Page 17 of Roughing the Player
I frown. My past history isn’t exactly rosy.
“Don’t worry. They know what happened at that party in Florida. They don’t blame you. And San Diego involved grown women, not an innocent college kid.” A shadow crosses his face, and his expression grows haunted.
“Ty,” his fiancée says, covering her hand with his.
“I’m okay.” He drops a kiss on her mouth.
Whatever happened with the kicker, Ty was involved somehow. Something that pains him still.
Shaking off his sadness, he turns back to me. “Just watch what you do.”
“Got it.”
“Good.”
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to understand why they sat me next to Ty Mathews. They want to make sure I understand what’s expected of me. No scandals, meaning no rowdy parties orménages. I already knew it, but this year is going to suck.
With the speeches and gift giving done, the band strikes up a bouncy tune sure to get people on their feet. I turn to Ellie to ask if she wants to dance
But she’s glancing at her watch. “I better go. It’s getting late.”
Already? I want her to stay so I can enjoy more of this evening with her. But I did promise to keep things professional, which means I have to let her go. Without fuss, without protest. “Okay. Let’s get your wrap, and I’ll walk you to your car.”
“You don’t have to do that, Brock.”
“Yes. I do.” I’d be a total jerk if I didn’t escort her out.
After she gets her wrap, we stroll to the parking lot elevator. When the car arrives, we climb in. It’s just the two of us, and I’m having a hard time saying goodbye. “Is it far, your house?”
“About a half hour drive.”
The elevator stops at the P1 parking level, but before she can step out, I ask, “Are you sure you have to leave so soon? It’s only a little after ten.” So much for not making a fuss.
“Brock.” She’s wearing that same, prim schoolmarm expression she used back in the day when I didn’t finish the homework she’d assigned me.
Little did she know how much that look turned me on. In fact, I’d loved it so much, I would screw up on purpose. “There’s a bottle of champagne in my room. One drink?”
Her mouth scrunches. “I have to drive home.”
“You’ve had exactly one glass of wine. Some bubbly won’t be enough to get you drunk.” When she arches a brow, I know what she’s thinking. That I want to screw her. She’s right. I do. But I’m not a horny seventeen-year-old anymore. I’ve got more discipline than that. “No messing around, I promise.”
After thinking about it for a moment, she nods. “Okay.” She holds up a finger. “One drink, that’s it.”
I grin. “One drink.”
We ride up to the lobby level where we switch elevators. When we get to my room, there’s not only a bottle of champagne, but a plate of chocolate strawberries.
“They thought of everything, didn’t they?” Her face lights up with a smile.
Clearly, she trusts me. She shouldn’t. I’ve been hard since I first saw her tonight. Given the slightest bit of encouragement, I’d gladly strip her of that little black dress and lick my way up to that sweet spot between her legs. But I can’t do that. I’d vowed to behave. Desperately needing a diversion, I uncork the champagne and fill our flutes. I wait until she’s had a sip before wordlessly offering her the plate of strawberries. And then I suffer the hell of the damned when her lips form a perfect “O” and bite down on the fucking fruit.
From the time she was a teenager, she’s always had this effect on me. She didn’t know it then, just like she doesn’t know it now. Ellie was different from the other girls I knew. They just wanted to screw the star of the football team. She was sweet and gentle and kind, something I hadn’t experienced much. The afternoon I found out she’d left town was the worst day of my life. It got worse when nobody knew where she’d gone.
But I can’t go down memory lane. Not when it’s bound to bring me pain. So I better talk about something, anything that has nothing to do with our past. “So, you have a kid?”
Her shoulders grow rigid. “Yes.”
That’s the third time she’s tensed up when I mention her daughter. She wants to keep her personal life private. Problem is I want to know more about Ellie, more about her child. Maybe when I do, she’ll let me in. “What’s her name?”
