Page 7 of Imperfect Player

“You’re way more fun than I thought you would be.”

He tosses his head back in laughter. “Is that so?”

I nod. “I figured you were all talk, no dance.”

“No dance, huh?”

Another nod.

“I’ll show you just how fun I can be.”

The undertone of his voice, the insinuation of his words, leaves my body humming as we continue to move around the dance floor. This time, his body grinds against mine as he moves.

I’ve lost track of time and my ability to think clearly. When the music ends and the lights raise, I pout.

“Looks like you threw one hell of a party, sunshine. Even you enjoyed it.”

Thanks to him—words I think, but don’t speak.

With his hand on the small of my back, Ethan escorts me out of the venue. “Do you need a ride?”

I nod my head in the direction of the large black bus that several members of Advantage Player are entering.

“Party bus, I’m good. Thank you.”

He leans in and presses his lips to my cheek.

“Goodbye, Everly.”

“Goodbye, Ethan.”

The words sound so final when I wish they were anything but.

Chapter 2

Ethan

Everly Mann was quite the unexpected surprise the other night. I’d dreaded going to that party, but I’d been forced to by my coach. The man was holding onto her a little longer than he should have been, and way longer than I liked.

I’d noticed her the moment I entered the venue. Long legs, blond hair, curves in all the right places—curves that she tried to hide with the beautiful, but still professional, dress. She doesn’t have the kind of curves you can hide though. She has the kind that clothing clings to sinfully. Damn, but if I wasn’t ready to sin.

“Hey, Ambrose, who was the hottie you were hanging all over the other night?” Fox asks as I make my way to my locker, the towel slung low on my hips.

Elias Fox, catcher for the Remington Railcats. My catcher. Also, the only guy on the team not afraid of giving me shit.

“None of your damn business,” I tell him, my mind wandering to the hottie he’s talking about. Everly.

While yes, every part of me wanted her upon first sight, that’s not why I’d approached her. It’s not the reason that I spilled my drink on her. All I’d wanted was to rescue a poor unsuspecting woman from the clutches of John Killion, owner of the Remington Red Wings hockey team and a real dick bag. The guy is notorious for hitting on women half his age, making promises with no intention to keep them. I can only imagine what he’d had in mind for Everly. Everly who is so sweet, so sexy, so damn amazing without even knowing it.

There were a million things I could have done to step between them. None seemed half as tempting as what I’d done, spilling my drink on her. Or as I like to look at it, making her wet. And isn’t that the damn goal now? Making the woman wet.

I wasn’t supposed to be attracted to her. Worse, I wasn’t supposed to like her. But I am and I do, and now? I’m fucked.

I don’t do things like this. I don’t have feelings or want women for anything more than sex. But I did last night, and I still do now. With Everly.

Maddox Prescott, first baseman, appears out of nowhere. It’s as though the mention of his agent’s name has somehow summoned him here.

“She’s off limits,” he tells me.

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