Wild Ride (South Florida Riders Book 1)

by Breezie Bennett

  “I don’t know. Should I be scared? Oh God, please tell me there’s no massive Greco-Roman columns in the dining room. Or a giant tank with a bull shark swimming in it. Please.”

  Leo fakes an astonished gasp. “How dare you speak ill of Jaws? He’s my favorite pet!”

  I roll my eyes. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter yet. I need you to take me back to my apartment. I have to drive up to West Palm and see my family today. They deserve to hear the big news from me before they turn on ESPN tonight.”

  “Ah, of course. Three older brothers. How could I forget? Your whole family is in South Florida?”

  I smile at his genuine interest in my family. “Yep. We’re kind of a tight-knit group. We all grew up in Pittsburgh, but my parents moved down here when I went to college at UF, and the rest of us just followed. But, boy, are they gonna have a field day when they find out I’m engaged to the Leo Sterling.”

  “Lucky you.” He winks. “I’m meeting a couple of my teammates at the bar. Guess I’ll break the news to them, too. You gonna tell them the truth or the story?”

  “Always the truth.” If he thinks I’m lying to my family, he’s out of his mind. “No need to worry that the Monroes can’t keep a secret. I know they can, and will. Anyway, it’s just for the season, right? Then a nice little breakup, and no one even remembers any of this happened.”

  The magnetic kiss comes racing back through my mind for what seems like the hundredth time in the last ten minutes. I wonder if he’s even thought about it since we got in the car, or if that sort of thing is just so routine to him.

  “A nice little breakup. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that one before, but I gotta say it sounds pretty ideal.” He chuckles.

  “Why would anyone want a real relationship when fake ones are just so much easier?” I tease in a singsong voice.

  When he pulls the sleek black car up to my building, I see it a little differently through his eyes. Suddenly, the townhouse that I love, and occasionally have to dig for coins in the couch to afford every month, looks small and kind of dumpy. I don’t care, though. It’s mine. It’s more mine than this car or the man sitting in it will ever be.

  “Send me an address. I’ll be over tonight,” I say quickly as he puts the car in park.

  “Frankie, I can come pick you up.”

  “That’s okay.” I hop out of the car and grab the ugly Louis bag. “I have my Jeep.” I point to the 2008 Wrangler parked in my driveway and add a smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll hide it in the four-car garage.”

  He lifts a shoulder. “Six.” But he can’t hide a smile that tells me he’s amused by me in a way that makes me feel cute and special. Since when do I like feeling cute and special? Since that kiss, evidently.

  “See you tonight.” I shut the fancy door and wait for him to pull away before ripping the heinous shoes off one last time. I hurry, barefoot, up to my front door, unable to stop the image of the sizzling parking lot kiss from burning in my mind.

  EIGHT — Leo

  The Atlantic, a club that sits at the top of a high-rise apartment building in downtown Fort Lauderdale, is the wildly exclusive hangout spot of South Florida’s wealthiest residents. If it were up to me, we’d just grab a beer at a sports bar, but as my agent loves to remind me, I’m not a normal person. At least no one bothers me here, and everyone’s so concerned with themselves and their own money-dripping appearances that there’s a surprising feeling of anonymity.

  I walk into the lobby of the building, the burst of cool air-conditioning bringing some much-needed relief from the sticky Florida humidity, which doesn’t let up even at seven o’clock at night.

  “Hi, Mr. Sterling!” The sweet, and very eager, girl at the front desk instantly brightens and beams a smile that feels like it’s just for me.

  “Hey, Kelly. How’s your week going?” I throw her a nod and stop at the desk to chat for a minute. She flirts like a pro, and after an amusing conversation, I head to the elevator, unable to help smiling to myself about the magnitude of her crush on me. Frankie would laugh and roll her eyes.

  Frankie. The kiss. The elevator doors shut slowly, and I lean back against the wall, letting myself remember the way she tasted like strawberries and her hair smelled like the ocean. Strawberries and ocean? Who even thinks like that?

  “What the fuck, Sterling?” I mumble audibly. This elevator better hurry the hell up, because I obviously need some serious bro time with the teammates I know are waiting for me.

  As soon as I step out to the rooftop bar, the skyline on the horizon is blocked by the massive shoulders of AJ Anderson, who greets me with a fist bump. We walk to the high-top table, where Elliot Danes and Chase Kennedy are laughing loudly, clearly a few shots deep already.

  “Sterling Silver, my man!” Chase slaps my tricep, and I smirk at the stupid nickname. Barely twenty-six, Chase is one of the youngest starting quarterbacks in the NFL, also one of the best. He’s also probably the cockiest, faciest guy on the Riders, but everyone loves him. Women? My God. The dude gets more ass than a toilet seat. But he can throw a football, and he’s fun as hell to hang out with.

  “Hey, bro, how you been?” Elliot looks up from his phone to smile at me.

  “Elliot, dude, who are you texting so obsessively? Or are you on Tinder?” AJ teases, trying to swipe the phone from his hand.

  Chase knocks back a shot of whiskey. “Elliot Danes? On Tinder? Good joke.”

  Elliot sets the phone down. “It’s the babysitter, you jackasses.”

  “How is the little man?” I ask him, pulling up a chair and sliding into it at the table.

  “He’s awesome, dude. Just turned four. Look.” He holds up his phone to show a picture of his son, Asher, sitting at a table with chocolate birthday cake smeared all over his face.

  “Can you stop being Dad of the Year for, like, ten minutes and slam a few with your boys?” Chase jabs, emptying the last few drops of whiskey in the crystal glass into his mouth.

  “Can you stop being a total dick for, like, ten seconds?” Elliot retorts easily, locking his phone and sliding it into his pocket.

  “Impossible,” I chime in.

  A waitress who’s name I probably should know at this point walks up to the table and places a hand on my shoulder.

  “Hey there, sweetie. Whatcha want to drink?” She’s wearing a tight black dress with those net things covering her legs and playfully skims her finger up and down my arm.

  “Blackthorne Gold on the rocks.” I flash her a smile without making eye contact, then turn back to the guys.

  Chase narrows his eyes at me. “All right, bro, what the actual fuck?”

  “What?” I shrug.

  AJ chuckles and runs his hand through his hair. “Seriously, that smokeshow of a waitress was all over you. Probably would have gotten under this table and sucked your cock right now if you asked her to.”

  “Shut up, jackass. She’s just trying to get tips.” I brush him off.

  “Oh, I’ll give her a real good tip,” Chase says on a laugh. “And maybe even the other eight inches, if she’s lucky.”

  “Can someone please remind me why we chill with this moron?” Elliot gestures in Chase’s direction. “But seriously, bro, I’ve been out of the dating game for four years. While you’ve all been out chasing pussy and fucking around, I was changing diapers and reading books made of cardboard. Women have become a foreign concept to me.”

  I smile at his self-deprecation, a trait you don’t often see among NFL running backs. “And?”

  “And…” Elliot grins. “Even I can see that that waitress wants to ride you like a Harley.”

  “My dude!” Chase throws his hand up toward Elliot for a high five.

  The pretty girl with the nets on her legs walks back to the table with my drink, once again strategically hovering her tits about three inches from my face.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?” She leans close to me, pouting her lips.

  “Are you fucking kidding m
e?” Chase says under his breath, and AJ instantly responds with a light punch on his arm to shut him up.

  I pick up the glass of whisky and take a sip. “I’m good, thank you.”

  “Suit yourself.” The girl flips her shiny hair over her shoulder and flounces away.

  “So, are you gonna hit that, or should I?” Chase frowns at me.

  “No, uh, I’m not. Actually, I have some kinda real shit I want to tell you guys.” I know the press conference hasn’t aired yet, and Frankie’s telling her family now, so I gotta convince these guys this is real.

  Elliot looks at me. “What’s going on, man? Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Everything’s great. It’s that, well, I’ve sort of grown up a lot recently…”

  AJ furrows his brow suspiciously. I know, bro, I wouldn’t believe me either.

  “…and, well, I’m actually engaged.”

  Silence. For about four seconds, until all three of them erupt in laughter.

  Chase claps his hands. “That was funny, man. You really had me for, like, a nanosecond.”

  “Shut up, you cocksuckers. I’m being serious. She’s fucking dope. You guys are gonna love her. And I know it was fast, but, like, when you know you know.” At their blank stares, I turn to AJ, the only married member of our little squad. “Right?”

  AJ stands up. “Yeah, Leo, let’s just talk for a second.” He leads me away from the table to a more secluded corner of the rooftop.

  “I just want you to know your secret’s safe with me,” he says, keeping his voice low.

  Wait, shit. What? Play it cool, Sterling.

  I narrow my eyes. “Secret?”

  “The fake engagement. Erica sniffed it out and told me.”

  “She told you?” I ask, both perturbed and buying a little time to plan my lie.

  “She tells me everything. You know, all that marriage shit and honesty. Don’t worry, though.” He nods in the direction of Chase and Elliot. “Those two dumbasses will never figure it out, and everyone else is way too wrapped up in the next game and their own lives to notice anything.”

  AJ has been probably my tightest friend on the Riders since my rookie year. If there’s anyone I can trust, it’s definitely him. I’ll have to go with my gut here.

  “Dude, I need you to keep this on the down low. Lower than the down low. The low-as-fuck down low,” I whisper through clenched teeth.

  AJ puts a hand on my shoulder. “Bro, I got you. No worries. Erica said Frankie is ‘super adorable.’” He mimics his wife and throws up air quotes. “And she’s totally down to help her out. You know, clothes, appearance, doing the whole athlete’s wife thing.”

  “I appreciate it, man. Let me buy the next round.” I ease with relief as we walk back to the table, just in time to see Chase holding his phone in Elliot’s face, no doubt showing him a string of texts with one of his poor unsuspecting slam pieces.

  “See?” He nods. “You’re not the only one who gets called Daddy.”

  Elliot lets out a groan of disgust, and I ruffle Chase’s hair as I sit back down.

  “You’ve got a lot of growing up to do.”

  “Ah, yes, says Mister Monogamy himself. Tell us more about this perfect woman.”

  Where the hell do I even begin?

  NINE — Frankie

  The sun is setting as I near the end of the almost hour-long drive up to my parents’ beach house in West Palm. The windows of my Jeep are rolled down, and the warm salty air swirls through the car. I’ll never get tired of these hot Florida summers. I try to keep my focus on the comfort of the familiar orange and pink sky and not let my mind wander to the impending conversation with my family.

  My brothers and my parents and I have always been extremely close. We have a family iMessage chat that is usually the most active group on my phone. Especially today, since I texted them that I have something kind of important that I want to tell them, and my parents blew up all of our phones demanding that every member of the Monroe clan be at the beach house for dinner tonight.

  We tell each other everything. No lies, no secrets. And that’s not about to change. I know I can trust my family, so I’m just going to tell them the truth. They’d never believe that I’m engaged to Leo Sterling in a million years, anyway.

  I pull my Jeep up on the side of the street, parking behind the blue Honda that belongs to Luke. He’s the only one of us who’s married—attached at the hip, rather. His wife is a super-sweet girl named Olivia, but I’m relieved to see she’s not here tonight. I want to talk to immediate family only.

  I feel a burst of excitement when I think of seeing my brothers. It’s been a couple of months since we were all together, and I wish I didn’t have to drop this bizarre bomb of news on them.

  “Frank-o is that you?” My dad’s booming voice sounds like he’s an ESPN commentator as he hurries out of the front door and down the driveway to give me a hug. “You look good, kid. Tall. You get taller?”

  I laugh and throw my arms around him. “No, Dad, I’ve been this height. Where’s Mom?”

  He gestures back toward the house. “She’s getting dinner ready. All your brothers are here, and they’ve already just about cleaned out the beer fridge.”

  “Big surprise, huh?” I follow him up the driveway to my parents’ quaint and coastal home.

  They got pretty excited to buy a house directly on the water once we all moved out and started our own lives. My mom went through a seashell phase, so just about half of everything in the house is decorated with some sort of shell design. The other half is football paraphernalia, ranging from NFL posters to signed helmets to framed pictures of my brothers, dating all the way back to their high school varsity careers and, of course, my years of soccer and lacrosse. The eclectic mix of decoration and the sliding glass door that lets in a breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean come together to make this place a sporty, beachy, uniquely Monroe family home.

  “Oh, my sweet girl is here!” My mom sets her knife on the cutting board and rushes over to me. She plants about eight kisses all over my face, grabbing my head with both hands. “You know you’re my favorite, right?”

  “You hear that?” I yell out toward the back deck, where my brothers are swilling beer and tossing a football around in the last few minutes of sunlight.

  “Well, if it isn’t Jerry Maguire himself. Or herself?” Eric, who is the closest to me in age, only two years older, shouts back, placing his beer on the table as I walk onto the deck.

  “Chill out.” I laugh. “I’m not an agent. Not yet, anyway.”

  I snag the football from Drew, my second-oldest brother, and toss it back to Eric. Drew and Luke hug me simultaneously.

  “Missed you, sis.” Luke pulls away and pats me hard enough on the arm that it’ll probably bruise.

  Drew, wearing a white tank top that exposes his fully tattooed arms brushed by his shoulder-length brown hair, grabs the football from Eric and smacks the side of it. He holds it like he’s about to throw it and nods at me. “Go long!”

  With no hesitation, I hop off the deck and run out onto the white powdery sand of the beach. Running to catch a football in my ripped jeans, a black tank, and Converse sneakers has me feeling more like myself in five seconds than I have at all in the past three days.

  I snag the football out of the air and run it back up to the deck, pretending to dodge defenders as I rush up the sand. I throw the ball down onto the wood.

  “Touchdown!” Eric yells while holding his arms up like a referee.

  I meet his hand for a high five and bend over to tie my hair up, already feeling the prickles of sweat from a single ten-second run in this humidity. My mind wanders to Leo for a split second, drinking with his teammates at some ritzy club in downtown Fort Lauderdale, trying not to hit on waitresses, and convincing his friends that he’s engaged. I wonder if they believe him. I wonder if Erica told AJ the truth.

  “Kids, dinner!” Mom hollers from inside the house. My three brothers, all gym rats
and former athletes over six feet in height, shove each other out of the way to push through the sliding door and into the kitchen.

  I reach for the last bottle of Blue Moon in the fridge and hope it calms my nerves as we settle in at the dinner table.

  My dad turns to my mom. “Robin, close that crazy glass door, would ya? The palmettos are gonna fly in.”

  My mom stands on her toes and kisses my dad on the cheek. “You’re no fun.”

  “I got it.” Drew stands up and slides the door shut, closing out the sticky, salty air of the beach at night.

  We share stories, laugh, and catch up while eating Mom’s “famous” (per Dad) beef stroganoff, and I delay the inevitable bomb-dropping for as long as I possibly can.

  The conversation lulls. “Okay, guys.” Eric shovels a pile of noodles into his mouth. “I think it’s time to address the rhino in the room here.”

  “Elephant, you idiot. It’s the elephant in the room,” Drew says, wiping his face with a napkin and rolling his eyes at Eric’s stupidity.

  “I like my version better,” Eric says.

  Luke raises his eyebrows and points at Eric. “Alliteration, bro,” he says through a mouthful of food. “That’s good shit.”

  “Language, Luke!” Mom chimes in, trying to hide her inherent amusement and the smile that tugs at her lips while watching all her kids interact at the dinner table.

  “Hey, another alliteration!” Eric exclaims.

  I look over at my dad, who is chuckling quietly and beaming at my mom, and I watch as they share the joy of having the whole family together again.

  “Seriously, though.” Eric swirls his beer around and points the neck of the bottle at me, raising his eyebrows suspiciously. “What’s going on, sis?”

  I take a deep breath. “Okay, this is going to be difficult, but I need you all to at least try and let me finish explaining the entire situation before you start throwing out your opinions.”

  My dad raises his wineglass. “The floor is yours, Frank-o.”