Page 1 of Run Game
PROLOGUE
DIA
“Where thefuckare we going?”I ask, looking around at the swanky neighborhood. Huge houses with expensive cars in the driveways pass by as I rubberneck from the front seat of Dalton’s Audi R8.
“Jesus, Dia,” he groans. “Would it kill you to let someone surprise you with something just once in your life?” It may seem like I’m one of those people who hates surprises, but the truth is that I’m just not used to good things happening to me. I don’t like to trauma dump, but my life has been a series of very unfortunate events, starting with the family I was born into.
Family.
If it weren’t for my best friend Mads and her parents, I wouldn’t know the meaning of the word. But while they’ve always made me feel welcome and loved, I never felt like I belonged. Not really. I’m just their daughter’s friend that had the bad luck of being born to the two most selfish human beings on the planet.
I roll my eyes, hoping he sees the gesture. “Fine,” I reply. That earns me one of his signature fuckboy grinsand I’d love to tell you that I’m immune to it, but as soon as those dimples sink into his cheeks, I can’t stop the corners of my lips from turning up.
Dalton reaches across the center console and puts his hand on my thigh. I pretend to be annoyed, huffing a breath as I turn to look back out the window. He may be a pain in the ass, but Dalton is a good guy. And for some reason, no matter how much I push back, he wants to be around me. I should be eating this attention up. He is, by far, the most attractive man I’ve ever seen. I bet every woman in Boston, single or not, would kill to be in my position right now. And to top it all off, he’d give you the Gucci shirt off his back in a heartbeat. Fuck him forall of that, because it makes staying flustered with him really fucking hard.
We pull up to a huge, wrought iron gate and Dalton rolls his window down before punching in some numbers on the keypad. “The code is 1123,” he tells me.
I furrow my brows. “Ummmmm, okay?” I reply. Why the fuck is he telling me this? I bet whoever owns this house wouldn’t be too happy with him telling me their gate code all willy-nilly. For all they know, I could have a fleet of Mini Coopers in a warehouse somewhere for heists and shit.
I don’t, but Icould.
Dalton puts the car in park, whipping off his seatbelt, and is opening my door before I even get a chance to think. He’s a gentleman. I’ll give him that. “Let’s go, Wifey,” he says, putting out his hand for me to grab. I do, but only because this car is so low to the ground. Not because I like how his skin feels against mine.
I roll my eyes. “Are youevergoing to stop calling methat?” I sass. I’m in a mood today, but I mainly just like giving him a hard time.
“Let me think,” he says, pinching his chin as if he’s deep in thought. “No.”
Dalton has called me Wifey since the moment we met at Mads’ birthday party this past winter. It was annoying then, and it’s even more annoying now, considering our current situation. Why it still gives me butterflies every single time he says it, even months later, is something I am not willing to unpack. Ever. We’re just going to put it in a box, lock that bitch up, and donkey kick it right into the ocean. I’m not abutterflieskind of girl.
At least, I didn’t used to be.
He keeps a firm hold on my hand as he leads me down the walkway and up the stairs of the massive porch. Stopping at the door, he drops my hand and removes the front cover of a box mounted above the doorknob. He presses his finger to it until we hear a faintbeep. Reaching for my hand again, he says nothing as he straightens my pointer finger and presses it to the same place he just put his. When it beeps, he lets go of me and replaces the cover of the box. I stand there wordlessly, completely confused as to what the fuck is going on.
“All set,” he says with a grin.
I look at my finger as if it can tell me what’s happening before realizing it definitely won’t. “What was that?” I ask him.
He furrows his brows. “I was programming our fingerprints into the lock,” he answers, looking at me like it’s the world’s most obvious thing.
“Okayyyyyyy,” I say, drawing out the word. “Why?”
He doesn’t answer my question before he opens the door and ushers me into the house. I stop breathingcompletely as I take in my surroundings. To the left of the large entryway is a beautiful living room, completely furnished, with the most luxurious sectional I’ve ever seen. I bet I could sink right into it and sleep for an entire weekend. A huge flat screen television is mounted above the massive white brick fireplace. Directly in front of me is a beautiful marble staircase that leads to the second floor, where the landing overlooks the entire space. And to the right, a state-of-the-art kitchen peeks through another wide archway. This is absolutely the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen and I’m barely three steps into the door.
“Who lives here?” I whisper, still nearly speechless as my eyes continue to bounce around the room.
I feel him as he presses his body to me from behind, snaking his arms around my waist before dropping his chin to my shoulder. “We do.”
ONE
DALTON
EIGHT WEEKS EARLIER
“Vegas?”my quarterback, Tanner, yells over the commotion. Players and their loved ones are celebrating from one end of the field to the other as blue and white confetti continues to fall around us. The Boston Blizzard just won the Super Bowl, and we’re ready to party. “The jet’s waiting. Let’s fucking go!” he yells loudly.
I push a hand through my dark brown hair, a smirk blooming across my lips. “Fuck yeah, baby!” I answer. “I’ll grab Blaze and Mav!”
I turn to find the guys just as an ice blue blur flings itself into my arms. “I’m so proud of you, baby!” my mom yells over the screaming fans and loud music booming through the speakers. She’s swimming in an actual game-worn jersey that I gave her, but she insists it’s good luck. And I guess maybe she’s right. “You played great!”
