Scoring with the Wrong Twin (WAGS) Read online

  If the devil hadn’t uttered something similar to Eve when tempting her with that apple, then he’d been phoning it in. Because if he’d come at her with the sinful, dirty lure Zephirin had just thrown at her, Eve wouldn’t have stopped at one apple. She would’ve gorged on that whole damn tree.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, but the absence of vision only intensified the tingling in her scalp from his fingers in her hair and the texture of his full lips on her skin. Made her more aware of his touch between her breasts.

  Say no. Say no. Say no.

  The chant reverberated and pinged off her skull like a ricocheting bullet, gaining speed with each pass. Saynosaynosayno.

  But before she could utter a denial—or acceptance—he released her. For a moment, the abrupt absence of his touch left her reeling. Like being shoved face first into a snow bank after the toasty warmth of a heat-filled car. Inhaling deeply, she didn’t loosen her grip on the counter, tracking him as he returned to his position on the other side of the bar.

  “I just have one condition, one rule,” he said, the sexy growl gone from his voice. Sliding his hands in the front pockets of his pants, he faced her, his face inscrutable.

  She appreciated rules, had lived her life by them. Her work required them in the form of codes. And with him, she definitely needed some kind of boundaries. “Okay,” she breathed. “I’m listening.”

  He studied her for a long, weighty moment, his eyes capturing hers. Refusing to free her.

  “Playing ball is all I’ve ever wanted to do, and I love the game. But with it comes the baggage. You learn everyone doesn’t have your best interest at heart. That people will try and get close to you simply for what you can do for them or what they can get out of you. It’s an environment that breeds greed and mistrust. That’s why last night, when you added the stipulation of only one night, your honesty took me by surprise, and I admired it. I was grateful for it because it’s so rare.”

  He leaned back against the marble island, and his gaze seemed to turn inward as if staring at something only he could see.

  “I’m going to be just as truthful with you, Sophia. As upfront as I can. I was in a relationship that imploded because of dishonesty. Her lies almost stole my career. Almost des—” He broke off abruptly, his jaw clenching. After a moment, he continued, but that flat note had entered his voice again. The same one from the previous night when their conversation had turned to lies. “That’s my one rule, Sophia. Honesty, no lies. Ever.”

  The words “no lies” assaulted her conscience like a battering ram. Dread and a deep, heavy sadness weighed on her chest like a massive boulder. She’d already broken that rule.

  “Another thing. I can’t offer you anything more than this.” He waved a hand back and forth between them. “I’m telling you this because I don’t want to mislead you. I can give you more of last night. But that’s all. Anything else—a relationship, a commitment—I don’t have to give. Will I ever? Maybe after football. If I do, though, it will be with someone completely outside of this business.”

  “So, it’s not that you can’t offer a relationship. You just can’t extend it to me.” Or Giovanna. Christ, this was confusing. So was the inexplicable stab of hurt and anger.

  His expression solemn, he nodded. “I’ve already done that. I’ve seen the wreckage fame and celebrity, or the desire for them, can inflict. Jealousy. Competition. Mistrust. Resentment. Home should be a sanctuary, not a combat zone.”

  The irony that her true job would fulfill his “perfect mate” requirement wasn’t lost on her. The real Sophia wasn’t in “the business.” At twenty-eight years old, he could still have several good years of playing football ahead of him, and he seemed determined to spend those years alone.

  “Is that it?” She moved her hands to her lap and out of his sight, so he couldn’t glimpse the tight, knuckle-whitening clasp of her fingers. “No-strings sex and no lies. Do I have it all covered?”

  “No.” Slowly, he straightened and crossed the space separating them. Flattening his palms on the bar counter, he leaned forward until their faces were centimeters apart. Until she could taste his kiss on his breath. “I want you. I want to suck on that full, sexy-ass bottom lip, taste you, touch you. It’s taking everything in me not to pull you on this counter, pull down those jeans, and bury myself inside you until you come, screaming my name.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, remained there for several seconds before sliding up again. “Now I’m finished.”

  Oh God. She released a shuddering breath, knowing he heard it. Felt it on his lips. This man was temptation in flesh.

  If she had any integrity, any sense of self-preservation, she would step away now. Nothing could come of this…arrangement. She should rise from this stool, thank him for the dinner invite, and walk out the door.

  But she didn’t. Because the truth was, she couldn’t. When was the last time she’d wanted something, anything, as desperately as she craved him? Never. Nothing had ever carved out this hollow cavity that could only be filled by the pleasure he’d introduced her to the night before. Nothing had ever made her feel so…feminine. Beautiful. Needed.

  God, that admission made her sound so pathetic. And she didn’t care. She’d never stepped out on a limb and went after something she wanted, grabbed it for her own. Even FamFit had pursued her. She’d always been too scared of disappointment. Her past with the bullying, with men, with the often unfair comparisons between her and Giovanna had left her paralyzed, willing to settle instead of facing possible rejection.

  But here, in this high-end kitchen, Zephirin offered her a chance to have him. Have her moment in time. Hell, he’d even handed her an out, a reason to call it quits. She—the model “she”—wasn’t what he desired in a partner anyway. And in the end, they would walk away, leaving behind only memories.

  Could she live with that, even knowing he believed her to be someone else?

  Yes, her body screamed. But her mind hesitated, inserting a red flag of caution she had no choice but to heed.

  She could accept his terms, but at what cost? To him?

  To her?

  Because one thing she knew for certain. He might be used to no-strings-attached relationships, but she wasn’t. If anyone had asked her before this moment, she would’ve claimed she wasn’t built for sex-only, emotionally barren attachments. She still believed it. And yet, she stood on the cusp of diving headfirst into one. With Zephirin Black. A man she had the sneaking suspicion possessed the power to hurt her beyond anyone else.

  God.

  She had to tell him.

  She slid off the stool. Shuddering out a breath, she lifted her gaze to his hooded one. The lust hadn’t abated, but a watchfulness had entered his scrutiny.

  “Zephirin,” she began. Stopped. Inhaled, and tried again. “There’s something I need to te—”

  “No.”

  She blinked at the abrupt interruption. “Sorry?”

  “Sophia, I want you,” he said in that same blunt manner. The no-nonsense, unequivocal statement sent a flash of heat barreling through her. “I might not want a relationship, but since I woke up this morning with the scent of sex on my sheets, all I can think about is being inside you again. And again. Until I satisfy this craving, or you get enough. Either or, I don’t care, just as long as I’m inside you.”

  He rounded the counter, and his big body crowded into her space, stealing her breath.

  “Let me make myself crystal clear. I don’t need feelings—I don’t want them. This…arrangement between us can be so good and easy for both of us. So please don’t muddy it up with anything deeper than sex and orgasms. We can have each other and just enjoy it. So if whatever you plan on telling me will make this deeper than it needs to be and prevent me from taking you, then let it go.”

  The moisture in her mouth had evaporated the moment he uttered “scent of sex on my sheets” in that low, sensual molasses drawl. His invitation to let it go and enjoy the temporary, hot-sex-on-a-platter time they cou
ld have together tempted her like chocolate-dipped coffee beans. He didn’t want her confession, and if this…thing he offered was only meant to be short term before they went their separate ways, what harm could it do to give in? To surrender and take this brief interval in the everyday-ness of her life for herself?

  She just didn’t know. Right and wrong had seemed so easy to decipher before the offer of brain-melting sex had been thrown in the mix.

  “I…I need time to think it over,” she said. “I think I’m going to skip dinner. Thank you, though.”

  He nodded, and while he didn’t appear angry, she couldn’t miss the tension riding his body. “I’ll take you home.”

  Those four words should’ve sent relief spiraling through her. Instead, she had to force herself not to ask him to let her stay.

  Forget going to hell.

  She was going crazy.

  Chapter Ten

  She hadn’t said no.

  But five days had passed since Friday night when Zeph had reopened negotiations with Sophia, and she damn sure hadn’t said yes either.

  Actually, she hadn’t said much of anything, even though before she’d exited his car he’d entered his contact information into her phone. To be fair, other than a text last night inviting her to today’s camp, he hadn’t reached out to her either. He wanted to give her space to make a decision. But damn, granting her time and distance was leaving him with a torturous case of blue balls.

  The piercing blow of a whistle snatched him out of his thoughts, and he focused on the present. The present being day two of the football summer camp he sponsored through his Jaybird Foundation, named after his grandmother’s nickname. He’d founded the nonprofit organization five years ago to provide support and assistance to inner-city and underprivileged kids across the nation through football. His vision had been to help the thousands of children like he’d been—poor, from homes with one parent or being raised by someone other than their parent, forgotten—and to give them opportunities to be something more than what society or a deprived community branded them to be. If not for football and attentive, encouraging coaches, he would’ve never reached college, much less the NFL.

  Many of these kids would most likely not have the same NFL career as him, Dom, or Ronin. But those skills could help them earn scholarships to colleges. Help them receive a degree that would pave the way for a successful future they’d never dreamed themselves capable of achieving.

  He glanced across the local high school field where the camp was held. At least one hundred and twenty-five boys in purple or gold jerseys congregated in specialized groups running individual and team drills or receiving one-on-one training on the field with the staff. Several players, including Ronin and Dom, as well as guys he’d played with at LSU who’d gone on to professional football careers, had volunteered their time. As did a few high school, college, and even a couple of NFL coaches.

  He was proud. And if his grandmother was here, she would be, too.

  He squinted at the current 7-on-7 drill between the offensive line—quarterback, running back, and receivers—against the defensive backs. The thirteen-year-old from Kalamazoo, Michigan, playing quarterback had a good arm. Great actually. He launched the ball in a tight spiral, and the kid playing wide receiver made a beautiful catch. They ran the drill again, and Zeph couldn’t help noticing the boy playing his position, tight end. Fifteen, one hundred and ninety pounds, and already six feet, Tyler Jackson from Baton Rouge reminded Zeph of himself at that age. The boy had speed, great hands, and could block his ass off. And a chip on his shoulder the size of Lake Ponchartrain. Not surprising considering his rough background. No father in the picture, drug-addicted mother, foster home after foster home. If not for his incredible athleticism, he could have easily become a statistic. All the things that marked him as troubled in society’s eyes made him perfect for the Jaybird Foundation.

  Blowing his whistle to stop the play, Zeph strode onto the field.

  “Tyler, you cut the route off.” When the boy frowned, Zeph didn’t take offense, just explained. “You should’ve run ten yards instead of eight before you made the cut. You would’ve had more depth in the route.” Moving to the line of scrimmage, he demonstrated for the teen, and the frown cleared, replaced by understanding. Taking a couple more minutes, he worked with Tyler, letting him run the route before Zeph reclaimed his place on the sideline.

  About a half-hour later, they stopped for a short break, and that’s when he felt her. He didn’t have to turn around to know Sophia had arrived. It was funny how he’d stopped thinking of her as Giovanna; it hadn’t been difficult. Except for the photo shoot, the woman he’d spent time with had little in common with the model he’d met a year ago. She could’ve been two different people.

  Pivoting, he scanned the bleachers bordering the field, and seconds later, spotted her. Though she wore sunglasses, that blue-tipped hair—today in a partial top knot with the rest of those gorgeous, thick waves flowing over her shoulders—was a dead giveaway. Before he was even conscious of moving, his feet moved in her direction.

  “Zeph,” a voice carrying the Southern accent of his home called out.

  Gritting his teeth, he halted, though every sense, every damn cell in his body, vibrated with the need to get to Sophia. Find out her answer. Determine if she would be under him, in his bed, tonight. Discover if she would let him inside her again.

  Instead, he waited, turning slightly as his ex-girlfriend, Shalene Gallow, approached him.

  It’d been two years since their breakup—since she’d broken his heart and trust after revealing how deceitful and disloyal she was—but there was one area of his life where he hadn’t been able to kick her out. She’d been instrumental in helping him establish the foundation five years ago. For all her faults, the purpose and mission of the organization had been close to her heart. She had grown up in a single-family home like Zeph, raised by her mother. While Shalene had been an honor student and gifted singer, her brother had chosen the path many other young black men in their community had. Drug dealing, gang-banging. And at nineteen, he’d paid the ultimate price with his life, devastating his family, and especially Shalene, who’d hero-worshipped her older brother.

  Shalene had been passionate about three things: fame, Zeph’s money, and offering young men another choice besides the one that had led to her brother’s death. So even when they had broken up, he couldn’t take her position at the foundation away from her. Besides, as her handling of the day-to-day activities and special field trips exhibited, she excelled as the foundation’s community outreach coordinator. It would’ve been a case of cutting off his nose to spite his face if he’d fired her.

  And besides, Shalene had a child to provide for and raise.

  A child that wasn’t his.

  Just the thought of the toddler with the tight cap of black curls and dark brown eyes had a knife of pain stabbing between his ribs. Deliberately, he shoved the image of the boy safely behind the mental vault door he’d labeled Don’t Fuck With, and focused on the woman before him.

  So he’d kept Shalene on. Still…Josephine Black hadn’t raised a fool. Zeph had an independent accounting firm as well as the CFO handling the funds, not his ex. If their relationship had revealed one thing to him, it was Shalene couldn’t be trusted around money.

  “I’ve been trying to catch you all day,” she said, the strides of her long legs bared by white shorts closing the distance between them. She smiled, and at one time, the expression on her beautiful face would’ve won her anything she asked of him. Now he just wondered what agenda the smile hid. With sheer determination, he prevented the bitterness of the thought from coloring his voice or expression. “The camp has been absolutely wonderful so far.”

  “Yeah, it has,” he agreed. “You needed something?”

  The grin dimmed a bit at his abruptness. “I just wanted to know if you had some time to go over the schedule for tomorrow for the field trip to CenturyLink Field.” She laid a hand
on his forearm. “It was awesome of your coach to arrange a tour of where the Warriors play. I know the kids are going to love it.”

  Zeph nodded, forcing his body not to tense under her touch. Coach Declan had definitely come through, and he’d already overheard some of the boys talking about the trip. “Thanks for handling the details and preparations for tomorrow.”

  Not only were the teens visiting where Zeph, Dom, and Ronin played, but they would have the afternoon off at Wild Waves Theme and Water Park.

  “Of course.” She squeezed his arm. “You know I love doing this. I was hoping we could discuss plans and everything over dinner tonight?” She shifted closer to him, tipping her head back. “I would love to cook for you. I called Mama last night to get her special bread pudding recipe to go along with my seafood gumbo.”

  The invitation in her gaze didn’t include only food. In the past, they wouldn’t have made it to dinner. Would’ve eaten it much later in bed after sex. But that was then. And today, the offer left him cold. No, that wasn’t totally accurate. To say it left him cold meant he didn’t feel anything, was numb. And he was far from numb when it came to his ex. Where she used to stir pleasure and joy within him, now she caused anger and resentment to fill his chest.

  “I have plans, sorry.” Yeah, not really. “But text me with whatever questions or concerns you have about tomorrow, and we’ll address them early in the morning.”

  He didn’t wait for her response but turned and resumed his trek toward Sophia and away from the wreckage of his past. He couldn’t help comparing the two women along the way. Both were beautiful, but Giovanna was a successful model, had a career of her own, and as far as he could see, she didn’t depend on someone else to hand it to her—while Shalene had used Zeph’s reputation and job to catapult her to fame. She’d even tried to rope him into participating on one of those fucking reality shows. His answer had been a resounding hell no.