when I meet her eyes, I see the swirl of hurt behind them that I didn’t confide in her sooner.

  “You’d do much better than that,” I say. “But you went through so much with Paige. I didn’t want to put you through it again.”

  “I’d do it a million times over. I loved her. And I love you.”

  I blame it on the hurricane of pregnancy hormones when my eyes fill with hot water and spill over.

  “Oh, Soph…” Carter rises and comes over, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and pulling me in. “You’ll be okay. We’ll get through this.”

  “I’m scared. I’m so over-the-top terrified, but I want this baby. I know I do,” I say into the soft sweater covering her shoulder.

  She rubs my back. “Start there. That’s all you need to figure out right now.”

  “I’ll sue the bastard for child support.”

  Astor’s no-nonsense threat has Carter and me pulling apart.

  “I’m serious,” she says when she has both our attention. “He’s rich as sin. Ash is the only child of billionaire parents in England. That dickwad will not run far with me at his coattails.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment,” I say to her. “But I want nothing to do with him.”

  “You don’t have to talk to him. Just take his money. It’s the least he can do for knocking you up, then walking away,” Astor says.

  “Astor’s right,” Carter says. “He’s a complete bastard—I can’t believe what went on this afternoon, and he has no right to swat you aside like a fly. I’m on your side. I don’t care that he’s one of Locke’s best friends—”

  “And I don’t give a damn that he’s Ben’s best friend, either,” Astor cuts in.

  “The line has been drawn,” Carter continues. “And we won’t stop until you and this baby are properly cared for.”

  “I can do this,” I say. “I love that you two have my back, but I don’t want to go to court. I don’t want to battle with a man I barely know.”

  With sudden intensity, an image of Ash blacks out the present, and he’s on top of me, coaxing me into pleasure as I ride him and his lips mold to mine.

  He gave me the night of my life, but that’s all he’s willing to provide.

  “I’ve been saving for as long as I can remember,” I continue, shaking Ash out of my thoughts. “I have a good nest egg. This baby and I will be fine, totally fine, without him.”

  Astor pats my knee. “You have time to think about it. Right now, let’s all calm down before we do something we regret. Like get drunk and bang on Ash’s door until the fucker has no choice but to answer, and then we’ll throw him out of his own apartment and set fire to it.”

  Astor includes Carter in the threat, and Carter nods sagely. “I like that idea.”

  I crack a smile. “And do his restaur
ant next.”

  Carter laughs. “I was hoping I’d see you smile this evening.”

  “I didn’t want to leave you guys on a sour note,” I say.

  “You’re still flying out tonight?” Carter asks.

  “I have a lot to do now,” I say. “It’s been great visiting, but I have to get back to Florida. Start planning my new life.”

  “Are you sure? You can stay here as long as you need,” Astor says. She offers a small shrug. “I’ve been enjoying the female company. Usually, my nights are Ben throwing his training videos on the television while I’m flicking through case files beside him.”

  “Thanks, Astor, but I can’t hide forever.”

  And I don’t say, but whole-heartedly believe, I don’t want to be in the same state as Ash anymore, either. It’s hard to admit how much his rejection hurt.

  “I’ll take you to the airport,” Carter says, squeezing my hand. “And you call me for anything. You hear me? The next chance I get, I’m flying out to see you. And you can come here any time you want, I don’t care the time or date.”

  I pull Carter in for another hug. “Thanks, friend.”

  “I’m here for you,” Carter says, and she hugs me hard.

  It has me welling up again, but I blink back the tears and call on all the resolve I have left to be strong for myself.

  And for this baby.

  6

  Ash

  Three weeks later, and the restaurant is done.

  APRON is written in big, bold white lettering, surrounded by industrial lightbulbs and an exposed brick outer-face. As I stand outside, arms crossed, and take in the interior through the cast-iron bordered windows, I think, Damn, this is gonna be good.

  All that’s left to do before opening night is approve the final menu and go through the last chef auditions. I still plan on taking charge of the desserts, pastries being my specialty, but eventually, I’ll have to give up my apron and focus on being the boss.

  Not yet, though. Cooking is my passion. Baking is my talent. And I happen to have all the money in the world to finance both into further success.

  Nothing could be more perfect.

  A vision of Sophie floats in front of the windows, her hand on the full swell of her stomach, the brown depths of her eyes staring directly into my conscience.

  My molars bang together.

  “Gotta say, bro, this place is tight.” Easton ambles up beside me, clad in a similar leather jacket to mine, except with less studs, and takes in the restaurant’s exterior.

  He’s the only buddy talking to me at this time. As for the others, Ben is all about Astor’s opinion, what with their new relationship and all the pussy-whipping that brings, and Locke … Locke is personally insulted by my choice, and I can’t blame him.

  When they all realized Sophie was pregnant—that was an eventuality I firmly expected—lines were immediately drawn in the city’s concrete. The fact that Sophie is closer to this circle of friends than I realized complicates matters, but that’s something I should’ve figured out well before I got her naked in bed.

  She may have slept around before me, but apparently, she’s honest, because everyone believes this baby is mine. Hell, I believe it. She’d have to be a helluva actress to have pulled off that shattered look on her face when she told me about it on Ben’s balcony.

  Though I’m no fool. If she comes after me, I’m getting a DNA test.

  Damn it, I couldn’t resist the dangerous lure of her, the sweet studiousness of her exterior and the lush seduction of her body underneath. I don’t regret that night. I can’t, when the scent of her lingers on my skin, in my apartment, throughout my dreams. Even before her announcement, she’d been haunting me, the blond spitfire so timid and demanding under the sheets.

  “It’s too bad Locke and Ben aren’t here to witness this,” East says, and I grunt in acknowledgment.

  “They still not talking to you?” East asks.

  “Nah,” I said, maintaining my focus on the building. “I told Locke, I’m gonna pay for whatever the kid needs, if it’s mine. It’s not about avoiding responsibility. It’s about…”

  “Not wanting to be a father?”

  I glance over. “Saying it like that, it sounds messed up. But I can’t think of any other way to get across my firm belief that I’m not meant to be a dad.”

  “What makes you think you can’t be?”

  “Everything,” I guffaw. “My past, my childhood. The idea of a father, I don’t know what that’s like. Mine was never around.”

  “For most people, that would mean they’d want to be a better father than what they got.”

  “Not true.” A flare of annoyance kindles in my gut, but I staunch it, because East is my friend, and frankly, he’s the only dude who’s trying to get to the crux of my motivations. “For some, sure, but for me? It solidified the idea that I was never gonna have kids, because I have the same attitude as Patrick Whittaker—career first. I’d never put a kid through that because I was never gonna have one.”

  “Yeah, except now you do.”

  “Not by choice.” I lick my lips, frustrated I can’t get my point across properly. “If Sophie came to me and said she wanted an abortion, I’d have to support it. It’s her body, her decision. And I would support something like that—not because I don’t want kids, but because it’s the right thing to do. And even if I did want kids, even if it gutted me that Sophie didn’t want to go through with the pregnancy, I’d still support her choice. So, why can’t people understand my perspective? I don’t want to be a dad. I will be out of this kid’s life, but he or she will never want for anything. That’s how it’s gonna be.”

  “I think it’s more the way you treated Sophie when she told you,” East says.

  I blow out an exhale. It mists under the frigid cold. “I admit … I didn’t handle it the best.”

  “Have you spoken to her?”

  I shake my head. “I’m giving us both some time away from each other.”

  I don’t admit to East that the way Sophie looked at me before she said her final goodbye, the utter disappointment, hatred and heartbreak in her gaze, still floored me every time I thought about it. And I think about it a lot.

  “She’s alone down there.”

  I cut my gaze to East. “Where? Florida?”

  East nods. “She’s got parents, I think. Maybe a brother. But they’re not close, and I don’t think she’s told them about her pregnancy.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “I listen. I learn.”

  I grimace at Easton then turn forward again. “Sophie’s a strong woman. She’ll be okay.”

  Yet, the thought of Sophie by herself, dealing with a growing baby inside her and all the side effects that come with it, with no one around to help her out, doesn’t sit well.

  The shout of laughter close by gets my attention. There’s a group of girls, bundled tight in puff jackets and faux fur, clustering near Apron’s entrance.

  “Is this open yet?” one says through a scarf as big as two dragon heads.

  “Not yet,” I say, but her attention’s off me and on my companion in two seconds.

  “Are you…?” another pipes up.

  East stiffens, and I’m confident he wishes his hair was down so he could hide his expression in the black curtain. His up-and-coming band, Nocturne Court, is gaining in popularity, and while he loves the music, the growing, rabid female fanbase is something he’s yet to conquer.

  “I don’t think so,” I say to the gaggle of girls. “He’s just my bodyguard.”

  They look at me, confused as to why a man like myself needs protection when I more than likely finish fights first.

  “Don’t let his thin frame fool you. He’s a master in kung fu. C’mon,” I say to East. “Let’s find our bikes.”

  Thankful, East sidles up beside me, but waves to the girls. They flutter their waves, and I hear one say, “I think it’s him. I think that’s Easton Mack. Quick, get a shot of
their asses. They’re both hot.”

  I smile, but any lightening of the mood is promptly crushed by East. “When are you going to tell Sophie you want to provide financially?”

  “When I’m damn well ready,” I snap, then toss him his helmet when we reach our bikes. “Now clip in so I don’t have to hear you anymore.”

  Easton makes a sound as he settles his helmet on his head, then swings a leg over his bike. He balances to one side and says through his black visor, “You have about seven months to figure your shit out.”

  “Thanks, Nurse Nancy.”

  “That’s if Sophie even wants your money.”

  I’m used to most chicks wanting my money. I swing a leg over my seat and twist the ignition, so it growls about the same as the sound in my throat. “I thought you didn’t talk much.”

  “Only when necessary,” East says, and starts his own bike. “And right now, with your friendships on the line and a baby’s future in the balance, I’m finding it fucking necessary.”

  He doesn’t give me time to respond. East spins his bike toward the road and speeds away, but I make sure he catches me flipping him the bird in his mirrors.

  Asher the Grouch.

  That’s what the staff calls me behind my back.

  Maybe I’m storming through the kitchen and into the interior too much. Possibly, I’m expounding on the intricacies of the perfect vacherin to pastry chefs at least as qualified or surpassing my culinary education (a requirement in hiring them). But if they can’t replicate my version of a macaron filled with whipped cream, they have no sense of delicacy, and therefore have no business in my restaurant.

  It’s a few hours before opening. The top critics in New York City will be at my best tables, but they don’t worry me. It’s my investors who will be making an appearance that have my nerves rebelling against their usual neutral setting.

  Locke, Carter, Ben, Astor, Easton.

  If half of ‘em even show.