Dating the Defensive Back (The Nash Brothers Book 1)

A Bed of Lies

“Hit,” I say, looking down at the blackjack table.

I bust with a ten on my fourteen, and the dealer pulls in my chips. I set another stack on the little circle where players place their bets as I take a sip of my gin.

I wince a little at the sharp taste, but another glass this full and I won’t be tasting much of anything. I won’t be feeling much of anything, and that’s sort of exactly what I’m going for right now.

Because this hurts. It hurts far more than it should given that I shared exactly one night with the girl.

I blow out a breath as the dealer tosses me another four, praying for a seven to go along with it. Praying my luck will somehow change from the absolute shit I’ve been dealt all night.

Nothing changes. I get a nine. What the fuck am I supposed to do with a fucking thirteen?

I hit.

I get a ten.

I bust.

Vegas is a bust. It’s starting to feel that way, anyway.

I haven’t told my brothers I’m back in town. I haven’t gotten in touch with my dad.

Instead, I’m playing blackjack by myself on a Friday night with an aching chest and a bit of a buzz.

And it’s not just my dad and my brothers—I haven’t gotten in touch with my new teammates or my new coaches or my buddies in town. I haven’t told anybody I’m here. Tonight was supposed to be for Cookie and me, and instead I was dealt the biggest shock of my life when I discovered Cookie is in fact little Ava Maxwell, my best friend’s younger sister.

The girl I’m supposed to be looking out for and protecting, not the girl I’m supposed to be railing in a suite at the Palms.

It might not be so bad if Beckett hadn’t specifically asked me to check in on her. Instead, I fucked a girl I first met when I was fourteen and she was half my age.

It’s not just a huge betrayal of the trust of one of my oldest friends. It’s also the fact that she lied to me.

You can’t build a foundation based on a bed of lies.

And that’s what that bed at the suite upstairs was—a fucking bed of lies.

She knew who I was and didn’t have the courtesy to tell me who she was. I don’t know if that’s something I can just get past, and I’m not even sure I want to.

She’s dead wrong about one thing, though. She said if I would’ve known who she was from the beginning, I wouldn’t have given her the time of day.

I would’ve given her the time of day. I might’ve even found time to reminisce about some shared memories from the past, or we could’ve compared notes about her brother. But what I wouldn’t have done was take advantage of her when she was hurting after her breakup.

Maybe it’s my own guilt talking. Maybe I should’ve known. But I didn’t, and I can beat myself up about it, or I can take a fucking night for myself and move on in the morning.

Because that’s all this is. It isn’t some deep heartbreak. It’s disappointment for the things I was looking ahead to with her. She won’t be there in the crowd wearing a jersey with my number on it as she cheers me on from the stands…something it’s hard to admit I imagined when I thought of Cookie over the last week.

She won’t be smiling up at me with that innocence in my bed as I corrupt the hell out of her.

She won’t be looking with anxiety at me as she takes in my size or moaning softly as I inch slowly into her.

She won’t be deliciously sore, thinking of me every time she sits because of the way I wrecked her sweet, tight pussy.

She won’t be impeding on every moment when the sweet scent of fresh-baked cookies wafts to my nostrils.

Oh, wait…

That last one is still true. For now, anyway.

At least until I can find another pastry chef to bang so I can get this girl the fuck out of my mind.

Except I don’t want to just bang some other girl.

I still want her. I only want her. Is that the gin talking? Because I’m not an only want her kind of guy.

I lose my ass at the table, and after a couple more drinks, I head up to my room.

I kick off my shoes and pass out on the couch before I even get myself over to the bed.

Things seem to look a little different when the light of morning dawns and I awake through the haze of a vicious hangover. The sunlight streams in on me, making me squint as a headache wraps around my brain like a vice.

My first thought is of her, and it makes me feel…

Sad.

I don’t want to be away from her. I don’t want to hold on to anger.

So she lied. Trust is a hard thing to rebuild once it’s broken, but maybe we could find a way.

I could talk to Beckett about it. Maybe he wouldn’t be so opposed to the idea.

A glance at the clock tells me it’s after nine-thirty on the east coast. Is that too early to call a guy with a wife and kids?

I’ll admit, that’s part of the reason why we haven’t kept in close contact in recent years. We do our best to get together at least once a year, and if I’m ever playing the Giants in New York, he makes sure to come see me. We call each other every few months, and we text fairly regularly. But I’m still single, and he’s married with two kids. We may be the same age, but our lifestyles are light years apart.

I don’t know the proper etiquette here since I don’t really know what families do on Saturday mornings, so I send a text instead.

Me: You around?

He doesn’t respond right away, which tells me he’s busy.

And that’s fine…except now I’ve reached out first, and he might be wondering why, and he might call me back at a time when I’m less than prepared to discuss whatever it is my hungover fingers thought they were doing when I sent that text in the first place.

God dammit.

Why do I keep fucking everything up so royally?

Why did life seem to get harder when I moved to Vegas?

I haven’t even officially moved in yet, and I’m already feeling this way. What’s going to happen down the line?

A text is waiting for me after I get out of the shower.

Lincoln: Let’s meet up when you’re back in town. Round of golf?

I’m back in town. I’m not prepared for a meetup. I don’t reply.

Fuck it. I grab a few Tootsie Rolls for the road then head down to the casino to blow through some more cash. Good thing these places are open twenty-four seven.

And all I can think as I lose hand after hand of blackjack is whether this is something I can get the hell over.

Am I being stupid? Or would it be even stupider to fall into something with someone who flat-out lied to me and caused me to betray my best friend?

I know how protective Beckett is of his little sister. They were young when they lost their dad. And really, through the same event, they lost their mom, too—in a totally different way. She’s still around, but she isn’t the same person.

Beckett took over. He protected Ava the way his father did when he was still alive to do it. He made sure she—and her other brothers—were taken care of, had what they needed, and made it to where they needed to be. He sacrificed a lot to do it, too. Instead of going to his dream school across the country, he chose to stay in New York. Even to this day, he lives there so he can be close to their mother, who still carries baggage from losing her husband.

So it’s not a small deal that I slept with Ava. It’s a huge betrayal, one I’m not ready to admit to my best friend because of his sister’s lies.

Did she lie, though?

It’s a tiny voice in the back of my mind.

A lie of omission is still a lie.

Is this something I can get past? Maybe. But can I get past the fact that she’s Beckett Maxwell’s little sister?

I’m not as certain about that, and the more I think about it, the angrier I get.

My phone rings. I can’t answer it at the table.

Fuck. What if it’s Beckett?

Why did I call him this morning? I can’t remember. I’m all fucking twisted up over this, and it’s propelling me to act. It’s propelling me to fucking do something. It’s pulsing an anger in me, and I’m not quite sure what to do about it.

“Sir?” the dealer says.

“Hit.”

I lose again.

Fuck this.

I cash in my chips and head back up to my room. I stare out the window at the Strip as I wonder if ten in the morning is too early to start drinking.

It is. I know this.

So instead of drinking, instead of calling Lincoln or Asher or Beckett or my dad…I head down to valet, get my truck, and start driving.