Scoring the Player's Baby (WAGs Series) Read online

  “Oh, wouldn’t I?” Ronin drawled.

  “You’re such a gossip whore,” Zeph growled.

  Widening his eyes, Ronin splayed his fingers across his chest. “Who, me?”

  Next to her man, Sophia snickered, and Zeph leaned over, whispering something in her ear that had red streaking across her cheekbones. Shaking his head, Ronin downed the rest of his beer. Friday night, and all they had was a walk-through Saturday morning before reporting to the hotel. Sunday’s game was home against the Eagles, so no travel. So, he was having another Guinness before he called it a night.

  Truth be told, though, part of him dreaded walking into his quiet house. No matter how many TVs he turned on to wake-the-neighbors volume or how many miles he lodged on the treadmill in his gym, his mind insisted on wandering, inevitably landing on all the heavy shit in his life. Mom had finished her round of chemotherapy and had undergone a lumpectomy. Now she was receiving radiation therapy. She had her good days, but her bad ones…

  He locked down the sigh climbing up his chest and shoved his fingers through his hair. While he complained about those sheet-tenting dreams of Kim No-Last-Name, he was quietly thankful for them. When they occupied his mind, he wasn’t lying there worried about his sisters. Wasn’t wondering if his shoulders were big enough to bear the load of only son, big brother, and provider.

  Wasn’t shaking in fear about possibly losing his mother to cancer.

  Yeah. He stood. I’m gonna need that second beer.

  “See, what I tell you, Kim? Do I know my people, or do I know my people?” Renee Smith, the last member of their group arrived, wearing a wide grin. After she, Jason, Grace, and Ronin had all left Vashon Island after high school, Renee had forged a career as a public relations consultant with the Warriors organization. From the tailored black suit that fit her like a glove, Ronin assumed she had just left the office for the bar. “Guys, I’d like to introduce you to my friend, Kim Matlock. She was my college roommate and is a temporary transplant to Seattle. Kim, meet my tribe.” She stepped to the side and slipped an arm around the woman, who until that moment, had been blocked from his vision.

  Holy fuck.

  Shock struck him with the force of a three-hundred-and-fifty-pound defensive lineman hopped on ’roids. Air rushed from his lungs, and his body froze. Locked up.

  Kim. Her. His Kim.

  His Kim. He balked. Well, shit, not technically. But in a manner of speaking… And goddamn, now he was babbling to himself in his head.

  But, Kim. Here. In Doyle’s.

  And damn if she wasn’t as hot as his memories insisted she’d been.

  Staring at her, he had no idea how he could’ve confused her with the woman at the bar. Yeah, they both had long, dark hair, the same body type and skin tone. But that other woman had been an anemic imitation.

  The thick, silken strands of her hair held a wave now, but his hands itched with the phantom caress of them across his palms, tangled around his fingers. She wore one of those high-necked shirts with a bow at the throat that should’ve been too severe, but on her, only emphasized the high, firm thrust of breasts that he intimately knew the weight, texture, and taste of. Dark, tight denim encased her ridiculously long legs, and the black stiletto boots molded to her calves only had him lusting for the bite of those heels in his back…and those slim thighs wrapped around his hips.

  He dragged his no-doubt-inappropriate gaze up her body, settling on her face. The heavy throb in his now-awakened cock reverberated in his chest. An invisible fist squeezed his lungs, wringing every breath out of them. Christ, that fierce and elegant face. Those sharp cheekbones, regal nose, and sinful, so goddamn skillful mouth.

  And those eyes.

  Still molten silver with the hint of lavender. Still startling. Still haunting.

  Still stunning.

  “…This is Zephirin Black, Sophia Cruz, and Jason Wilder.” Renee continued with the meet ’n’ greet, totally oblivious to the existential crisis he was experiencing. His friend’s smile faltered when she introduced Jason, a sliver of ice sliding into her voice. But for the first time since their ill-fated friends-with-benefits arrangement had ended in an apocalyptic disaster worthy of a Marvel comic book, Ronin didn’t care. Not when the object of every dirty, erotic, frustrating dream for the last two and a half months stood before him. “And finally, Ronin Palamo.”

  “We’ve met, actually. Nice to see you again, Ronin. And it’s nice to meet all of you, as well,” Kim said, her voice a study of cool politeness. As if he’d never had his cock buried to the balls inside her. As if she’d never once clawed at his back and screamed, demanding he fuck her harder, deeper. Nope, she looked at him with an icy reserve that didn’t accept any blame for keeping him hard, hot, and sweaty for the past weeks.

  Just. Freaking. Rude.

  “Wait.” Renee glanced back and forth between him and Kim, wagging a finger at his chest then at her friend’s. “You two know each other? Why am I the last to find this out?”

  “Because I only give you a debriefing of my life on the third Sunday of every third month when the moon is in the seventh house and Jupiter aligns with Mars,” Ronin drawled, leaving it up to Kim to spin how they were acquainted. He didn’t want to embarrass her. While his track record of hit-it-and-quit it wasn’t a well-kept secret, he would’ve had to be blind, deaf, and dumb not to recognize their time together hadn’t been…usual for her.

  “Wise ass,” Renee muttered.

  “Because it was right after I first transferred here a couple of months ago. We met at the wedding expo,” Kim explained in that same tone that was slowly getting under his skin, her attention firmly on Renee and venturing nowhere near him.

  Did he want to put his business out there for everyone to know about them? Hell no. One, because there was no “them.” He’d been where Zeph and Dom were, and didn’t want that again, because no one could replace Grace.

  And two, because hell no. The last thing he needed was a lecture about his sex life and the revolving door in it. Especially since, in a moment of insanity and blue balls, he’d tried to call her to change their one night to two. But she’d either blocked him or ignored him, because the call always went directly to voicemail.

  Still, for some inane, totally inexplicable, crazy reason, he wanted her to look at him, meet his eyes so he could see the knowledge in hers that he’d been more than a potential client at her vendor table.

  Oh shit. He needed to check his boxers for a pussy. Because at some point in the last twenty seconds he’d apparently grown one.

  “Ohhh, that’s right.” Renee nodded. “Ronin took Hana there back in August.”

  “Yes. Of course, at the time, I didn’t realize who he was,” Kim added.

  There. Right there. A slight edge had entered her tone, and it had him crossing his arms over his chest and studying her more closely.

  Renee shook her head. “I swear, you’re the only WAG I know who wouldn’t know a football player if he walked up to you.”

  A WAG? His gut twisted, wrenched hard at the mention of the commonly used acronym for the term Wives and Girlfriends of sports stars. Which one was she? And had she been one when she’d invited him to her hotel room? Bile raced up his throat. He might be and do a lot of things, but fucking women with husbands or who were involved with someone wasn’t one of them. Not after he’d witnessed the devastation his father and his sister’s ex-husband had wreaked because they’d been unable to keep their dicks in their pants. Not after he’d been there to literally pick Zeph off the ground when he’d told Ronin and Dom about his ex’s betrayal.

  “A WAG?” he repeated, ignoring the curious looks from his friends. He felt them on him, and he could practically hear the questions they contained. “Really? Who?”

  If he hadn’t been watching her so closely, hadn’t been obsessing over every shift and alteration in her expression, he might not have caught the tensing around her lush lips or the glimmer of emotion that, for the quickest of seconds, da
rkened her gaze.

  “I was married to Matt Cooper,” she admitted.

  Was. What did that mean? Weeks? Months? Years?

  “Matt Cooper, defensive back for Miami?” Dom whistled. “That man’s a beast.” Before Ronin could flick the quarterback in the forehead, Tennyson slapped his arm, scowling at him. “Ow. I mean, on the field. He’s a beast on the field.” When her frown deepened, he held up his hands in the age-old sign of Whatever you say, dear. “And off it, too. Which is why, y’know, you probably…divorced…him,” he finished, shooting Kim an apologetic, sheepish grin.

  “Forgive him,” Zeph said, wryly. “He’s real smooth in the game. Out of it? Not so much.”

  “It’s fine,” Kim assured them, her expression warming as her pretty mouth curved. “Usually, someone just asks me what was I thinking to let that god among men go. Then it really gets awkward.”

  Even though images of her during their night together bombarded him like an air raid, Ronin laughed along with his friends. There was that wry humor and sharp wit he remembered. How did she just get sexier? That should be an impossibility, but somehow, she managed it. And damn did he want all of that under him tonight—again.

  As soon as the words passed through his mind, a tightly wound knot of tension loosened and unraveled like a snarled ball of yarn. Yeah, what was one more time? Another few hours of no-strings-attached, hot-as-hell sex. He got that she wasn’t looking for anything more—she’d made that abundantly clear. And that suited him just fine; he didn’t want any promises or ideas of tomorrow either. Just more of what they’d had those months ago.

  He lowered his arms, and as if she somehow sensed his laser focus and the direction of his thoughts, she turned slightly, meeting his stare. Something flickered in her eyes, and if it’d been anyone else but this cool, seemingly untouchable woman, he would’ve labeled it uncertainty. Even nerves. He smiled. Another flash of that emotion.

  Oh yeah. Definitely nerves.

  Good.

  Satisfaction that she wasn’t as unaffected by him as she appeared swirled in his chest. ’Cause he was damn sure affected.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the bar for a drink. Renee, you want one?” Kim asked. Huh. Was there a hint of desperation in her voice?

  His smile widened.

  “Sure.” She opened her purse and removed a credit card from her wallet. “A Corona, please.”

  Kim waved off the card. “My treat.”

  Without a backward glance, she took off. She was way too dignified to run, but he’d most definitely call it a power walk.

  “What the hell, Ronin?” Renee crossed the few feet separating them and jabbed him in the chest with a crimson-tipped nail. Shit. He batted her finger away. Did they file those things down to shivs? “Just how well do you know Kim? Like, ‘here’s a brochure; keep us in mind for your big day’ know? Or ‘Adam and Eve doing the naked nasty in fig leaves’ know?”

  “This really isn’t our business,” Jason interjected.

  “No one’s talking to you,” she snapped at him before returning to her chest-jabbing. “Spill it, Palamo.”

  “Since she’s asking,” Sophia added, leaning forward, the low light above them glinting off the hoop piercing her eyebrow. “There was a little bit of”—she twirled her finger—“tension between you two.”

  “I think what she means is you were staring at Kim like she was one of those tavern burgers you eat with unseemly glee. Seriously, dude.” Dom grimaced. “It’s kind of uncomfortable to watch.”

  “Oops. Looks like I’m outta Guinness. I should go get another one.” Ronin didn’t wait for any more of Renee’s and the others’ prying. He cut a path through the tables and people, heading straight for the bar. Like a missile with a target locked in its sights, he focused on the woman who’d been the winning the award for Best Role in a Wet Dream every night for months.

  “Can I have a white wine and a Corona, please?” she ordered just as he slid into the space beside her. Well, to be honest, the space he’d created by gently nudging aside the asshole—were those glasses even prescription?—who’d been about to hit her up. He’d just saved Kim from a whole lot of wind-bagging and pretentious bullshit. But since he probably wouldn’t get a thanks from her, he’d be the unsung hero in this situation.

  “Add another Guinness onto that, Rex,” he instructed the bartender, who’d been there as long as their group had been patronizing Doyle’s. He removed a bill from his pocket and waved it between him and Kim before placing it on the scarred bar top. “I got hers, too. Keep the change.”

  “Got it.” Rex accepted the money, then left to prepare their orders.

  “That wasn’t necessary,” Kim said in that tone he was really beginning to hate with the passion of a thousand suns. “But thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He propped an elbow on the brass railing, turning his body into hers. And she inched back. He arched an eyebrow. Now wasn’t that interesting? “I didn’t say it back there, but it’s really good seeing you again.” He shifted forward, regaining the small space she’d placed between them. “You’re looking good, hala.”

  Her eyes widened, and a flash of heat lit up the gray like lightning in a stormy sky. Fuck, they were beautiful. But as quick as that flicker appeared, it vanished, doused by a frown.

  “I looked that word up, you know,” she muttered, sweeping a hand through her hair.

  “Did you, now?” He grinned. “What’d you find out?”

  She narrowed her gaze on him. “It’s a prickly plant with razor edges.”

  “You’re only half right,” he corrected and, unable to help himself, reached out and grasped a lock of her hair. Rubbing the soft strands between his finger and thumb, he resisted lifting it and inhaling the coconut and fruit scent he recalled so easily. “It’s a native plant and tree, and its flowers and fruits are actually beautiful. There’re old Hawaiian stories of fishermen lost at sea in their canoes being guided home by the fragrance of hala.” He tugged on the hair in his grip and lowered his head, surrendering to the need to capture her own sweet fragrance. “Maybe that’s what led me to you that day at the expo. My own hala,” he murmured.

  “I’m not doing this,” she breathed, those beautiful eyes gone wide again.

  “Doing what? What are we not doing, hala?” He used the phrase to rattle her, crack that cool exterior so he could finally glimpse the other woman beneath. The one who’d gone down on him and enjoyed it.

  “This,” she repeated with more force. She covered his hand and removed it from her. Though he disliked the broken connection, he savored the brief touch. One that would be the first of many tonight if he had his way. And would he love to have his way. “So you can stop all the flirting because it’s not going to happen again.”

  “Why not?” Okay, so that came out a tad blunt, but damn, his cock might’ve had a heart attack at her little announcement.

  She shook her head. “At least you’re not playing coy and pretending that’s not what you were angling for.”

  “I don’t have a problem admitting I want you. We fucking burned down the hotel together.” He edged closer, not pausing until his chest almost brushed hers. Never had he hated those few inches of air more. “Are you going to stand there and deny we did? That you didn’t love it as much as I did?”

  She glanced away from him, her fingers curling against the bar top. “No, I’m not going to deny it,” she finally said after a long moment of silence. “But that was then. And now is different. Very different.”

  “How?” he pressed.

  Lust vied for dominance over patience. It wasn’t often, but when a woman gave him the hands-off signal, he backed off. So, he listened to her words and shifted away from her, granting her space. Still, her words and her body needed to get on one accord, because even though she told him one thing, her nipples pressed against the silk of her shirt. And it wasn’t cold in the bar by a long shot. He tried to be a gentleman—he really did. But the sight of
her aroused flesh did things to him. Things that usually resulted in nakedness and orgasms.

  “Because then I didn’t know you were a football player,” she stated, turning back to him. “I don’t do football players.”

  The flat statement doused him in a frigid blast of What the Fuck. He blinked. It wasn’t often he was left speechless, but she’d achieved it. Usually women—and some men—looked to fuck him because of who he was—an All Pro football player with a perennial play-off team and a seven-figure contract. None had anyone ever rejected him because of those details. Not saying it wasn’t possible. Just hadn’t ever happened to him.

  But Kim was condemning him for his profession. Slapping him down and finding him guilty for the crime of playing a game he loved.

  An unfamiliar anger and frustration bubbled to a simmer beneath his skin. Given who she’d been married to, he could guess an ex who played football might factor in to her bias. Didn’t ease the sting of her judgment, though.

  Shoving down his irritation, he released an exaggerated, heavy sigh. “Wow, Kim. I’m so disappointed. I wouldn’t have believed you capable of this kind of prejudice.” He tsked, shaking his head. “Can’t we all just get along?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she muttered, glaring at him. “I’m not prejudiced.”

  “I know, I know.” He patted her shoulder. “Let me guess. Some of your best friends are ball players.”

  Outrage suffused her features, darkening her eyes, flushing her cheekbones, and tightening that mouth into a firm, straight line. He struggled to contain the bark of laughter that pressed at the back of his throat.

  “We agreed to one night,” she said, the cool reserve returning to her face and voice.

  “I thought it was a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.”

  “And to not change it,” she countered.

  Rex chose that moment to return with their drinks. She picked up her wine, and Ronin grabbed Renee’s Corona and his Guinness. She didn’t reprimand him or give him an icy look for his presumptuousness but instead turned to head back toward their friends.