Playing By The Rules (The Players)

WHAT THE HELL am I doing? I only came to Logan’s in the hopes I’d see her. Just a glimpse of her pretty blonde head and her even prettier face with flashing green eyes and lips made for sucking dick.

Wait a minute. I shouldn’t think like that, but damn it, she has a great mouth.

The moment I do spot her, she makes like she’s going to leave, and I chase after her like the idiot I am.

I told myself after my unexpected outburst a few days ago that I wouldn’t do that again. I wouldn’t go off on her. With her. Whatever way I should describe it. I swore I wouldn’t dare share even the tiniest detail of my life with her because when it comes to Blair Maguire, I need to keep the walls up. She’s slowly but surely working her way into my life and I shouldn’t want that. No matter how hard she tries, I should warn her off.

Keep my distance.

Torturing myself further, I go and force her to sit with me and apologize and grovel like the simp asshole I am. One look at her beautiful face and I’m a goner.

When she talked about hair pulling and how she imagines the two of us together having sex? It’s obvious she’s trying to torment me.

“I mean it,” she says when I remain quiet, trying to process what she said. “Though I haven’t done much, I think I could be into…all of that.”

Sitting up straighter, my gaze bores into hers, like I can see inside her brain and know exactly what she’s thinking. “Blair.”

“Let’s be real with each other, Cam. What’s the big deal? We’re adults. We can share details from our sex lives, right?” She scoots her chair closer to the table, her knees colliding with mine and I spread my thighs, capturing one of her legs between both of mine. Her breath hitches, and she tries to withdraw her leg from mine, but I don’t let her.

I’ve got a solid clamp on her.

“You really want to share details about our sex lives with each other?”

The waitress shows up with our waters, and once she sets the glasses on the table, I give her a twenty-dollar bill for her trouble. She leaves quickly, not having the time to linger, and the moment she’s gone, Blair starts talking.

“I’ve had two serious boyfriends, but I’ve messed around with…four guys. I don’t have what I would call a ton of experience.”

Jealousy spreads over my skin, sinking into my gut. I don’t like the idea of her with one guy, let alone four.

Fuck those guys.

“How about you? How many girls have you been with?”

“I am not sharing my body count with you.” I press my lips together, not about to admit how many women there have been. Not as many as some of my fellow teammates have been with, but my number is definitely more than four, that’s for damn sure.

“I’m guessing you have a lot of experience then.” Her smile is sweet as can be when she reaches for her glass and takes a long swallow. I stare at her the entire time, unable to look away, focusing on the elegant arch of her throat. Her skin is smooth and I’m filled with the urge to kiss her there. Right at the spot where her pulse beats.

“Define ‘a lot of experience.’” I immediately hold out my hands. “Wait, don’t respond to that. I don’t want your definition.”

She laughs, sounding very pleased with herself. “See? This is fun.”

It’s not fun at all. I’m fucking miserable, but I can’t let her see that.

“This conversation is pointless,” I mutter, grabbing my glass and draining half of it in one go. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do, Blair, but it won’t work.”

All the happiness is zapped from her expression just like that. “I’m so over you. Seriously, I’m done.”

She rises to her feet, gives me the finger, and then turns tail and marches away from me with her head held high.

It takes me a second to realize she’s left, and by the time I’m scrambling out of my chair and pushing my way through the crowd, I don’t see her. She’s already gone.

Panic racing through me, I barge through the front door of the bar, the cool evening air like a slap on my hot face. I glance around, first to my left, then my right, looking for her, but she’s nowhere to be found.

I round the side of the building that’s closest to the parking lot and there she is, leaning against the wall, aggressively tapping away on her phone. She glances up as I approach, doing a double take when she realizes it’s me that’s in front of her and an irritated noise leaves her.

“Go away.”

“No.” I’m still walking toward her, getting closer and closer.

“Look, I promise I’ll leave you alone, okay? You don’t have to worry about me anymore. I’m not into you.”

Meaning she’s totally into me, and she’s pissed because I won’t reciprocate her feelings. Even though I want to.

Even though I feel the same exact way.

“You’re into me.”

She rolls her eyes. “Your ego is ginormous.”

“You’re just mad at me.”

“With valid reason. You’re fucking annoying, Cam Fields. Oh, and you’re also blind.”

“Blind to what?” I’m close to her. Close enough to touch her and I do, pulling her into my arms. She goes with a bit of a fight, struggling when I slip my arms around her waist and haul her into me, but she slowly relaxes, as if she’s melting. All those lush curves snug tight against me.

My dick twitches, ready for action, the bossy fucker.

“Blind to me. Blind to us.” She rests her hands against my chest, one hand crawling upward so fucking slow, until she’s curving her fingers around the side of my neck. “Would it really be that bad, being with me?”

It would be fucking heaven. I know I could fuck her into oblivion and it still wouldn’t be enough. I could have her every way I want her and she’d just burrow deeper into my system, instead of working herself out of it.

“It wouldn’t be that bad,” I admit, my gaze dropping to her chest, which is currently rising and falling at an extremely rapid rate. She’s turned on. Or infuriated. There’s a fine line between those emotions, especially when it comes to our interactions lately.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” She huffs out a soft laugh, her gaze lingering on my mouth, and I lean in, so close, my lips brush hers when I speak.

“Yes.”

We stand there like that for what feels like minutes. Hours. In reality, it lasts only a few seconds tops before she’s pulling away, taking her delicious floral scent with her. My hands fall away from her waist and she’s backing up until her butt hits the wall.

“This is going to be the crudest thing ever, but shit or get off the pot, Camden. I’ve given you every indication that I want you. I’m not going to make a fool of myself forever,” she murmurs.

“Are you coming to Saturday’s game?” I’m changing the subject on purpose.

“I haven’t got any tickets yet,” she admits.

Students have first dibs on the cheap seats, but she doesn’t belong in that section.

“Did Knox give you tickets?”

“I haven’t spoken to him about the game.”

“I’ll make sure you have tickets. You want a couple, so you can bring someone? Maybe your roommates?”

She shakes her head, wrinkling her nose. “I’ll come alone, thanks.”

“You sure?” I hate the idea of her alone, while watching the game. But then again, maybe it’ll be good that she’s alone. That means her focus will only be on the game.

On me.

I am such an egotistical ass.

“I’m positive. I’m a big girl, Cam.” Her gaze goes to the street and she pushes away from the wall, heading for the curb. “My ride is here. I’ll see you later.”

I watch her head for a black BMW SUV, the passenger side window lowering, and the driver says her name, indicating he’s there for her. She opens the back door and slides inside, the door shutting quickly, cutting my view of her.

I stare at the car, willing her to roll down her window and wave at me. Needing just one more glimpse.

It doesn’t happen. The car pulls away from the curb and heads down the street, disappearing into the darkness. I watch it until the red taillights are nothing but pinpricks before I finally head for my own vehicle, not caring enough to go back inside and tell my friends and teammates that I’m leaving. They don’t care where I’m at. They’re too busy trying to pick up girls. Needing their adulation to feed their egos. No judgment. I’ve done it too. it feels pretty fucking good.

I’m starting to realize that nothing is going to feel as fucking good as Blair Maguire tastes.

And I haven’t even tasted her yet.

Saturday. Game day. Practice has gone great all week. My accuracy has improved. My offensive line is getting stronger. Faster. We’re coming together nicely, and I have a feeling we’re going to fucking kill it today.

I remind myself of that as I run out onto the field with the rest of the team to a roaring crowd. The stands are already full and I’m scanning the bleachers, looking for one face in particular. She should be sitting pretty low, closer to the sideline, and when I spot her, my entire body shifts into overdrive.

Meaning I feel the need to show off. Look strong. Appear ready to conquer.

Blair doesn’t even notice me though. She’s too busy talking to two women who sit directly in front of her.

“I see Blair showed up,” I say, as casually as I can to Knox, who is currently jogging right next to me. Thought it might be smart to bring her up first.

Knox glances over at me, slowing down, and I do the same. “I didn’t give her a ticket.”

“Yeah, I know. I did.” I brace myself for the blast of questions.

“What? Why?”

“She asked me for one.” I shrug, lying. I actually offered it up first, but Knox doesn’t need to know that.

“And why didn’t she ask me for one?” He seems offended. “When did you see her?”

“I don’t know why she didn’t ask you. I ran into her last night and we got to talking.” Fuck yeah, we did. “She mentioned going to the game and sitting in the student section, and I told her I could get her a better seat, so I did.”

“So, you saw Blair at a bar?” Knox doesn’t like the idea of his sister at a bar, which is fucking ridiculous, but whatever.

“Well, yeah. She’s twenty-one, and she was with her roommates. Don’t worry, I kept watch over her,” I reassure him, not mentioning the fact that we talked about hair pulling and if we’ve ever thought about having sex with each other. Not the kind of “watching over” Knox is hoping for.

“Thanks for that. And thanks for getting her a ticket,” Knox says as we both swivel our head in Blair’s direction to find her already watching us.

Me.

“No problem.” Our gazes connect. Hold. She lifts her hand and offers a little wave, her lips curved into the faintest smile, and my chest expands with pride, knowing that she’s here, watching me. “Anything for your sister, am I right?”

I wave at her in return and so does Knox.

“As long as you treat her like she’s your little sister and nothing else, I’m good, bro,” Knox says, his words a warning.

His words stay with me while we make random small talk. I ask about his knee. We talk about the opposing team’s defensive line. My eyes keep going to the stands where Blair sits. How the sun flashes upon her blonde hair, making it seem brighter. She’s wearing an Eagles T-shirt that I have no idea where she got, and I’m filled with the sudden need to see her wearing my number.

Fucking stupid.

By the time the first quarter starts, I’m not thinking about her any longer. All I can focus on is the game. The other team is good and they guard my receivers well. They must’ve studied past games and our fucking playbook because these assholes are hard to shake. Most of my passes throughout the first half are thrown out of bounds, just to get rid of the ball versus risking an interception.

We finally get our moment during the second half. I throw a forty-yard pass that Knox catches with ease and he runs as fast as he can into the end zone. I throw a couple of more touchdowns, which secures our win, and by the time the game is over, I’m fucking exhausted.

But satisfied that I played a good game—which I did.

All to impress Blair.