by Chelle Bliss
Her career is just as important as mine. I live game to game, and she lives book to book. We are only as good as our next play. The last thing I want is for her to get distracted from finishing her book and missing her deadline. That would kill any future chance of making her my girl faster than treating her like a quick lay.
I’m not even paying attention to where I’m walking as I make my way down the hallway to the locker room.
“Hey, handsome.” The voice crawls over my skin, making me suddenly feel ill. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
I sidestep Tracie as she tries to touch me. “You’re not allowed to be here.”
She pouts, but it has zero effect on me. “Don’t be that way. You know we’re meant to be together.”
“I have a girlfriend,” I tell her, tucking my hands into my pockets as I put more space between us.
“We all slum it sometimes,” she says with a shrug.
Her words slam into me, and I see red. I stalk toward her, getting in her face, but I am careful not to touch her. “Let’s get something straight…again. I am not yours. You’re not mine. We’re not a couple. Bianca’s my girl, you crazy bitch.”
The insane part of her takes over, and she laughs right in my face. “You’re precious with how much you defend your little toy. Have your fun now, Vinnie. Sow your oats. It doesn’t matter to me. I know who you’re going to be with in the end.”
I narrow my eyes, trying to calm down because my body’s vibrating with anger. “We are nothing.”
“Gallo,” Coach calls from the door of his office down the hallway, probably saving me from doing or saying something I’ll regret.
“This is the last time I’m going to tell you to leave me alone.” I don’t give her another chance to say something back before I jog toward the coach’s office, trying to shake off the tightness in my body from Tracie’s bullshit.
“What’s up, Coach?” I say when I am face-to-face with him.
He’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed, his eyes going between Tracie and me. “Step inside,” he tells me. “We need to talk.”
I pace the small empty patch of linoleum in front of his desk, waiting for him to speak. He walks through his office slowly before collapsing into his chair. “Stop moving. You’re making me nervous, for shit’s sake.”
I stop quickly and turn to face him. “What’s being done about her?”
He lets out a heavy sigh before shuffling papers around his extremely messy desk. “She’s seeing her psychiatrist again and back on the meds, but her grandfather can’t bar her from the facility, though she’s no longer allowed in the locker room.”
“That’s it?” I glance up toward the ceiling and curse under my breath.
“If she becomes more aggressive, her parents are willing to get her treatment in a facility, but right now, this is the best we can do.”
“So, all that shit about me being the future of the team?” I ball my hands into tight fists at my sides and bite down my anger. The last thing I want is to give anyone a reason to cut me from the team before the season even starts.
“It’s still true. Listen, you have a few options.”
I cross my arms over my chest and lift my chin. I’m pretty sure they’re all going to suck, but I don’t tell Coach that.
“One, you just hang tight and wait for her to find a new infatuation.”
“Victim,” I mumble because infatuations can be something great, but not when Tracie’s involved. “Coach, she’s been after me for almost a year. I don’t see her moving on any time soon.”
“Two,” he says, skipping right over what I just said. “You can file a TRO against her, but the likelihood it’ll be put in place and followed is highly doubtful. Plus, it’ll end up in the hands of the press. No longer will the story be about the superstar kid who’s going to take his hometown team to the play-offs. It’ll be about your relationship with the owner’s granddaughter.”
“There’s no relationship,” I correct him.
“Or we sit back and wait for her to really fuck up.”
“That’s all you have?” I shake my head slowly and groan.
“That’s it, kid.”
I don’t say another word before I storm out of his office, finding the hallway empty, and head toward the locker room. In a few short months, my life has gone from uncomplicated to crazy-as-fuck without any middle ground.
19
BIANCA
“NOW THAT WE have the niceties out of the way,” my agent says as she pushes aside her empty plate. “I wanted to talk to you about your current project.” Her face is tight, and nothing about her smile is sincere.
“Okay,” I say the words, drawing them out because if Susan has dropped everything to fly to Chicago to meet with me, the news probably isn’t good.
I’ve been with Susan Williams, one of the biggest romance agents in the world, for almost four years. She took a chance on me when no one else would. Others claimed I was too young or too inexperienced to have a successful writing career, but not Susan.
Most of the time, I’m grateful to have her in my life.
Then there’re times like this, when she’s about to school me in the ways of publishing, where I want to cover my ears and run out of the room before she makes me feel as small as an ant.
Susan leans over, digging into her oversized purse and pulling out a giant stack of papers. “I had a lengthy conversation with your editor after you sent us the first half.”
I pull my hands back into my lap, balling them into tight fists. I’m prepping for a mental and verbal ass-beating with no recourse but to sit here and take it.
“Okay,” I repeat as my lunch churns in my stomach.
She removes the giant clip holding the sheets together and flips the title page over, exposing the first page of my upcoming book. All I see is red. Not from anger, but from the critical ink of my editor’s pen.
“I’m just going to be honest and get to the point quickly.”
I don’t know if she thinks those words are going to bring me solace, but they don’t. My heart’s pounding and my hands are sweating as I dig my fingernails into the fleshy part of my palms.
“The beginning of the story isn’t what your readers typically expect. It’s a super slow start and does not capture anyone’s attention. The entire first few chapters need to be reworked.”
“I thought it was sweet.” The smile I give her is pained.
She waves her hand over the stack of papers and shakes her head. “Sweetie, your readers don’t want sweet. They want hot and fast.”
“The story is hot,” I argue and sit up a little straighter than I had been a moment ago.
I’ve pulled out all the stops on this one, giving my readers everything I know they love. The hero is a hot alpha with a mouth on him that’ll make any woman’s heart skip a few beats.
“The beginning needs more punch, and a sex scene or two would be nice too. What’s going on in your life? Sometimes, our real world causes issues in our fictional one.”
“Nothing’s changed,” I lie.
She raises one overly plucked eyebrow. “Still going through your man hiatus?”
I nod slowly. “Sort of.”
“Oh?” Now, both of her eyebrows are up. “What’s ‘sort of’ mean, exactly?”
“A few weeks ago, I started seeing someone.”
“That explains it, then,” she says, running her hand up and down the top sheet of paper. “The chapters you’ve sent me recently have become more intense and steamier. You can clearly tell when you were without a man. It shows in your work.”
“I don’t agree.”
“Read over the first few chapters. You’ll see there’s a huge difference—and not a good one either.”
Susan’s trying to be nice, I know she is, but her words still sting. They always do. In the end, and I’ll never admit this to her, she’s almost always right. She’s never been one to blow smoke up my ass and tell me something is great. And becaus
e of her inability to lie, I always publish a better book.
“Whatever’s going on in your personal life has major effects on your writing. I know why you swore off men for a little while, sweetie, but when you’re writing spicy romance…men are part of the business. You can’t be sour on love and try to pull emotion from your readers.”
“Fine,” I snap. “I’ll rework the beginning, but I’ll need a few more weeks.”
“We can give you two more weeks to get the final draft on my desk.”
I rock backward. “Two weeks? It took me a month to write those first few chapters.”
She pushes the manuscript across the table. “You better find some inspiration in the arms of that man of yours and get typing.”
I’m almost in tears by the time I hail a cab and climb into the back seat. I flip through the manuscript, ignoring the traffic and the super chatty cab driver, as I read through the comments left by my agent and editor.
Every book is a small piece of my soul, and their red slashes and critical words cut me deeply. No one wants to hear how dreadful something they’ve created is. Nothing kills enthusiasm for a writer more than being told something flat out sucks.
I’m so in my head, tears streaming down my face and clutching my manuscript to my chest, I don’t even notice Vinnie standing near the elevator when I walk into the lobby.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
My eyes shift from the marble floor to his green eyes. “Just a bad day.” I don’t know why I lie. I don’t want to be the whiny girl. The one with issues all the time. So sometimes, it’s easier to pretend everything is great.
Vinnie closes the space between us, holding my arm with one hand and my face in the other. His thumb brushes against my cheek, wiping away a tear. “It looks like more than a bad day, Bianca. Tell me what happened.”
“My book is shit.” The tears flow harder as I say the words. The way he’s looking at me doesn’t help either. I sob, slurring together a string of words about how hurt I am by the comments left by my editor, but I’m pretty sure he can’t understand anything I’m saying.
“Your books are great, baby.” He gives me a sad smile, trying to wipe away the tears as fast as they fall.
“Not this one,” I sob.
He pulls me into a tight embrace, rubbing my back and whispering soothing words. The smell and feel of Vinnie calm me, making me forget about everything Susan said. “I think we need to get out of the city for a few days,” he says.
I peer up at him as I step out of his embrace. “I can’t. I have to rewrite most of this damn book.” I lift the manuscript I’ve been clutching, showing him the splotches of red everywhere.
“Bring your work with us. Maybe you’ll find some inspiration.”
“That’s not how it works. I only write at my desk.”
He raises an eyebrow. “How’s that been working?”
I grumble under my breath because it’s been sucktastic according to my editor and Susan.
“Anyway, you write with a laptop. Your desk is wherever you make it.”
“And what are you going to do? Just sit there and watch me work?”
He shakes his head. “I can entertain myself. Besides, I have a very strict workout regimen. I just want a few hours a day alone with you, and the rest you can work.”
“I don’t know. We barely know each other, Vinnie.”
“Do you trust me?”
“I do.”
He glances down at the manuscript as the elevator doors open. “Where does the story take place?”
“Tahiti,” I say, stepping inside the tiny space with him.
“I only have four days off from camp, so that’s too far, but I’ll figure something out. Leave everything to me. Just pack a bag and be ready to go in the morning.”
“Vinnie, I don’t think we should…”
He places his finger over my lips, silencing me. “No arguments, Bianca. We both could use some time away to clear our heads.”
He’s right. The last thing I want to do is sit in my loft, staring out the window as the cursor blinks on the screen like it’s taunting me.
“Okay.”
He leans forward and cups my face in the palm of his giant hand. “Thank you,” he whispers softly before pressing his lips to mine.
Suddenly, my day doesn’t seem so awful. Words can be changed, and I have enough time to do it. Whatever harsh and horrible things Susan said or the editor wrote no longer seem to sting as bad.
Our kiss is broken by the familiar chime of the elevator as we arrive on our floor. “I’ll text you in a little bit with the travel details. Just pack a few things—and for warm weather.”
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.” He smiles mischievously.
Normally, surprises aren’t my cup of tea, but there’s something about the way he’s smiling at me that has the butterflies in my stomach doing backflips. I don’t remember the last time I went on vacation. It’s been years since I stepped outside of my little world and remembered all the pleasure life has to offer.
20
VINNIE
“THIS IS NUTS.” Bianca drops her purse on the sand near the wraparound porch. “The water is so blue.”
She spent the entire flight typing away furiously on her laptop, trying to work on the problems her editor and agent had told her needed to be fixed.
I studied game film and the team’s playbook, hoping like hell I was ready for our first preseason game.
We each have a lot on the line. I am fighting for the starting quarterback position, and she is chasing her dreams, wanting each book to be more successful than the last.
“There’s no place like the Caribbean and absolutely nothing like a private island.”
The island’s small but more than enough for the two of us. With no one around to bother us, we can spend a few days soaking up the sun, relaxing to the sounds of the waves lapping against the shore, and clothes are entirely optional.
Bianca stares in my direction with a smile. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
“You needed to get away, and to be honest, I wanted you all to myself.” I lift my T-shirt over my head, exposing my chest and arms, knowing full well Bianca likes the way I look without my shirt on.
She’s no longer looking at the ocean as her eyes rake over my bare chest. “We could’ve gone to Mackinaw or somewhere less exotic.”
I grab her around the waist and haul her against my bare chest. “You can’t walk around naked in Mackinaw.”
I have big plans this weekend. I’m going to sweep her off her feet and make sure she knows we are meant to be together. We work. We’re both workaholics, with big families, and we’re just plain right together.
She swallows hard. “I can’t walk around naked.”
I brush the backs of my fingers against her cheek. “You wear what makes you feel comfortable, but I plan to soak up the sunshine.”
“I have a swimsuit.” She rests her palm against my chest and smiles up at me.
“A bikini?” I lift an eyebrow.
The thought of her in a bikini, the sun glistening off her skin dotted with water droplets has my cock hardening.
“Something like that.”
I grab our bags and haul them up the stairs because the ocean is calling my name. “Come on, babe. Let’s go for a swim.”
Her footsteps are heavy on the steps behind me. “I don’t really love going in the ocean. Just looking at it.”
I drop the bags to fish the key out of my pocket. “Just a few feet,” I tell her, trying to find a happy medium.
“Sharks can get you in a foot of water.”
I laugh as I put the key in the lock, opening the door. “Seriously? You think a shark is going to eat you?”
“The Bahamas have a fuckton of sharks.” She grabs her suitcase from my hand and steps inside, leaving me on the patio.
“Who says?” I ask as I follow her inside.
“Go
ogle.” She glances around the empty house with big eyes. “Holy shit. This place is…” Her voice trails off as her mouth hangs open.
“Ridiculous.” I finish her sentence.
From the outside, it looks like a normal Caribbean home with a beautiful wraparound porch. The inside is more decadent, with oversized furniture, shiny polished-wood floors, and lush draperies.
“It’s absolutely beautiful.” She looks up toward the high, wood-beam ceiling. “This makes our places look boring.”
I step behind her and wrap my arms around her middle. “We could get a place like this.”
She glances up at me. “Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you?”
“We can become partners in something like this. It would be an investment.”
“I can’t afford it if I don’t finish this damn book.”
I kiss her cheek. “Then you better go put on that bikini so we can swim, and later you can maybe get some words written.”
Bianca disappears into the bedroom to change, while I open all the sliding doors and fill the place with the warm ocean breeze. I grab some beach towels and water bottles and place them on the lounge chairs on the front porch, prepping for a few hours of fun in the sun and badly needed relaxation for both of us.
The door creaks open as I walk back inside, and Bianca sticks her head out. “Close your eyes,” she tells me, twisting a few pieces of her brown hair around her index finger.
I smile, feeling like a kid at Christmas before closing my eyes tightly. “Finally decide you’d rather go skinny-dipping?”
I’m crossing my fingers, hoping that’s the case. The thought of her naked, the water dripping off her breasts as she comes up through a wave has my dick practically standing at attention.
“I can’t go naked. Someone might see,” she says, and her voice is louder, as if she’s right in front of me.
“There’s no one around for miles, babe,” I reassure her because that’s what I was promised when I booked the place.
“There are eyes everywhere.”
