Wild Ride (South Florida Riders Book 1)

by Breezie Bennett

  My head swims as intensity and heat come off of him in waves, crashing against me. I can feel him effortlessly pick me up and spin me around as I lean into his chest. A tiny moan slips out of his throat, and his tongue slides into my mouth as he runs his fingers through my hair. I can feel blood coursing through me as I cling to his rock of a body. He lowers my feet back onto the ground and slowly pulls away.

  “I missed that last pass.”

  “But you caught everything else.”

  He winks at me and angles his head against mine, still gripping my waist with both hands and more passion than any camera could ever capture.

  “You were great.” I sigh.

  I’m way too drunk from that kiss and whatever the hell was in those cocktails to think of anything remotely substantial to say.

  He brushes my hair behind my ears, keeping his lips just an inch from mine. “That was better than any game I had last season. You were on my mind the whole time.”

  Why would he say that? There’s no way the mics can pick up our conversation from here. Right?

  He tickles my lips with another gentle kiss. “You might be my muse. Couldn’t wait to see you when the game ended.”

  I think I hear the shutter of a camera somewhere in the background, which yanks me back into reality for a split second. He has to just be doing this for the benefit of the press. But nothing matters right now except his eyes and his lips and his…everything else.

  “I think you’re just really good at what you do,” I say, the words coming out as more of a slutty plea than a gentle flirt.

  He leans into me, putting his mouth right next to my ear, and pulls me tighter against him. “Oh, I’m really good at what I do.”

  I try to muster something sassy and witty to banter with his dirty joke, but my whole body is completely weak for him right now. I want him so bad, and in this moment, that want is rapidly and desperately consuming me.

  The deafening voice of reason blares in my head. Frankie. This is fake. He’s pretending. So are you. Remember?

  Denying the most intense desire I’ve ever known, I wiggle out of his grasp.

  Leo can’t seem to let go, though, keeping an arm wrapped tightly around my shoulders. I mean, I know he’s kind of into me physically. But sharing the high of that win with him, that kiss, that moment…it feels more than physical. I look up at his sharp jawline and ragged, sweaty hair. He mouths something to AJ across the room and runs his hand through his hair, laughing as he keeps his grip around my shoulders.

  Shit. What if Erica was right?

  TWELVE — Leo

  “I’ll go to the Atlantic tonight for the sake of our fake relationship, but I’m not gonna drink a lot.” Frankie points a warning index finger at me when I walk in after leaving Tebow with my neighbor since I know we’ll be out late tonight.

  “Famous last words.” I nudge her playfully. “It’ll be fun. You’ll love my teammates.”

  “I know. But my head is still kinda pounding from those sugary pink things I was slamming the entire game.” She rubs her temples. “Do you have any aspirin?”

  “Yeah, in the car. Extra strength. Works like a charm.”

  She takes a few steps closer and looks up at me with giant, concerned green eyes. “Do I look okay?”

  I accept this as a perfectly legitimate invitation to completely and totally eye-fuck her from head to toe. Frankie’s flawless, hourglass figure is looking particularly steamy in this low-cut black dress. The skirt is just short enough to expose her silky, toned thighs, but covering enough to have me begging to see more. And her boobs always just look fucking amazing.

  “Hold on a sec,” I say slowly. Might as well have a little fun with her. “I’m not so sure. Can you actually turn around?”

  She furrows her brow. “Why? Is there something on my dress?” Frankie turns to face her perfect backside in my direction and looks innocently over her shoulder.

  I bend over and examine her ass for a few solid seconds. “Hmm. I’m just making sure everything’s absolutely perfect.” I add a light little spank because, well, who could resist? “Yeah, looking good!”

  She giggles and rolls her eyes at me. “Grow up.”

  We walk into the garage, and Frankie goes straight to the passenger’s side of the Mercedes.

  “You coming?” She grabs the door handle.

  “Actually…” I jingle a shiny set of keys. “We’re celebrating tonight, right? Might as well give the old sports car a spin.” I nod my head toward the other side of the garage and the dark blue Porsche 911.

  Frankie’s eyes light up even brighter than I hoped they would. She tosses her head back with an exasperated laugh. “No freaking way. I really am living in Pretty Woman!” She practically skips over to the car. “Minus the whole prostitution thing.”

  “A minor detail.” I toss her the keys. “Drive, kid.”

  She catches them and freezes, staring at me like a beautiful deer in headlights. “Leo, I can’t.”

  I laugh at her blatant shock. “You haven’t had a drink in five hours. You have a license. Besides, it’s automatic transmission.” I raise both my hands in the air.

  “An automatic 911?” She narrows her eyes at me. “What are you, a dentist?”

  “Yeah, I’m kind of a pussy. Don’t tell.”

  “But what if I wreck it?” she mumbles.

  I shrug and throw her a wink. “Then you can buy me a new one when you’re a big fancy sports agent.”

  Frankie stands completely still, holding the Porsche keys, for another half second before swinging the door open and jumping into the driver’s seat.

  “Let’s ride, Sterling!”

  Frankie whips us around downtown Fort Lauderdale with a surprising lead foot. She grins as wind ripples into the car through the windows, which she rolled down the instant we pulled out of the driveway. Her hair blows wildly in the breeze. She looks so beautiful…so free.

  “No more headache, I take it?” I shout over the revving engine and the blasting wind.

  “It went away the first time I hit eighty,” she yells back.

  I laugh and lean back into my seat. Flying through the city on a summer night, listening to her musical giggle, watching her expression filled with fire and love and speed…this feels almost as good as those touchdowns today.

  “Phenomenal driving, seriously.” I wrap my arm around Frankie’s shoulders as we walk into the building to go up to the Atlantic. “Which means I can get absolutely sloshed tonight and you’ll drive me home, right, Ms. Sober?”

  She wrinkles her nose. “Well, now that my headache is gone…”

  I pull her closer to me as we get into the elevator. “Yeah, yeah. I want you to have a good time tonight, seriously. With the exception of AJ, all these assholes need to believe you actually got me to want to settle down. So you gotta be, like, really cool.”

  “Wow, how did I ever get so lucky?” Frankie sarcastically raises the back of her hand to her forehead. “The chosen one, the only girl on the planet who could convince Leo Sterling to commit.”

  If anyone could do it, it’d be someone like her. But I’m way too young to think about anything serious for real. I mean, shit, I’m barely twenty-eight, there’s no shot I’m getting actually engaged before at least thirty-five.

  I repeat that to myself as we walk into the bar. So why is she still the only girl I want to look at?

  “This place is so nice,” Frankie whispers to me.

  “It’s something, all right.” I hold her against me as we breathe in the Florida air on the rooftop and admire the expansive view and glistening lights.

  She is wearing her token expression of astonishment, with the same parted lips and enormous eyes that stared up at my house the first time she saw it and at me when I told her to drive the Porsche.

  She looks exceptionally beautiful, and since we’re in public, I don’t have to stop myself from planting a kiss on her cheek while she looks out over the rooftop. She jumps in response and
turns to me with a wide smile and sparkling eyes.

  “Let’s get a drink. Where’s the bar?” Frankie looks around the club.

  “They kinda know me here. They’ll bring drinks right to the table. How about that?” I squeeze her shoulder.

  “Over or under three?” she says to me.

  “Huh?”

  “The number of waitresses here you’ve slept with.” She raises an eyebrow and smirks at me.

  I put my hands on her waist and walk behind her, guiding her to the table where I see some of my boys. “Not important, but four,” I whisper in her ear.

  She gasps and turns around to face me. “I knew it!”

  I sarcastically gasp in response. “Doesn’t matter, because now I’m all tied down.” I add a playful tap on the tip of her nose.

  Before Frankie has a chance to remind me that our relationship is entirely made up, AJ and Erica run toward us, diving in for some sort of group hug.

  “Look at this fine sexy couple right here!” Erica wraps her arms around the two of us, squeezing us together.

  Frankie shoots me a look that falls somewhere between terror and amusement.

  After we’re done getting pressed together, Erica snatches my fake fiancée’s hand and pulls her away from me. “C’mon, hun. You’re sitting with the gals tonight.”

  Frankie looks at me over her shoulder as she’s getting dragged off by Erica’s twig of an arm. I give her a little thumbs-up and join AJ at the adjacent table with some of the other Riders guys.

  “Okay, bro.” Chase Kennedy leans in next to me, the smell of booze wafting off him so strong you’d think he soaked his clothes in it. “Your fiancée is an absolute dime.”

  Elliot raises his beer in agreement. “He’s right, Sterling. Total smokeshow. Honestly, though, I’m still pretty shocked you decided to settle down so soon. I mean, let’s be real, dude, it comes as a surprise.”

  Dylan Rivera, the Riders’ young kicker and also a total bro, looks up from his phone and joins the conversation. “Yeah, no shit. Sterling was out chasing ass, like, five minutes ago. But hey, man, she is quite a piece.”

  I roll my eyes and stay silent in an attempt to get them to shut up about my “old ways.” I’ll be back in the game soon enough, I guess.

  I glance at Frankie. She looks stunning…sipping a gin and tonic and smiling in conversation with the other women. For a second, she meets me gaze and mouths, “I’m trying.” I give her yet another thumbs-up under the table.

  When I rejoin the boys’ chat, the focus is off of me, thank fuck, and has moved on to some football-related dispute.

  “Elliot, bro.” Chase leans across the table and angles his glass at Elliot. “You know I love you, but you’re completely fucking wrong about this.”

  Elliot rolls his eyes and sighs. “You’re a dumbass. He played for the Redskins. Everyone knows that.”

  “Dude, not right,” Chase escalates. “Red Grange played for the Dallas fucking Cowboys.” He sits back and finishes his drink.

  Dylan tilts his head. “I thought Grange was on the Lions.”

  His remark causes both Chase and Elliot to rethink their positions on the debate. Everyone is pretty quiet for a hot second, until suddenly I see a black dress and nice tits and green eyes and…Frankie.

  “You’re all wrong. Red Grange, aka the Galloping Ghost, was a halfback for the Chicago Bears.” She grabs my beer and takes a hefty swig. “He also played baseball for the Yankees, briefly. Fun fact, right?”

  Chase bites the knuckle of his thumb, and all my teammates stare at her in disbelief.

  Frankie glances at me, seemingly comforted by the smile I can’t wipe off my face. “Sorry,” she says with an apologetic smile. “I just overheard from the other table and figured I might as well just settle it myself.”

  Chase keeps his eyes narrowed and locked on her. When I notice his gaze lingering on her chest, I instinctively wrap my arm around her waist.

  “Frankie’s kind of an NFL diehard,” I say with a laugh.

  Elliot smiles. “Love to hear it. You can sit with us, if you want.” He slides over to make room for her between the two of us.

  “Sit on down, Miss Francesca.” Chase offers her a fist bump. “I gotta say, Leo’s a lucky man. Hot football nerds aren’t exactly a dime a dozen.”

  Frankie smiles and lightly taps his hand. “It’s actually just Frankie. I’m named after Franco Harris from the Steelers. Big football family, and we’re from Pittsburgh.”

  Trying to hide my shock and overwhelming adoration for her, I quickly remind myself that this is something her fiancé would definitely already know. But wow. She literally could not be any more awesome.

  “Franco!” The guys all start shouting and playfully shoving Frankie around. “How about a shot?”

  Frankie hesitates and gives me an I know I said I wasn’t drinking tonight, but…look.

  I give her an approving nod and stand up. “Shots on me. Let’s go, boys.” I lean over and kiss Frankie’s forehead. “And girl.”

  I return to the table with enough whiskey shots for everyone to have at least three. By the time I get back, Chase, Dylan, AJ, and Elliot are all chanting, “Franco! Franco! Franco!” as my little bride-to-be chugs the better half of a pitcher of Corona.

  Frankie locks her gaze on mine as she finishes the last drops of the beer.

  “Sorry.” She slowly sets the pitcher onto the table, wiping a dribble from her chin and laughing. “I was just telling the guys that when I was in high school, my brothers taught me how to chug beer in record time. It’s kinda my party trick. I had to demonstrate so they didn’t think I was full of shit.”

  “I am so mad at you,” I joke, trying to keep a straight face.

  Frankie suddenly looks concerned. “You are? We were just playing around.”

  “No, of course I’m not mad at you, babe.” I laugh and sit down next to her, meeting her lips for a sweet kiss. “Looks like I’ll be driving us home,” I say, sliding my full shot glasses in front of her. “Drink up, kiddo.”

  The next hour or so consists of Frankie continuing to shock and impress me with not only her ridiculous NFL knowledge, which borders on an obsession, but also how well she handles a lot of liquor. She’s slamming drinks at the persuasive pressure of Chase Kennedy, who could get a nun hammered. And then probably into his bed.

  There are constant eruptions of laughter the whole night at the Atlantic, and I cannot take my eyes off of her. Her face is slightly flushed from the alcohol, her eyes especially shiny. I’m almost glad I ended up staying sober enough to drive. That way, I know I’ll remember every detail of her laugh and her glow and her black dress.

  The more Frankie drinks, the more she leans into me and kisses me and touches me. I guess the booze just makes her more comfortable being my fake fiancée. She’s really putting on a good show, and I can’t exactly complain about her sexy little fingers with black-painted nails gently running up and down my thigh.

  I play along with her, even though I know that no one can see under the table. We interlace our fingers, and I slide my hand up her thigh and slightly under her skirt. She jumps and giggles in my ear. She is so sexy. She grips my leg, wiggling her hand higher and higher, causing me to choke on a gasp.

  She looks at me with silly drunk excitement and messy hair. “Let’s go home.”

  That’s all the motivation I need to stand up and walk us out of the bar. We say goodbye to everyone, and she clings to my arm, resting her head on my shoulder and making a wobbly exit from the rooftop. I steady her as we step into the elevator.

  She leans against me in the empty elevator and looks up at me with the most eager eyes I’ve ever seen. There’s no media in this elevator with us. There’s just Frankie, and she’s insanely sexy.

  Without thinking twice about it, I kiss her. She tastes like sex and whiskey and moans gently as she kisses me back even harder. She parts my lips and slips her tongue into my mouth, laughing a little. She’s pretty drunk, but I ca
n feel her wanting me. The elevator ride is about forty-five seconds, and she uses every one of them to make out with me, letting her hands sloppily untuck my shirt, and I silently beg them to go lower and wrap around my needy erection.

  The doors open, and we walk into the lobby. She stops and looks at me with an embarrassed cringe on her face. “Sorry,” she says through a laugh.

  “Do your feet hurt?” I glance down at yet another pair of torturous high heels I know Frankie Monroe cannot be comfortable in.

  “Umm…” She leans dramatically against the wall outside the elevator. “They definitely did, but I don’t even feel it as much anymore really.” She draws out each syllable, and I can’t help but laugh about how much I adore her.

  “Well, they’ll hurt tomorrow,” I say and, with one swift movement, scoop her up into my arms.

  She giggles and wraps her arms around me, burrowing her head in the crook of my neck as I walk out of the lobby of the building holding her.

  Frankie is lighter than air, even with her squirming and laughing and constantly trying to kiss my cheek.

  “The Pooooorsche!” She hops out of my arms and skips over to my car, leaning her ass against the side of it. I walk up to her, feeling my heart rate increase as I lightly press my body against hers, and she wraps a leg around me. Our lips are inches apart, and I feel desperate to taste her. Everywhere. Hot need courses through me, the need to rip that black dress off and rail her right here against the Porsche.

  She leans close. “Leo,” she moans, barely above a whisper.

  I slide one hand around the back of her neck and the other on her waist. She rocks her hips against me, sending even more blood rushing south.

  “Yes?” I smile at her.

  “I, um…”

  Want you to bang me right here in this parking lot?

  “I think maybe you should drive home.” She lays her head back onto the roof of the car and laughs.

  I let out a sigh, unable to shake the image of me banging her against the car. What if there’s a reporter hidden somewhere, watching us? Now that would sell it.