by Chelle Bliss
“This is my girlfriend,” I say proudly.
Tracie’s eyes slice to me. “I’m your girl.”
Bianca stiffens in my arms. “Maybe I should go,” she says and tries to break free from my hold.
I shake my head, holding her tighter, not letting her leave. “Don’t move,” I tell Bianca before glaring at Tracie. “I don’t know what part of ‘We’re nothing’ you don’t seem to understand, Tracie. We are not a couple. I’m very much taken, as you can see.”
Tracie’s mouth gapes open. “We’ll see about that,” she says before she stalks off, tossing her hair over her shoulder like she’s about to throw down.
“Who is that?” Bianca asks, jutting her chin toward Tracie as she walks away in a complete tizzy.
Clarence points in Tracie’s direction and shakes his head slowly. “That’s nothing but crazy.”
“So, you have a stalker?” Bianca doesn’t seem amused. “Don’t you think that’s something you should’ve told me?”
“She’s the owner’s granddaughter.”
Bianca’s mouth forms a perfect O. “Well, that’s awkward.”
“No, that’s insanity in heels.” Clarence laughs.
“Great,” Bianca mumbles, but she doesn’t relax. “You threw me right in the path of a nutty chick? Thanks a-fucking-lot.”
“Clarence, can you give us a minute?” I ask, feeling like I need to explain all the shit that’s gone down over the last six months.
“Sure. We’re in the back, and Marquita saved two seats at our table for you.”
I give him a chin lift, wishing I didn’t have to waste another minute on Tracie. “Thanks, man.”
He’s barely five feet away when Bianca moves out of my grip and faces me, eyes narrowed and expression totally pissed off.
“I’m your crazy-chick repellent?” She puts her hands on her hips, and I know she wants to clock me. “Are you fucking mad?”
I run my hand through my hair, feeling like an asshole. “The coach said I needed to make a very public statement that Tracie and I were and never will be a couple. He told me to bring my girlfriend with me to prove to Mr. Turner that his granddaughter is indeed off-the-rails insane again.”
“Again?” Her mouth hangs open. “She has a history of this shit?”
“She has a history of stalking players.”
Her shoulders bunch up near her head like she’s a volcano about to blow. “I’m your bait, aren’t I? I should knock your ass out right here,” she says in a low, scary voice, and I feel like she could do it if given half a chance.
She’s so damn hot when she’s mad, too.
“You’re my saving grace.” I reach for her, but she slaps my hand and pulls away.
“Don’t.”
“Bianca, come on. Don’t be that way.” I take a step toward her, wanting nothing more than to smooth things over.
She stops moving away from me. “You should’ve warned me, Vinnie.”
“Would you have come?”
“I don’t know, but at least I would’ve had a choice.”
“She’s gone now. She won’t be a problem,” I promise her, but I don’t know if it’s entirely true. “Don’t let her ruin our evening. I was enjoying myself until she showed up.”
“So was I.”
This time, I move faster than her, wrapping my arms around her back and locking my fingers together. Our bodies are touching, and she feels fucking spectacular in my arms.
“Do you like me?” I ask point-blank.
“What?” She doesn’t fight me or my hold.
“Do. You. Like. Me?” I ask again.
“I… Uh…”
I flatten my palms against her back. “It’s an easy question, Bianca. Are you attracted to me?”
She blushes.
“I’m attracted to you,” I say with complete honesty. This may have started as a favor, but there’s no one else I’d rather be here with.
She glances up at me, and there’s sadness in her eyes for a moment before it passes. “I don’t think I’m really your type. You probably want some skinny supermodel.”
I stare at her, dumbfounded by her statement. “The last thing I want is some twig at my side. I’m a big boy, and sometimes I can be rough.” I can see her swallow as the vein in her neck starts to pulse quicker. “You are very much my type, and I like you, too. Big attitude and all.”
“You like me?” She looks surprised.
I don’t get why she’d believe any differently. I think I’ve made myself pretty clear in the limited amount of time we’ve spent together. Why would a woman as pretty as Bianca think a guy wouldn’t want her? It makes no sense.
I nod. “Very much.”
“Son,” a man says behind me, touching my shoulder.
I turn my head, finding the owner watching us. “Mr. Turner, sir.”
“This must be the lovely Bianca.” There’s a genuine smile on his face as he lays eyes on the girl in the beautiful red dress.
“How many people did you tell about me?” she whispers in my ear, sending tiny shock waves through my system as her warm breath caresses my skin.
“This is indeed my girl Bianca, sir,” I say again, but this time, she doesn’t stiffen in my arms.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. A natural beauty,” he tells her with a dip of his head. “I hope you’re a Chicago fan.”
“I am.” Bianca smiles and absolutely lights up the room.
“I hope to see you at some games this year. I’m sure the ladies would like someone new to gossip with.” He grabs my shoulder. “And this boy has them all buzzing. He’s going to bring us a championship. I can feel it in my bones.”
“Sir,” I say with a dip of my head, loving the hell out of him, but needing his help. “I want to talk to you about Tracie.”
He shakes his head. “She’s being dealt with. You worry about the field, the ball, and your girl. Leave everything else to me.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You built up an entire story about me?” Bianca asks as soon as Mr. Turner is far enough away that he can’t hear us.
“I didn’t have a choice.” I shrug.
“Why me? Why my name?” She crosses her arms over her chest.
I tuck my hand into my pocket and try to be cool and calm, hoping I don’t sound like the biggest wanker in the world for what I’m about to say. “After we met in the elevator, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. When they asked about my girlfriend, your name was the first that came out of my mouth because, again, I was thinking about you nonstop.”
“About me?” She touches her chest, looking shocked that I actually would’ve been thinking about her.
“Yeah, and the thoughts weren’t always pure, but damn, they were hot.”
The corner of her mouth twitches. “What would you have done if I’d said I wouldn’t come with you?”
“I would’ve been screwed and had to make up some story about how you were home with the flu or that I found you in bed with another man.”
She shakes her head and laughs. “That would be an ego hit, no? No man actually wants to admit they found their woman in bed with another man.”
“Finding your woman in bed with another woman is an even bigger ego hit, baby.”
She laughs loudly, tipping her head back and exposing her beautiful neck. I want to lean forward and run my lips across the silky-soft skin, but I’m pretty sure Bianca would not hesitate to smack me in front of everyone.
“That would be a complete suck, wouldn’t it?” she asks. “Has that happened to you?”
“Nah.” I shake my head. “I’ve never really been with a girl long enough to let it happen.”
Her smile vanishes. “What? You’ve never dated anyone?”
“I go on dates. I just don’t do relationships. I don’t like the way my heart feels when they end. I’ve stayed focused on my work and have put off love until later.”
“You sound like me.” She steps forward, closing the
space between us. “I’ve sworn off men.”
“Forever?” I pray like hell she hasn’t switched teams.
“For a short time. It was affecting my work.”
“And now?” I’m hopeful, and I know maybe a little time with Vinnie will get her head back in the game.
“Now…” She pauses and runs her hands up my arms. “I’m thinking maybe it’s time to put myself out there again.”
7
BIANCA
WHAT AM I SAYING? I’m flirting with this guy, a person I barely know and someone I know is a player. Ready to throw away my promise to be celibate, man-free, and drama-free for as long as humanly possible. I’ve stayed strong for six months, barely leaving my apartment because the temptation only grew stronger over time.
“I could help you,” he offers, looking hopeful as he peers down at me, his hands on my hips. “Or maybe we can help each other.”
“Help each other?” My grip tightens on his biceps.
I’m completely feeling him up in front of all these people. I’m not even ashamed, and he seems to be enjoying it. I’ve never felt arms so big, and I imagine he could easily lift me off the ground.
He nods. “I’ll help you get back in the game, teaching you which assholes to avoid, and you can teach me how to be in a relationship without being such a self-absorbed dick.”
I laugh, but I like the idea. “I’m not sure anyone can be taught how to be in a relationship. Plus, I haven’t had much luck, so I don’t know if I’m the best teacher.”
For five years, I’ve had nothing but a string of shitty boyfriends. One after another, parading through my life like an endless season of bad reruns just with a different leading man. Kind of like in soap operas where they hire a new actor to play the same role. That’s been my love life in a nutshell.
“Well, one thing I know is assholes.” He smiles. “I can pick them out in a crowd in a few seconds.”
“Does it take one to know one?” I tease.
When I met Vinnie, I would’ve sworn he was a complete tool. But after the short amount of time I’ve spent with him, I’d say I was completely off base. I might still be right, though. Like I said…my asshole-finder is completely broken. But so far, he’s been nothing but a gentleman and sweet, too.
“I’ve never been an asshole, but that doesn’t mean I’ve always treated women the way they expected or wanted to be treated.”
I raise an eyebrow. “How does that not make you an asshole?”
“I never lie to them. I’m always honest about what I want. It’s their choice if they want to be with me, knowing what they know in advance.”
“Sounds romantic.” I shake my head and laugh again.
He grips me tighter with his fingers. “Maybe you can change me. Show me all the things I’ve been missing.”
“Gallo,” his friend, Clarence, yells from a few feet away, ruining the moment. “Get your ass over here.”
Vinnie sends his buddy a little nod before giving me his eyes again. “We’ll talk about this more later.”
I don’t know if the butterflies in my stomach are from excitement or my mind’s way of saying take a few steps back and do not get naked with this guy. My body’s all for the skin-on-skin action, having been denied for more months than I thought humanly possible. I can feel my resistance slipping.
The promise I made to myself is becoming less and less important.
I try to take a step backward, but Vinnie pulls me close again, keeping his arm around my back and his hand firmly on my hip. “Just remember, everyone in this room thinks we’re a couple.”
“Got it.” My body tingles with every step, soaking in his warmth and the feel of his hands on my body as we walk.
It’s not hard to pretend with him.
There are three couples sitting at the table, and all their eyes are on us as we approach. I can feel the weight of their stares as they appraise me. Maybe it’s just in my head. I always assume people who have achieved some sort of celebrity have a bit of snob in them.
“Bianca, this is Marquita, Clarence’s wife.” Vinnie motions toward a beautiful woman who oozes class.
Marquita dips her head. “So, you’re the one who’s trying to tame our young Vinnie.” She laughs and covers her mouth with her hand, showing off the giant diamond ring on her finger.
“He’s a tough one, but he’s mine.” I pat his chest, wishing I could slink away and out of the room. My smile isn’t genuine, but somehow, I keep it on my face until my cheeks hurt.
“Don’t listen to her,” a blond woman says as she waves her hand toward Marquita. “We’re excited to finally meet you. I’m Celia, Tre’s wife.”
Tre is the hottest player on the team. My brothers have his jersey and wear it religiously every Sunday during the season because they think it’ll bring the team luck. It doesn’t, but that doesn’t stop them.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” I say to Celia.
Celia is beautiful but without all the surgical intervention like Marquita has. Her smile seems genuine and warm, which puts me a little bit at ease.
“Sit. Sit,” another woman says and pulls out the chair next to her. “We’ve all known each other for years and are excited to have someone new at our table for a change.”
“Thank you.” I slide onto the chair as ladylike as I can in a dress this tight. My usual drop and plop probably wouldn’t be a big hit with this crowd.
“I’m Marilou, and this big lug is my husband.” She bumps the man next to her, and I immediately know who he is from the years of sitting with my dad and brothers on Sunday afternoon.
“I’m Maurice,” he says, giving me a killer smile.
My belly’s flipping because I’ve watched these men for years, and they’re celebrities in my family.
“It’s wonderful to meet you all,” I say.
And it is, except for Marquita. Her face is so pinched, she looks like she just ate something sour. Maybe she just doesn’t like me or the fact that Vinnie and I are getting all the attention from the table and not her.
Vinnie sits next to me, moving his chair so our hips are touching. I’m momentarily breathless when his hand slides across my thigh before resting there.
“Champagne?” Marquita asks without moving her face because she’s had so much plastic surgery. I’m pretty sure it can’t move, no matter how hard she tries.
“Please.” I nod.
“So, what do you do, Bianca?” Celia asks as she rests her chin in her palm. “Are you a kept woman now that Vinnie’s signed his first contract?”
Clarence laughs. “Celia, I told you the boy doesn’t play for the money. He was already rolling in dough.”
I glance over at Vinnie, trying to hide my shock but failing. I figured he had some money. No one can buy a unit above the eighth floor in our building without a substantial bank account.
“It’s rude to talk money, especially other people’s money,” Marquita tells Celia as she pushes the champagne bottle across the table.
Celia rolls her eyes, and I can tell they aren’t the best of friends. I’m pretty sure no one at this table counts Marquita on their BFF list.
Vinnie’s unusually quiet, and I turn to him, wondering what’s running through his mind. He shrugs, giving me a halfhearted smile. “Tell them what you do, baby.”
He doesn’t even know what I do. We’ve spent so little time talking about our lives, the topic never even came up. Hell, I didn’t even know what he did until we arrived at the event tonight.
I grab the champagne bottle, keeping my eyes trained on the bubbly, filling my glass so I don’t have to see their faces. “I’m a writer.”
“Like a journalist?” Clarence asks.
Journalist is always everyone’s first thought when I say I’m a writer. I’ll never understand it. I think so many people believe no one can really make a living by writing novels, especially romance novels, but I do it.
I’m one of the lucky few.
I’m successful.
I shake my head and grab Vinnie’s glass and fill it too. “I write novels.” I glance upward, seeing the surprise on Vinnie’s face.
“I love a good thriller. Maybe I’ve read your work. What’s your last name?” Marquita asks, but I’m pretty sure she’s just asking so she can belittle me again.
“I don’t think you’ve read my work.”
There’s always this awkward moment. They’re so interested and full of questions, but as soon as they hear what I write, they’ll have nothing but judgment and disdain.
Vinnie’s hand tightens on my thigh. He’s so damn close to the promised land, I could explode if his hand moved up any higher.
Maurice lifts his glass, watching me over the rim. “You’re talking to a bunch of jocks and housewives, sweetheart. We barely write, let alone read.”
Marilou wraps her hand around her husband’s upper arm. “Honey, you know I read all the time. I have to do something to keep myself busy during the season.”
“I love when you read, Mar. I reap the rewards from all those words.” She gets a wink from Maurice.
I fidget with the stem of the champagne flute, remaining silent as I watch Maurice and Marilou. They’re cute together and so totally in love.
“Please tell me you don’t write murder mysteries.” Marilou rolls her eyes. “They’re so boring and predictable.”
“I write romance novels,” I blurt out because there’s nothing like ripping the Band-Aid off quickly to break the ice and get over the weird moment where everyone looks at me like I’m an easy lay.
That’s the thing about being a romance writer. Everyone always assumes I’m some sort of weird nymphomaniac, when I’m the exact opposite. No one makes that assumption about a person who writes crime novels. They don’t think they’re a career criminal based on the words they put on paper. It’s exactly the opposite for romance. We’re all slutty harlots, writing from our vast experience of opening our legs for every Tom, Dick, and Harry.
Vinnie’s fingers dig into my skin as he gives me a proud smile. “That’s my girl.”
“Oh my God. I love romance. I devour them. What’s your name? I must read your books,” Marilou says as the other women gawk at me like I’m some kind of whore, as expected.
