Team Player 2: A Sports Anthology

by Paige, Rochelle

  **HARMONY**

  Is there a catalogue where I can order a new best friend? Those exist, right? You can pick them out based off loyalty, drama . . . snark.

  Because I’m in the market for a new one. Ever since Holt sat down next to me, she’s been fawning over him. What happened to “I hate baseball players too”? I think Holt walked over with his shirt off and River lost all sense of her morals and beliefs.

  In all my twenty years of being on this earth, not once have I ever met someone with a more quick-witted tongue than Holt Green.

  He has a response for everything, but it’s not just a response. It’s a comeback, a smart one, and it’s slowly driving me crazy. I want to stump him, but with every chance I take, he always bests me.

  And the most annoying part of our bickering is that I’m beginning to like them.

  I enjoy the repartee, the back and forth, the stupid challenge he presents. I shouldn’t. I should be running for my apartment, trying to get as far away from this man as possible and yet, I keep engaging, wanting to see what comes out of his mouth next. Enjoying that he has no shame in staring at my boobs or my ass. That, with him scooting closer and closer until I can practically feel his skin on mine.

  Nor can I ignore the way he’s engaging with River, how he’s included her despite being interested in me. Even more surprising is that he hasn’t been checking her out. River is gorgeous and her body is divine. It’s rare for any guy to not take a second or third look at River when she’s with me. I have to admit, I like that. He’s not as lewd as I thought he was, because a true asshole wouldn’t deny himself a second-option eyeball at my best friend. Surprisingly, he’s smooth and smart and far too handsome for his own good. And maybe for mine.

  Rummaging through his backpack, he pulls out a bag of sour gummy worms and tears it open. He holds the bag out to me and River and asks, “Do you want one?”

  River cringes just like I knew she would. “I can’t stand the things, but they’re Harmony’s favorite. She keeps a package in her room at all times.”

  “Is that so?” Holt asks, a huge grin on his face. Great. Now he’s going to think we’re sour gummy worm friends or some stupid thing like that.

  “Don’t make a big deal out of it,” I warn, taking a few from the bag, happy with any of the flavors. I’m not picky.

  “How could I not make a big deal of it? If this doesn’t say we’re meant to be married, I don’t know what does.”

  “Could not agree more,” River says just as a text message beeps on her phone. She opens the message and says, “Oh, Miranda is here. I’m going to go say hi. Think you two can behave yourselves?”

  “I can,” Holt says. “But I can’t make any guarantees for your bestie. She seems to be trying to entice me with her hard nipples. Frankly, it’s uncalled for.”

  Jesus.

  Christ.

  This guy. Where did he come from and why did he choose to encroach on my day off?

  And why do I like it?

  “My nipples will be fine. Tell Miranda I said hi.”

  River takes off, cup in hand, and bounces to the music as she makes her way across the beach. The crowd has grown as time has passed, and I’m thankful we got here early so we could claim this spot. It’s past noon, so the sun has started to fall behind some clouds making it not as hot as it was before, hence the hard nipples, and I’m starting to feel a bit of a chill from the wind coming off the water.

  I go through my backpack and find my see-through coverall that doesn’t do much to keep me warm. What was I thinking?

  “Cold?” Holt asks.

  “Just a little,” I admit.

  “I brought an extra shirt. Want to borrow it?”

  I consider saying no, but who am I kidding? I’m chilly, and I want to know what his laundry smells like. There’s nothing better than smelling a guy’s shirt and having that scent stay on you for the rest of the day. Not that I want Holt’s scent imprinting on me, but I am curious.

  “Sure,” I say, trying not to look too eager.

  He pulls out a black T-shirt, which will be far too big for me, but when I take it in my hands, I’m mesmerized with how soft it is. Does he use fabric softener? That’s a luxury I can’t afford.

  I quickly put the shirt on, and I’m swaddled in a fresh mountain scent that has me feeling woosy and turned on simultaneously.

  God, this smells good.

  One sniff and I can feel myself doing some really inappropriate things, like humping the man’s leg.

  “Thank you.” I straighten the shirt out. “Are you sure you’re not going to need it?”

  He shakes his head. “And even if I did, there’s no way I’d ask for it now.”

  “Why? Afraid of my cooties?”

  “Nope, you look too damn good in it. I couldn’t remove it even if I wanted to.”

  “It’s just a black—” I glance down at the Brentwood baseball logo and inwardly swear. “Oh, you’re loving this, aren’t you? Me wearing a Brentwood shirt.”

  “Kind of am.” He leans back, his abs rippling with every move. “But you do look good in it.”

  “Your flattery is working.”

  “Yeah?” he asks, his brows shooting up in surprise. “I thought you were getting sick of the blatant flirting and innuendos.”

  “That was more of a sincere compliment, so I’ll accept that one.”

  “Fair enough.” He nods at me. “Where you from, Harmony?”

  “Nebraska, in the middle of the corn. Really small town no one ever knows of until they pass through it in a blink of an eye.”

  “I like small towns. Often wish I grew up in one. New York City became too clogged after a while. And life moved fast there. I felt like I never got the chance to actually sit and enjoy a light breeze, unless I was standing in the outfield waiting for the pitcher to pitch.”

  “But there’s so much you could do in the city. The fun we had in Gunderson, Nebraska was counting how many cars passed by but never stopped.”

  “Sounds enchanting.”

  “It wasn’t. But my parents had solid jobs that paid the bills, and they were too afraid to move outside their comfort zones, so that’s where we stayed. My graduating class was fifty-two kids and we knew everything about each other. Dating was impossible, given the small amount of people to actually date, and then everyone being in your business.”

  “Are you telling me you haven’t dated much?”

  “Not really.” I twist the hem of the shirt in my finger. “I mean, I’ve had two boyfriends. One in high school. One my freshman year in college, but he didn’t understand my work ethic and dumped me after we had sex.”

  “Wow, classy.” Holt frowns. “Guys like that really give us a bad name. Wait . . . was he a baseball player?”

  “Football.”

  “Ah,” he says in understanding, slowly nodding his head. “So, let me guess, you’ve lumped us all together to be giant assholes.”

  “Pretty much,” I answer with zero shame. “You date one, you date them all. And I’m not the first girl who’s suffered the pump-and-dump from an athlete on campus. Seems to be a regular thing around here.”

  His jaw grows tight as he works it slowly back and forth. “Yeah, I know what you’re talking about. Some of the guys on my team do that. They use their status on campus to get a girl, get what they want, and then leave her in the dust. It’s disgusting and honestly, I don’t associate myself with any of them. Women aren’t to be used, they’re to be cherished.”

  I’ve known this guy for less than twenty-four hours, but I know, deep in my bones, what he just said came straight from the heart. There was no winning smile at the end of his speech, no flirtatious wink, and no slow once-over of my body. He was serious, his tone of voice not even close to be joking, which tells me one thing: not only is he hot and athletic, but he’s genuine too, and I think that’s more dangerous than anything. He reminds me of my dad. I will never settle with any guy who doesn’t look at me with the same love
, adoration, and respect that my dad does my mom.

  “So you’ve never used your status on campus to get a girl into your bed?”

  “Never.” He answers with such intensity that I’m slightly caught off guard . . . speechless. “I know what you must think of me, Harmony. Rich boy from New York City, has everything he ever wanted, has never been told no, thrives off his popularity. Well, that couldn’t be further from the truth. I might have grown up with money, but we were raised to be humble, giving, and gracious. I don’t flaunt it—”

  “You drive a BMW around campus.”

  “So does half the campus. It’s a rich school, so you’re going to see BMWs. And guess what, my uncle owns a dealership and gave me the discount of a lifetime. It was cheaper than any regular car. You see what you want to see on the outside, but you won’t know the truth until you actually dig deeper. Don’t judge me, Harmony, and actually attempt to get to know me.”

  His words strike hard, because I’ve said that to many people before, asked them to get to know me rather than judge me for my past-season’s clothes or my rink-a-dink car that needs help being pushed up hills. Attending a rich college surrounded by a posh town hasn’t been easy, but I came to Brentwood to earn one of the best degrees in the country and then to move on to my next chapter in life; writing.

  “Okay,” I say, shifting on my towel so I catch a brief sniff of his shirt . . . so good it makes me want to weep. Not really, but seriously, I could get lost in his scent. “You want me to get to know you?”

  “Yeah. Test me.”

  “Fine.” I point to a little sliver of ink I keep seeing slip up past his waistband. “You say your clean-cut, but I don’t believe you. Is that a tattoo?”

  He smiles broadly. “Staring at my crotch?”

  This man is impossible. One serious moment and then we’re back to his teasing. I’ll tell you this, having a conversation is like dodging landmines of jokes and seeking out the true meaning of what he’s trying to say.

  “Yup, that’s me, constantly staring at other human’s privates. Can’t get enough of those dongs and tacos.”

  His head tilts back as he roars in laughter, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, his stomach contracting. It’s one of the most erotic things I’ve ever seen—the way his body flexes and relaxes, the shake of his shoulders, the sultry sound flowing past his lips. The combination has me yearning to reach out and touch him, run my fingers down his washboard abs, and explore what’s past his waistline.

  “Dongs and tacos.” He chuckles. “Yeah, me either.”

  “What are you hiding? Is it a birthmark?”

  He shakes his head and slowly lowers his waistline just enough that I get a good view to tell he manscapes. And I wonder, just how far down does he manscape . . .

  His voice pulls me from my thoughts and my eyes focus on the small baseball stitching that’s covering up a scar. It starts at his hipbone and seems to wrap around his hip. “I was mugged in high school after practice one day on the way to the subway. Beat the shit out of me and when I fought back, they took out a knife, got me good in the hip, took all my shit, and then fled. One of my teammates found me and called 911. Lost a lot of blood, and had to have a transfusion. After I graduated, I wanted to turn the scar into something positive, rather than a reminder of that day, so I got the baseball stitching added.”

  Holy.

  Shit.

  “You were mugged?” I asked, bewildered.

  “Yeah, New York City really isn’t all it’s cracked up to be sometimes.”

  Unable to stop myself, I lean forward and run my finger over the nasty scar, taking in the bumps and ripples of the raised skin. How scary. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be mugged, or even in a fight for that matter. Taking a punch to the face, no, thank you. Although, there aren’t many people who would say yes please either. But to have that attitude at eighteen. To use something horrible and put a positive spin on it.

  Who is this man?

  Someone so totally different to what you thought, Styles.

  His body switches under my touch and when I look up at him, his eyes are narrowed, his breathing heavier. “Keep touching me there and you might get yourself in trouble.”

  “Oh.” I extract my fingers. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. If you want to keep touching, go ahead, but I suggest moving to the right and down a bit.”

  My lips thin. “You mean so I’m touching your penis?”

  “I mean, if you’re already down there . . .”

  I roll my eyes. “Seriously, can you think of anything else besides sex?”

  “Totally, just don’t want to.”

  I study him as he brings his waistband back up and casually leans back, the sun reflecting off his Ray-Bans. “Do you know what I’m wondering?”

  “How long? Ten inches, babe.”

  “Seriously, what is with you?”

  He casually shrugs. “It’s inherent, can’t stop it.”

  “Obviously.” I bring my knees into my chest and wrap my arms around the tops of my shins. “I was wondering why I haven’t gotten up and left. Why have I stayed here this entire time, enduring your form of torture? Clearly, I’m not a huge fan of athletes, or cocky guys, and yet, here I am, still talking to you.”

  “Because despite wanting to ignore me and push me away, you’re intrigued.”

  “Ehh . . .” I wave my hand.

  “Okay, it’s the view. Can’t get enough of these nipples.” He motions to said nipples with two fingers while whistling.

  Speaking in a monotone voice, I say, “Yup, you caught me. I’m hell-bent on soaking up your nipples as much as possible. God, if only I could suck on them. It’s what I’ve been thinking about ever since you sat down.”

  He adjusts his glasses and looks out toward the water. “I know, sweet cheeks, it’s written all over your face.” He faces me and dips his sunglasses so I spot his hazel eyes. “Want to go to my car where you can suckle on them all you want in private?” Yes, I do, but I will not tell Mr. Humble Hottie I thought that.

  “I’d rather stick my head in the port-a-potty hole.”

  Chapter Eight

  **HOLT**

  “How was Miranda?” Harmony asks when River sits back down and starts putting on a long-sleeved shirt.

  “She’s good—” A small smile graces River’s lips as her eyes zero in on the shirt Harmony is wearing. “My oh my, what are you wearing?”

  “It was cold, and I didn’t have anything.”

  “Uh-huh.” River leans past Harmony to speak to me. “This is where it starts, you know? A borrow of your T-shirt and next it’s going to be a private walk along the wharf wall.”

  That’s not a bad idea actually.

  Because I’m a little chilly myself, I slip on my other T-shirt, my plain one that doesn’t blatantly label me as a Brentwood baseball player. “Stretching out my legs sounds like a good idea.” I stand and hold out my hand to Harmony. “Care to join me for a walk?”

  With one tip of her head, she looks at my hand and says, “I’m good, thanks.”

  “No, you’re not.” River pushes Harmony with her foot, nudging her off her towel. “Go on a walk with the man. The least you can do is keep him company when he’s keeping you warm with his shirt.”

  Did I say I like River? Because I like her a lot.

  “She has a point. If you don’t go on the walk, then I might have to start charging you for every second you’re wearing my shirt, and I don’t run cheap.”

  “Blackmail? And here I thought so much more highly of you.”

  “I’m not opposed to do pretty much anything so I can spend more time with you.” Am I being truthful? Yep. But do I offer her a small smirk to hide that from Harmony? Also, yep. The girl is skittish and very strong-willed, but I think she’s worth trying to get to know. I reach out my hand again. “What do you say?”

  On a resounding sigh, she takes my hand in hers, hops up from her towel, and slips her sandal
s on.

  “Have fun,” River says, waving her fingers in our direction.

  “Oh, we will.” I shoot her a thankful wink and then drape my arm over Harmony’s shoulder, guiding her toward the water and the stone wharf.

  “You don’t have to hold me, you know.”

  “Yeah, but I’m nervous you might trip and fall. My arm over your shoulder is for your own protection.”

  “Is that so?” Doubt is in her voice. “So, if I tripped and fell right now, how would you stop me from falling forward?”

  “Simple,” I say honestly. “Grab you by your hair and yank you back up like a yo-yo.”

  She pauses. Her right eyebrow nearly kissing her hairline. “You would yank me up like a yo-yo?”

  “Yup.” I give her my best smile.

  “Wow, how . . . chivalrous.”

  I squeeze her shoulder. “They don’t make them like me anymore. One of a kind.”

  “Yeah, one of a kind for sure,” she says sarcastically.

  Making our way through the crowd is proving to be tougher than expected, since the amount of people gathered around the stage has doubled and pushed more people out toward the more open spaces. It’s fine by me though, because it means I get to hold Harmony a little closer.

  “Holt, what’s up, man?” Pax, a running back on the football team steps in front of me and holds out his hand. I reluctantly let go of Harmony and shake it.

  “Hey Pax. Rare off day?”

  Pax glances at Harmony—recognition across his face—and I hope to Christ that Pax isn’t the douche that pumped and dumped Harmony. That would make things extremely awkward, because I’d have a really hard time not burying his face in the sand. I get why any man would be attracted to Harmony. She’s stunning. But I stand by my word earlier. No woman should ever be disrespected. Thank fuck all the guys I’m friends with think the same. Guess that’s why we’re friends. But this guy . . .

  “Yeah, off day,” he says, studying Harmony. He tilts his head to the side and asks, “Do we know each other?”

  Fuck.

  Even worse. He fucked her and can’t even remember her. Now I’m going to have to stretch his scrotum over his head, something I didn’t prepare myself to do today. Although, is there ever really enough prepping one can do when mentally forced to stretch out a scrotum?