Page 49 of The Trouble with Players

“It was stupid. Neither of us would budge from leaving my room. It started as a challenge…”

“It started as a challenge? What is it now?” she asked.

“It’s not every night. I slept alone last night.”

“Jesus Christ, Peyton. Has anything happened?”

“Define happened,” I said.

“Oh my God,” she said. “You’re in deep.”

“Am not.”

“Fine. Sleep with him and get it out of your system. Then move on.”

I drew back, shocked by her words.

“It’s inevitable. And once it happens, you can either go your separate ways or…”

“Or what?”

“Keep doing it.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Gina’s words played through my head as I entered the pool house after she dropped me off. I plopped down onto the sofa with the ball clutched in my hand and leaned back into the cushion. I couldn’t believe she thought Crew and I had something to get out of our systems. He was a baseball player. And, I wanted nothing to do with cocky, untrustworthy baseball players…no matter how good looking they may have been. Or, how yummy they might’ve smelled. Or, how hot they may have looked in their uniforms.

There was a huge splash in the pool.

I sat up, hesitant to look outside for fear of what I might find. But my curiosity got the best of me, and I peeked out the window. Crew emerged from the water, pushing his hair out of his face. I ducked down so he didn’t see me.

There was another splash.

Had he seriously brought someone home with him? That son of a bitch.

I pushed myself back up and peeked out to determine if he was alone or had someone with him. As far as I could see, it was just Crew. I ducked back down, feeling oddly relieved, and let him do his thing. It was his home too—at least for the rest of the summer.

Minutes passed.

I waited for the splashing to end, but the guy could do some serious laps.

Eventually, there was silence.

Had he finally decided to go inside the house?

The handle on the pool house door rattled.

Shit.

I knew I locked it, but could he see me through the French doors? I lay still and held my breath.

“I can see your pink hair,” he said.

I turned my head to see him standing outside in his swim trunks with his hands cupping his eyes against the glass door. Dammit.

“Open the door,” he said.

“Sorry, the pool house is occupied.”

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