Playing House: A Small Town Brother’s Best Friend Romance (The Playboys of Sin Valley Book 1)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  “What are we gonna do, Jace? How are we going to fix it?” Her fingers are white from squeezing the glass so hard. I take it from her and set it on the bedside table.

  Last night was a drunken mistake. In the glaring light of day, we’re both stone-cold sober and painfully aware of the million and one reasons why what we did was a bad idea.

  She needs time to work through her feelings about this whole Rocky thing. I’m sure she’s not in the right mind frame to be dealing with an accidental marriage on top of all her other problems.

  Plus, there’s the issue of Wyatt and how pissed he’d be if he ever found out. He’d assume that what I did with Sera was just me, being my usual horndog self.

  And then, there’s me. I’ve never even had a serious girlfriend. What makes me think I could manage a whole, entire wife?

  Staying married isn’t an option. I need to get it out of my head.

  “Don’t worry.” I squeeze her free hand. “I just have to go away for a few days for some games. When I get back, we’ll go to a lawyer and we’ll fix this. Quietly. No one will ever know.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Sera says, her shoulders rigid. She dares to peek at me from beneath her lashes.

  “Look—what’s important is that we can fix this. Let’s focus on that.”

  “Okay.” Sera leans in and wraps her arms around me. The pressure of her body against mine almost drives me crazy. I want to pull her in my lap and kiss her and tell her there’s no fucking way I’m letting her go. But I’m not that dumb.

  Last night, she and I made a mistake. We got carried away. Now, it’s time to fix it. With an annulment.

  On a big yawn, she speaks. “Is it okay if I sleep here? I know the polite thing would be to offer to sleep on the couch but…” Her words fade into yet another yawn.

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Thank you,” she answers, sliding beneath my sheets.

  I pick up the pizza box and peek inside to discover that she’s only eaten one slice. I won’t have a problem finishing it off. I point the remote at the TV, shutting off the show she’s no longer watching. The room falls dark and intimate.

  I want her to invite me between the sheets. I want her to ask me to reenact all the filthy things we did to each other in that hotel room. But that’s just crazy thinking. There’s no point in making the situation worse with even more stupid, horny ideas.

  As I turn for the door, I hear her say, “Thanks for taking care of me.”

  I glance over my shoulder and find her eyes on me. “Always. I've always got your back. You know that, right?”

  She smiles and gives a little nod.

  “Good.” I throw her my well-practiced wink, trying to act like everything’s under control. “Get some rest.”

  Still smiling, she curls up on her side, turning her back to me. I stand there for a moment and stare.

  The things I want to do to her…

  I get a bad wrap for being a playboy, for taking what I want without apology. But as I’m walking out of my bedroom with a raging hard-on while the perfect woman lies alone beneath my sheets, one thing is very clear—being a gentleman sucks hairy balls.

  Seven

  Jace

  My body collides with the turf in a hard thud, rattling my bones and knocking the wind out of me.

  I pound my fist into the ground, angry with myself for missing that easy tackle. I should have been able to catch that guy. On a normal day, I would have. But I dove and missed by a mile when the receiver dodged to the left, catching me off guard.

  I rest on my hands and knees, watching in misery as the runner for the opposing team crosses into the endzone.

  Touchdown. Fuck.

  The Paragons were up by three until my epic fumble. All I had to do was keep our opponent from scoring in the last minute of the game.

  I had one job, and I fucked it up.

  This isn’t a great way to start the season. But I guess getting black-out drunk and accidental-marrying the fuck out of your best friend’s little sister days before your first game will do that to you.

  With my head hanging, I stalk off the field. The game is over for me. If we’re lucky, Maxwell and the rest of our offense will perform a miracle, get us down the field, and score within the remaining seconds.

  My head’s not in the game today. It’s back in Sin Valley where a certain gorgeous woman is hiding out in my condo. With my ugly, fake diamond on her finger.

  Again—fuck.

  I was out the door this morning before Sera climbed out of bed. The team had an early flight for tonight’s away game. I should have checked on her one more time before hitting the road, but I couldn’t trust myself to be alone in that bedroom with her.

  All I’ve ever wanted is to protect Sera. I want to keep her safe from assholes. Assholes like me.

  Yet, even as I’m drowning in guilt and self-hate on the opposite side of the country, I can’t stop thinking about her.

  The memories of our night together keep popping up at the most inconvenient moments. Sera, giggling as I bent her over the arm of a hotel room chair. Me, dropping to my knees behind her, banging her so hard we pushed the armchair clear across the hotel room. Both of us, collapsing in a tangled, orgasmic heap on the dirty carpeted floor.

  Fuck—we had fun that night.

  Now, Sera’s asking for an annulment and I promised I’d get her one. Honestly, I’m not really sure that’s what I want.

  But marriage?!

  I don’t really want to be married, do I?

  Of course I don’t.

  The day Sera was about to marry Rocky, I panicked. That’s all. I didn’t want to see her become the wife of a man who didn’t deserve her. That’s what the whole wedding-crashing thing was about.

  So I should be grateful Rocky chickened out and went running because, to be honest, I didn’t even have a plan. I was gonna march down the aisle, object to Sera’s marriage, declare I wanted a shot with her and then what? I’d just end up wrecking the whole thing for everybody and Sera would never forgive me. At least this way, she got out of a relationship that was beneath her and I didn’t have to be the bad guy who ruined my friend’s special day.

  Because what could I even offer her. I don’t know a damn thing about healthy relationships.

  Still, I can’t help but feeling like we deserve more than one drunken night I can barely remember. More than one morning-after where she woke up horrified to find herself naked next to me. But I have to accept that all I’ve got now is the blurry memories and the stubborn semi-chub that pops up inevitably every time she crosses my mind.

  Because Sera’s the kind of girl who believes in ‘forever’. Meanwhile, I believe in keeping my emotional distance. What’s the point in getting invested in anyone? Because without fail, somebody always ends up walking away.

  I barely notice as the clock runs out and the home team’s fans go up in wild cheers. My teammates shuffle off the field, unable to come back from the deficit my fuckup left us with.

  Dammit—we’ve lost the game.

  I slip off my helmet, letting it dangle in front of my crotch as the Paragons trudge back to the visiting team locker room. These pants leave nothing to the imagination. I can just imagine the headlines, if someone snaps a pic of my junk inflated like a life raft while I’m daydreaming about my secret bride.

  One of the guys gives me a rough shove from behind.

  “Don’t want to hear it,” I mumble when I feel Jude Kingston’s eyes on the side of my face.

  “You’re aware you played like crap, right?” he bites.

  I shoot my buddy a sidelong glance. “Why don’t you come back when you don’t have three dropped passes on your stat sheet for the day?”

  He chuckles shortly. “You’re such a little shithead, Bellino.” Our star tight-end abuses me some more, landing a quick jab to my shoulder. Then he stalks off, grumbling his own excuses.

  Okay—I’ll admit that what I said was uncalled for. Kingston is a
damn rockstar and one of my favorite guys on the team. I admire the hell out of him. He tore his ACL—twice in the span of a few short months—and still managed to get his shit together and get back in the game. Me? I have no one and nothing but myself to blame for my less than stellar performance today.

  I enter the locker room and head straight for my cubby. People are still glaring at me. They all fault me for today’s loss. The first game of the season, and we’re already 0-1. The only thing that could make it worse is if Coach puts me in front of the media at the post-game press conference.

  “Bellino!”

  Upon hearing my name in that tone, I flinch and turn away from my locker, ready to face my fate.

  “What the fuck was that?!” Coach Robinson hasn’t taken more than three steps into the locker room before he’s ripping into me. Can’t say I blame him though. “Everyone in a thousand miles saw the quarterback was feigning left. You looked like a bumbling idiot out there tripping over your own feet. Get your fucking head in the game, or stay off the field,” Coach spits.

  He goes on cussing for another half hour, busting everyone’s balls. He’s red, bloated and spiky like a pufferfish before finally stomping off.

  I turn my back and finish changing, then shoulder my duffle bag. I spin around and come face-to-face with the team captain. I try to fight my eye roll.

  Maxwell Masters is the Paragon’s quarterback-in-chief and he always has to have the last word. I swear, the guy loves to carry out Coach’s dirty work.

  “I know. Okay. I fucking know,” I grind out through a clenched jaw.

  As I head for the exit, Masters walks alongside me. “Want to talk about it?”

  His friendly approach comes as a surprise. I’d expected him to give me crap like everyone else. I guess the team captain is playing good cop today. “Nope.” I keep my eyes straight ahead and walk.

  “Come on, man. Something’s bothering you. You should have had Stevenson. We all know that play was right in your wheelhouse. What’s going on? Where the hell was your head?” He chuckles low. “You need to get laid or something?”

  Maxwell’s joke hits a little too close to home. My lip twitches. Because—yeah—I could definitely use another dose of Sera Rodriguez right about now.

  When I don’t answer, the bastard cackles louder. “So your shitty performance tonight was about a girl?”

  I shrug, not denying it.

  Maxwell is still grinning like a goddamn goon. “This is epic. Jason Bellino, the Paragon’s resident playboy, is having girl problems?” He slaps my shoulder. I shoot him a glare and he shrugs unapologetically.

  More like ‘accidental wife problems’. But tomato, tom-ahto.

  He’s right, though. Losing a game because I’m too busy thinking about a woman is definitely not my MO. The game means too much to me. Football saved my life. Who knows what hellhole I’d be in right now if I’d never gotten to earn a living playing this sport I love. It’s not like I had anything else going for me.

  Anyway, if the rest of the guys hear I’m all bent out of shape over a woman, they’ll heckle me right off the team.

  His laughter finally dies down as he grips my shoulder. His tone turns serious. “You’ve got to get your shit together, though. Before the next game. The last thing we want is to start the season on a losing streak.”

  “Yeah.” I feel that.

  He lowers his voice. “And if you want to talk about the girl stuff, come find me. Faith and I have been married going on five years now and we’re growing stronger every day. Trust me, we’ve been through everything together.”

  “Sure thing,” I grumble.

  Seeming satisfied with my two-word answer, Maxwell saunters off to go face the cameras. I know the post-game press conference is going to be a clusterfuck tonight.

  When I bury my head in my locker and check my phone, I see that even my Granny has sent me a WTF, dude?! gif.

  Dropping my head, I shake it. Granny Bellino is feisty as fuck. But seriously, everybody’s mad at me for blowing it tonight.

  Knox tromps up beside me. “Hey man. That was a shit performance out there.” He chuckles shortly as he drops onto the bench beside my locker. “What’s going on with you? I haven’t heard from you since you marched Sera away from the courthouse the other day. How’s she doing?”

  Knox skipped going to the club with everyone else after the wedding fell through. He’d been in a terrible mood, sulking around about his divorce and shit that night. But I’ve got to say that today, he looks better than he has in a long time. I mean—he just chuckled. He fucking chuckled. I wonder what’s up with that.

  Anyway, he’s looking at me expectantly, waiting for my response. “Sera’s okay.” I clear my throat. “She’s staying at my place.”

  Knox’s eyes narrow on my face and I focus my attention on the inside of my locker to avoid eye contact. “She’s staying at your place?”

  “That’s what I said.” I shrug tightly, my shoulders locked with tension.

  “Why’s she staying at your place?”

  “Did you expect her to go back to Rocky’s condo after he jilted her?”

  “Well, no. But she has family in town…”

  “It’s complicated, Knox.”

  “Sure as shit, it’s complicated.” He laughs. “You were about to crash her wedding! Does she know that?”

  I scrub a hand down my face. Fuck—I need to get this off my chest. Another minute of holding this secret in and my ribs will crack open like a piñata and spill it all out.

  “Sera and I…we sort of…” How do I put this?

  Knox gapes at me. “Jesus, dude. Don’t tell me you slept with her already?” He chuckles and slaps me on the shoulder. “You work fast, bro.”

  “I married her,” I blurt out. “…and then I slept with her…” Oh god.

  Knox bounces up off the bench. “You did what?!”

  “Keep it down, asshole.” I glance around at the gang of pissed off three-hundred pounders glaring at me all around. This sweaty locker room isn’t exactly a church confessional booth. “We got drunk, okay? Really drunk. All I know is we woke up the next morning and she was wearing a ring and we could barely remember what happened.”

  My friend leans a shoulder against the locker next to mine, silent for a long while. But his frown gradually transforms into a sly smile. “This is your shot,” he announces grandly, beaming like he just made the discovery that will earn him a Nobel prize. “Rocky’s out of the picture. Sera’s staying at your place. You’re freaking married. I couldn’t have scripted it any better.”

  “Are you crazy?!” I lower my voice and hiss.

  “Yeah, yeah. I get it, Bellino. You’re a confirmed bachelor. Ladies’ man. The life of the party. Eternally unattached. But now might be a good time to reconsider. This so-called accident might be a good thing, bro. This might be a sign that it’s time for you to man up, take a chance on a good woman.”

  I roll my eyes. This guy is such a sucker for love. “We’re not just talking about holding hands and going steady. We’re talking about marriage! We’re married, Knox! I can’t make a move on her now. Do you know how much of a dick I’d be if I did that? The girl was vulnerable and freshly-heartbroken and drunk out of her mind that night. I can’t pressure her into anything right now.”

  He shrugs. “You were prepared to crash her wedding. What was the plan for after you’d convinced her to ditch Rocky?”

  I fumble. “I…I…”

  “You love the girl.” He cups both hands around his mouth like a loud speaker. “I repeat—you were about to crash her wedding.”

  “That’s not love.”

  In retrospect, I can see clearly it wasn’t love. It was just panic. Rushed emotions overwhelming me. The idea of Sera building a life with another man scaring me shitless.

  Definitely not love. I don’t do love.

  Knox laughs some more. He gives me a keep-telling-yourself-that look. Glad to see my situation is amusing to him.

/>   “Spontaneous fucker.” He pats me on the shoulder. “You’ll figure it out. Keep me posted.” He shakes his head as he walks away.

  The conversation continues to replay in my thoughts as I grab my stuff and head for the parking lot where a bus is waiting to take the team to a hotel for the night. It’s like my brain’s been split in two halves and they’re battling it out inside my skull.

  Because one part of me is convinced that me, almost crashing Sera’s wedding was nothing more than ego, nothing more than my territorial inner child wanting to throw sand in the face of the new kid playing with my friend in the sandbox. The other part of me is 99.2674 percent sure that I’m inconveniently head-over-heels for the girl.

  I mean, my one-night stands have become increasingly spaced out over the past few months. Actually, now that I think about it, I haven’t gotten laid once since Sera and Rocky announced their engagement and that was how many months ago? Also, for the past few weeks, I was running around town with Sera making wedding plans like I was the damn groom when Rocky decided to dump all the work on her and take a back seat. And it’s ridiculous how much cheese I’ve been stress-eating.

  Am I…? I mean, is it possible that I’m…in love with Sera?

  I scrub a hand down my face. I’m getting a migraine from all this overthinking.

  Anyway, before I can climb aboard the bus, my phone rings in my back pocket.

  My mind immediately goes to Sera, hoping it might be her on the line. The feeling is unfamiliar. My pulse quickens at the thought. Whoa—what’s going on with me?

  But when I glance at my screen, I see it’s not her.

  “Wyatt,” I answer, my voice ten octaves too high. “Hey buddy! How are you? What’s up, my friend?” Just wondering—on a scale from one to ten, how suspicious do I sound right now?

  My best friend’s voice rolls through the phone. “Bro—what happened out there? You played like shit tonight.”

  I groan, leaning against a light pole in the parking lot, putting some space between me and the team bus, where the guys are all bullshitting. “Damn. Not you, too.” I really don’t need another person busting my balls.