Playing to Win (The Players)

What? Is Derek serious right now?

“You did, huh?” I watch Ace’s cheeks turn a little red, as if he’s embarrassed by what Derek just said. How cute is that? Though he’s not the type to ever be embarrassed. Not from what I’ve seen.

Meaning, I can’t think it’s cute, or that he’s charming. Orrrrr that he’s easy to talk to.

This man is off limits. I can’t think about doing anything with him because it puts my job at risk.

And I like my new job. I don’t want to lose it for some dumb jock who’ll eventually disappoint me anyway.

“There was a girl at our table earlier,” he explains to me, his voice low. “She was giving off a really weird vibe. I needed to get rid of her.”

“By claiming me as your girlfriend?” I arch a brow.

He smirks, scratching his jaw with those long fingers of his. “Claiming. I like your word choice.”

“Please.” Nope. No way. I’m not going to let him leave me feeling all sorts of flustered. “You can’t claim anything when it comes to me.”

“Look I’m not even the one who mentioned I had a girlfriend in the first place. Derek did.” He jerks a thumb in his friend’s direction.

“Only because I was trying to save your ass from that weird chick,” Derek says, confirming Ace’s earlier explanation.

Not that I think Ace is a liar, but come on. These guys will say anything to get our sympathy. Or to get us to fall under their spell.

Look at Derek and Natalie. She told me on the drive over to Logan’s that she’s sworn off athletes forever. That they’re all the same and just looking for a good time that lasts exactly one night.

Nat speaks from experience. She’s already hooked up with Derek before and here she is, staring at him with stars in her eyes, her hand resting on his meaty forearm while he says God knows what to her.

Men. They’re kind of the worst. And I’m not what I would consider a manhater either…

Maybe I shouldn’t lump all men together. More like athletes.

Though my dad isn’t awful. Neither is my uncle or my cousins or the guys my cousins married…

“Trust me, she was pretty weird,” Ace tells me, reaching for his beer mug and draining the last of it. As if I would ever trust him. I’m not a complete idiot. “Tell me how you got on the social media team.”

“Oh.” I sit up straighter, surprised he’d ask something about me. From my experience with football players—even my brother sometimes—all they want to do is talk about themselves. “Well, my major is sports management and marketing and a paid intern spot opened up. My advisor let me know, I interviewed and now I’m on the team.”

“Nice.” Ace nods, drumming his fingers on the table. I stare at those fingers. They’re long and almost elegant and they can throw a ball like no other.

I wonder what else they can do?

My body goes warm, thinking nothing but dirty thoughts. His fingers undressing me. Sliding around my neck. Pinning me in place…

“You like it so far?” he asks, pulling me from my wayward thoughts.

“I do. Eric is nice.” I wrinkle my nose, not sure what to say about Gwyneth.

“Gwen is kind of a bitch,” Ace adds.

“She’s not that bad,” I say in her defense.

“She’s mean.”

“She’s a little mean,” I agree and we both laugh and damn it, he has a nice laugh. “I think I just need to get on her good side.”

“Does she have a good side?”

“I’m going to find out.” I glance around the bar, wondering where our server is with our drink order. I need alcohol, stat, if I’m going to continue this conversation with Ace. “I think it’s going to be fun. We have a lot of ideas we want to implement for you guys.”

Ace groans, tipping his head back against the booth to stare at the ceiling for a moment before he glances over at me. “Were you serious about the dancing thing?”

“Maybe,” I hedge, pausing for only a moment. “Definitely.”

Another groan escapes him and I can’t help but think the sound is kind of sexy. “Are we going to have to like, mouth along to songs and shit?”

“Um…yeah?” My voice is hesitant because his reaction isn’t the best. “Dancing, singing, making fun of yourselves in general. We want you guys to have a sense of humor. Girls love that stuff.”

“They do?”

I nod.

“What does Eric think of all this?”

I’m impressed he remembers Eric’s name. “He claims he’s cool with it, but I don’t think he likes Gwen’s ideas much. He’d rather showcase the team at their best, rattle off stats, share highlights from games and get the fans hyped every weekend.”

“That sounds perfect.” Ace nods his approval.

“Of course, you agree with him. If we did it that way, we’d only shine you guys in a perfect light. But Gwen thinks we need to show off how hot you guys are and get all the girls swooning. She’s hoping you’ll all eventually go viral and the team in general will become a social media sensation.”

“This is all Gwen’s idea?” He looks surprised and I can’t blame him.

“Yep.” I nod, smiling. “She says this kind of thing happens a lot, especially with college hockey teams. Get ready. She’s going to put you all through it by creating a bunch of beefcake content.”

“Beefcake?” Ace sounds amused as he runs a hand through his hair, the muscles in his arms rippling with the movement. My gaze lingers on his arms, my mouth going dry, my thoughts kicking into creative mode. He’s in a black T-shirt, but I’m thinking we should make content with some of the team in tank tops, flexing their muscles, but not showing their faces.

Arm porn, if you will.

The server shows up with a tray filled with drinks, doling them out to everyone at the table before she moves onto the booth next to us. I pull my watermelon margarita closer to me and take a sip, glancing over at Ace to find him watching me, his lips parted.

His gaze fixed on my lips wrapped around the straw.

Releasing the straw, I lean back against the booth, knocking my knee into his, slightly taken aback by how warm he is. The man is a furnace. “You’re staring.”

“You’re hot.”

I’m taken aback by his blatant statement. “Seriously?”

“Are you fishing for compliments?” His brows shoot up. “Come on, Red. You have to know you’re sexy as fuck.”

Ummm…I wasn’t expecting that. “I’m definitely not fishing for compliments.”

“Right. You just want to hear me call you hot again.” He leans in a little closer, his gaze lingering on my lips once more. “You’re pretty fucking hot, Red.”

“That is a dumb nickname,” I murmur, refusing to let his words make me feel a certain way. “People won’t get it.”

“We don’t need anyone else to get it.” His smile is small and a little sneaky and a lot sexy. Ugh. “It’ll be our little secret.”

Oh. He has no right being this attractive. And he’s so flirty. How many other girls does he flirt with like this?

I bet the number is shockingly large.

“I don’t date football players.” I sniff, tilting my chin up.

“I’m not looking for a date.”

I roll my eyes. “And I’m definitely not looking to hook up with a football player either.”

“That’s too bad.” He shifts away from me, reaching for his beer, his fingers curling around the glass. “I have a feeling we’d be really good together.”

I hate how rattled his words leave me. How intrigued I am by him. Maybe we would be good together. In fact, we might even be freaking fantastic together. I get the sense Ace knows exactly what he’s doing sexually. He’s in peak athletic form. I saw the way he moved out on that field earlier.

If I let him, I’d bet he could fuck me into oblivion and I’d die happily satisfied.

But it’s never going to happen. That’s not what I’m looking for. He’s the type of guy who pulls you into his orbit, makes you feel like no one else matters but you, and then promptly dumps you without warning when someone else catches his attention.

I’ve dealt with this sort of thing—this sort of guy—before. I’m not interested in putting myself through that again.

“Well, you’re never going to find out,” I chirp, taking another fortifying sip of my margarita. “We’re probably better off as…friends.”

“Friends, huh?” He rubs his chin, which of course is a complete distraction and I become fixated on his hand and his fingers and I wonder what it would feel like, having that wide palm smacking my bare ass? Would he be into that sort of thing? I’m not talking full-blown kink here, but I do think the occasional butt slap is kind of hot.

“Friends,” I say firmly, shoving all thoughts of ass slapping out of my mind.

“How’s the drink?” he asks, changing the subject.

Frowning, I stir the slushy concoction with my straw before I take another sip. “Delicious.”

“You get drunk off tequila?”

“Well, duh.” I sit up straighter. “Not like I’m looking to get drunk tonight though.”

“You’re not?” He leans in, nudging my shoulder with his. “That’s too bad. I bet you’re a lot of fun when you loosen up.”

Okay that was the wrong thing to say. “Are you implying I’m uptight?”

“Around me? Ever since New Year’s Eve?” His gaze locks with mine and he nods. “Definitely.”

“Ace! Ace!”

At the sound of a bunch of high-pitched feminine voices chanting his name, we both turn to watch a group of women approach the table. Every single one of them is wearing a team jersey that can be purchased at the student bookstore. And every jersey has Ace’s number on them.

“Hey look. It’s my fan club.” He grins, spreading his arms out along the back of the rounded booth, his fingers dangerously close to my shoulder. “Aren’t you girls cute.”

They all giggle and flip their hair over their shoulders. There is a lot of skin on display since they’re either wearing short skirts or shorts, with heeled sandals on their feet. They’re also wearing a lot of makeup and their hair is perfectly done. Like they all got together and got ready before they headed over to the bar in the hopes they’d run into Ace.

This is truly…wild.

“You have an actual fan club?” I ask him, my voice incredulous.

“I mean…” His voice drifts and he shrugs those wide shoulders. “Not officially.”

“But you know these girls exist.” I incline my head toward them, noting the way a few of them glare at me. As if they’re pissed that I’m sitting with him when I haven’t even earned the right.

That’s what it feels like.

“Oh, I definitely know they exist. We’ve met up before, right ladies?” He aims his million-watt smile in their direction and they all giggle and flutter their fingers at him, their bodies shifting and moving as one entity.

It’s kind of weird.

“Okay, I’m leaving.” I move out from under his arm, snagging my glass as I go, and rise to my feet. I offer a quick wave to the unofficial Ace Townsend fan club and they all wave at me in return, their gazes full of matching curiosity.

Wandering around the bar, I absently sip at my drink, my mind preoccupied by the giggling fan club and a very proud Ace watching them with lust in his eyes.

I get this image of Ace in a hot tub with all of these girls and they’re all naked. Rubbing on him. Having a big ol’ orgy and Ace is the star of their every fantasy. And while I can’t deny that he is superhot with an amazing body as well as funny and charming—I just…

Can’t get on board with this.

I don’t know how my mother put up with this sort of thing back in the day when my dad played for the NFL, but they were together for so long by then and he was so madly in love with her, I guess she never had to worry about it.

Not that I can imagine Ace madly in love with me. Or that we’d end up in a relationship. I mean, come on. He just told me point blank he’s not interested in that.

And I believe him.