Line of Scrimmage: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (Pass To Win Book 2)

by Roxy Sinclaire

  I never bring women back to my place. I don’t care that it would only be for a night. This is my sanctuary and I don’t need some desperate chick showing up at my door looking for seconds, or worse, a relationship. I’m not saying that no one from the club or bar has managed to track me down, but I like to keep it difficult.

  It’s already eleven by the time I finish in the bathroom. Now mind you, all that time is not spent on getting myself perfect for the club. When you work as late as I do, eleven is breakfast time. I whip up an omelet and some bacon. I almost always have an omelet in the morning. Not just because it’s the best food to cure a hangover and gets me fueled for the gym, but because it’s the one thing my mom would make for my dad and me on the rare Sunday morning when everyone was home. Her omelets consisted of as many eggs as she had and whatever was in the fridge. My friend Juan told me that his mom did the same thing only she called it, “juevos rancheros” instead of “omelets du jour.” It wasn’t until I moved to the city that I learned “du jour” meant “of the day,” or in trailer park speak, “whatever is on sale at the market.”

  Alone in my kitchen, my mind keeps jumping back to the girl from last night. Not yoga girl from the bar, but the pretty bachelorette, Aria. My parents seemed to think that living in a trailer and making Sunday breakfast out of anything that was still edible was good enough. All I could see growing up were two people that worked themselves to the bone and had little, if anything, to show for it. I wonder what Aria would think of the trailer? She’s so privileged, she has probably never seen a trailer, except in the movies.

  When I wasn’t yet seventeen, my friend told me about his cousin that was making six figures as a stripper. I knew then and there that stripping was my ticket out. I started hitting the gym, discovered tanning salons, and the rest is history.

  The last five years have been nothing but easy money and easy women. I dance six nights a week and almost never spend a night alone. I know the ladies are just into me because of my looks and my reputation in the bedroom, but still, I never let a night end without the woman du jour being satisfied, often multiple times.

  All those women, and it is a blue-eyed brunette, who is getting married in a week no less, that cast her spell over me. I wish I had never sat down to talk to her, but she was just too gorgeous not to approach. The second I figured out she was not the kind of girl who would be interested in one last fling before getting married, I should have left. Instead, I told her to come find me if she doesn’t go through with the wedding. What the hell? I guess I’m supposed to sit at home and pine away for her like a chick from a romance novel. But I’ve got news for her. That was a slip up. It was a moment of weakness and nothing more. And who can blame me for getting a little weak when I was lost in those blue, blue eyes.

  I need to get moving if I’m going to make it to the club in time for my first dance. I shouldn’t have hit it so hard at the gym today but I was working the girl out of my system.

  The club is packed for a Sunday. I need to start feeling it, and sooner rather than later. But sure enough, like always, once the music comes on, the performer in me takes over. I have some new moves for tonight and the ladies respond with screams of pleasure and a downpour of cash.

  “You did good tonight, kid,” Mickey tells me after my dance.

  It isn’t long before I’m back in my street clothes and am going to grab a drink at the bar in the club before heading home. The newer guys are still dancing for a thinned-out crowd.

  “Thanks Mick,” I say.

  “You were dancing the panties right off those dames.”

  “All in a day’s work,” I reply.

  I walk to the bar feeling pretty good about myself. It’s not that I don’t know I’m good, but a compliment from Mickey has long been considered to be an Urban Myth.

  “Hey Theresa. Macallan 18, straight up.”

  “I know your drink by now, Ryan. You’ve been ordering it since I started working here.”

  “I just don’t want you to think I take your skills for granted.”

  I sip my scotch and savor the smooth flavor, then I look down the bar to see what the action is and just about drop my glass. There is Aria sitting at the end of the bar. She is just as gorgeous as yesterday, except her eyes are red and raw as if she’s been crying.

  I knew I shouldn’t have stopped for a drink.

  5

  Ryan

  For a split second I contemplate ditching my drink, turning on my heel, and walking straight out the backdoor. Sure, I’m the one who told her to come and find me. But that was only under the premise that her marriage didn’t work out. It was a moment of insanity on my part. I would have taken it back if I had thought she would actually take me up on it. Or if I had honestly believed that her fiancé was such a moron, he would just let those long legs walk out of his life without putting up a fight.

  I am determined to maintain my cool this go round with her. I sit one stool down from her and give her a quick acknowledgement.

  “I didn’t expect to see you back here. The Cosmos must be good if you’re slumming it at a strip club in the city, two nights in a row.”

  Surprise flits across her pretty face, but she recovers quickly, and doesn’t take my bait for a fight.

  “That’s not why I’m back,” she confesses.

  Reason number one I should have given more thought as to how I approached her being here; she’s not even drinking a Cosmo but instead has a glass of red wine in front of her. The second reason and the one that’s actually important is that she’s here, at my club. This is the only place Aria knows that I will be. This is where I told her to come and find me if things didn’t work out with her fiancé.

  I am not maintaining any level of coolness and I have no excuse. The only mistake Aria made is being the first woman to knock me off my game. Me telling her to come back last night isn’t her fault, unless of course the whole virgin in distress thing is just an act.

  I know I should not let past experience cloud my vision. I also know that I shouldn’t jump to any conclusions. What I know most of all is that I should shut up and drink my whiskey. I am going to sit here in silence and let her tell me why she came here. It’s hard for me not to question her because I am desperate to know why she is here, but I manage to keep quiet.

  I empty my drink and make a promise to myself that I won’t let something like this happen again. What can she want from me? She didn’t seem like the type to go in for drama. This leaves me with one conclusion; she must be here for the same reason that all women approach me. Aria wants a no-strings-attached night of unforgettable sex courtesy of Ryan Temptation.

  I don’t typically concern myself with what women want. This isn’t as crass as it sounds. I do care about bringing women pleasure. I bring the women in the club pleasure with my dancing. I bring the women I have sex with the kind of pleasure they have only read about. I always make an effort to compliment, or at the very least, throw a smile at the women I come into contact with on the street. But, and this is a big but, I don’t care to involve myself beyond that.

  Aria is not elaborating on why she is back and the silence is becoming awkward. I can’t help but assume she is waiting for me to ask her why she is here. I’ll be damned if I’m going to make this easy on her. She came here, to my place of work, and unless I’m gravely mistaken, she came here to find me. I motion to Theresa to bring each of us another round.

  “You sticking with wine, or do want something else?”

  She looks to Theresa instead of me.

  “A second glass of the Pinot will be great, thanks.” Then she turns to me.

  “Your dancing was … I still don’t know how to describe it. How do you do that every night?”

  “You seemed to enjoy my performance well enough. What happened? Did your girls give you a hard time about getting excited over a stripper?”

  She doesn’t let the comment slide this time and her blue eyes take me in with stunned disbelief.

&n
bsp; “Is that all you think of yourself as?”

  I bristle at the question. What the hell does she mean by that? It’s fine for her to come to a strip club but not ok to actually be a stripper in the club?

  “No, Aria,” I say with exaggerated emphasis. “I am more than my job.”

  “Of course; you are much more. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  She sounds sincere but who really knows what lies behind another person’s words.

  “A job is something most of us have in order to feed and house ourselves. We’re not all lucky enough to have our lives paid for, even before we’re born,” I say, unable to hide the irritation in my voice.

  What was she getting at, anyway? As far as I know she doesn’t have a job, in any real sense of the word. Unless of course you consider your parents paying for an education at a top notch university a job.

  I don’t care about her expectations. This chick is gorgeous, rich, sexy, and smart. She doesn’t need me to stroke her ego. And on top of that, I’m still not certain she is 100% legitimate. How can she possibly be a virgin? Her sweater is hugging her in all the right places and her long silky hair begs for me to pull it like a rope.

  “Why don’t you fill me in about your wedding. When is it going to be?”

  The waterworks start now, and I want to make a run for it just as much as I want to know what happened.

  She starts to fill me in on why she is here. Aria wipes her tears away. “It has been a difficult weekend.”

  “It didn’t look that difficult last night,” I remind her.

  This makes her angry and she stiffens her back and her lips compress in a straight line.

  “Last night was a surprise to me, all of it. I didn’t know Ella was bringing me here and I certainly didn’t expect … what happened.”

  “What did happen?” I ask.

  She ducks her head, and her long hair sweeps across her face and partially hides the beet red blush that is spreading across her cheeks.

  This girl is a riot of emotions. Angry, and then embarrassed, all in the time it takes to order a drink. In spite of myself, I really do want to know why she is here. I told her to come find me if things didn’t work out with her fiancé. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours. What could possibly have happened to bring her back so soon? I know I’m good, and if we had slept together, I might believe it was me that brought her back. But even my ego won’t let me believe that one dance and a short conversation made her throw her entire future aside. Certainly a rich girl like her doesn’t leave all that behind for a guy like me. Yes, last night was full of surprises and emotions that I don’t normally experience, but this isn’t a movie. Those feelings and her being here aren’t real.

  I turn to the TV over the bar, It’s playing a mash-up of music videos and movie scenes. I pretend to be interested and nurse my drink.

  “It’s not just last night that ended things.”

  The muscles in my back and shoulders tense; here it comes. I’m about to find out her justification for why she wants to sleep with me.

  “Did you wake up and decide you didn’t get your money’s worth from me?”

  “Why are you acting like this? You’re not the man I met last night.”

  “No kidding, sister. I’m a real man, not a fantasy.”

  “I never thought you were a fantasy. I never thought anything like that. I thought you were the first real person I had ever met.”

  “That’s a shame. I would think your money and your fiancé would be all the reality you would need.”

  Her face is scarlet now and she glares at me with open hostility. She downs her wine and motions to Theresa.

  “I’d like a vodka and soda, please.”

  She gets off her stool and tosses her hair over her creamy white shoulder.

  “Feel free to get on with your evening,” she growls.

  The view is good as she turns away without waiting for a reply and struts off to the Ladies Room. Watching her walk away, I know I’m not going anywhere.

  “What’s your problem?” Theresa asks. “I’ve never seen you be so rude to a client, especially not a pretty one.”

  “She’s not a client,” I bark.

  “What is she then? I know you don’t believe in relationships that last longer than a night.”

  “Lay off, will you. It’s been a crappy day and I don’t need you making it worse.”

  Theresa shrugs and puts Aria’s drink on the bar.

  “You staying or leaving?’

  This just keeps getting worse.

  “If she doesn’t like my company, she can leave. Bring me a beer.”

  I know my limit and if I keep drinking the whiskey, I may say something I’ll regret. I probably already have.

  Aria settles back onto the stool and crosses her long legs towards me. She takes two big gulps of her drink and her blue eyes water from the alcohol. She straightens her shoulders and boldly meets my eyes.

  “You told me to come and find you if things don’t work out with my fiancé. When I walked in on him getting a blow job from my best friend this morning, I realized that things aren’t going to work out.”

  Her blue eyes, are tearing up from more than just the alcohol. My first instinct is to reach out to her but I’m not going to let her reel me in. She’s here because she’s been hurt and is humiliated. I don’t like being used.

  “Let me guess, the slutty blonde from last night?”

  Her mouth drops open. “How did you know?”

  “Sweetheart, that girl is no one’s friend and she has trouble written all over her.”

  “Yeah well, Ella had me fooled.”

  “So, let me guess. You want to get revenge on your lawyer boy by coming down here and getting fucked by me. Then you will be even on your wedding day?”

  Vodka and ice hits me full in the face.

  “You need to apologize and get out, Ryan,” Theresa says, and throws me a towel to dry off. “Honey, you sit tight. I’ll get you another drink,” she says to Aria.

  Theresa is glaring at me and Aria is shaking with what I can only imagine is a heady mix of hurt and rage. I am an asshole, but not such a huge asshole that I’m going to make things worse for her. That and Theresa scares the hell out of me. Even as an annoying little kid, tagging along after her brother and me, she was a force to be reckoned with.

  “I’m sorry, Aria.” A pang of regret rips through my chest. She won’t look at me and I don’t blame her.

  I chug my beer, throw a twenty on the bar, and leave.

  I feel terrible and know I can’t go home. I need to burn this feeling off; I’m pissed at myself and sorry for Aria. I head to the same bar I went to last night.

  I can’t help but feel myself rage as I make my way to the bar. I’d like to punch that shit of a fiancé in the face. What a fool, to throw away a woman like Aria on a cheap thrill. I don’t know what it’s like to have an easy life. And I don’t know what it’s like to have everything handed to you on a silver platter. But I’m damned sure I would care for anything I had of value. I hate the man but I also pity him. Aria will forget all about her moment of weakness with me and she’ll forgive him his indiscretion and they will get married and be miserable and he will be too stupid to see the treasure that he has.

  I, on the other hand, am smart enough to know that this kind of woman isn’t for me. I like my life just fine the way it is. It is free and easy with no complications.

  I head to the bar and steel my resolve before entering the fray. I ignore the swift jolt of remorse over Aria and hope I can do a better job of forgetting her tonight.

  6

  Aria

  What I saw this morning with Xavier and Ella made me think I had reached the height of my humiliation. I was wrong. Ryan, who had been so wonderful the night before, brought me to tears in front of a bar full of strangers with nothing more than a few well-chosen words. I can’t believe what an idiot I was to think last night was anything more than a performance for tips.r />
  The bartender puts a fresh drink in front of me and wipes the vodka and ice off the bar. She has tattoos of fairies and flowers covering both of her arms and her flaming red hair is done like the pin up girls from the fifties. She smiles at me kindly and it just serves to make me feel worse. I have sunk so low that a girl who tends bar at a male strip club feels bad for me.

  “Did I really just throw a drink at Ryan?” I ask.

  Theresa raises a sharply defined eyebrow and leans over the bar towards me, placing her ample cleavage on full display for anyone who may be looking. “Don’t tell me you’re regretting it? He totally deserved it. I only wish you’d been drinking something red. Then the playboy would have been forced to go home and change before hitting the hook-up bars.”

  Why doesn’t she tend bar at a female strip club, or even a regular bar? I can’t imagine the women who frequent the club have much cash left to tip a busty female bartender after throwing all their money at naked men who are dancing for their pleasure.

  “Do you think that’s where he is going? To a bar for sex?”

  “What bus did you come in on, Pollyanna? This is New York and Ryan Temptation is one of the most notorious players in the city.”

  Temptation? His name is Temptation? And he has a reputation even in a city like New York? Could I really have been that mistaken about him?

  “He was so different last night. He was genuine and interested. He told me to come and find him if things with my … if I ever needed help.”

  “Ryan sat and talked with you? That man never talks to the women at the club unless it’s to set up a meeting place for sex.”

  I am both pleased and horrified by this. Pleased that he found me interesting enough to talk to about something more than just sex. But horrified that he propositions women he doesn’t know for sex and on top of that, he apparently doesn’t find me attractive enough for said casual sex. A terrible suspicion snakes its way into my head. Maybe Ella paid him extra for the whole sit down and pretend that you care thing. It certainly explains why he was so rude to me this evening and it definitely played into my catching Ella and Xavier together today, which is probably what she has wanted all along. I will give her credit though. She managed to destroy, in one night, an engagement that has been in the making for over twenty years.