More Than A Game (The Kings of Kroydon Hills Book 2)

by Bella Matthews

  “Fuck you, Jamie.” I glare at him across the room. “Want to say that again?”

  He momentarily looks at me in stunned silence before growling, “Calm the fuck down, Murphy. I didn’t know it was like that. Now I do. Chill the fuck out, freshman.”

  “Sorry, man. I’m not really used to feeling like this.” Fuck. If I grip my phone any tighter, it’s gonna shatter. I gotta get this shit under control.

  “This girl means something to you.” It’s a statement, not a question.

  Does she mean something to me?

  Of course, she does.

  Putting my phone down on the table so I don’t crack the damn thing, I look over at him. “I’ve known her most of my life, but she’s never really been in our circle. We grew up in the same town, but she went to a different school. She’s best friends with Brady’s little sister. She’s kinda crazy, but it’s a hot kinda crazy.”

  “You willing to give up the easy ass that gets thrown at you for the same thing every day?”

  “Look who’s talking. Like your girl isn’t waiting for you back home in Iowa?”

  Jamie’s chest puffs up and a cocky smile looks back at me. “She is. She’s who’s been blowing up my phone. Stressing out about an accounting midterm. I’m gonna marry her as soon as I can too. You should come with me to pick up the ring this week.”

  “Yeah. I can do that.”

  Jamie smiles and types something out on his phone. “When you’ve got the one, you don’t let her go. You think this girl’s it?”

  “I don’t know, man. Ask me again in a few months.”

  The fucker smiles like I just let him in on the conspiracy to kill Kennedy or something.

  “Alright, that’s enough of this shit. Grab your iPad, and let’s go over the scouting report one more time before we both get our periods or some shit.”

  It’s third and three. Boston’s on their own forty-yard line, trying to cross midfield with a minute and a half on the clock. We’re up by one, and there are no timeouts left. It’s been an epic shit show of a game. A nor’easter came in early this morning, bringing with it a torrential downpour and frigid wind. Boston is one of the only teams we play this season with a grass field, so we’ve played in the mud the entire game.

  You can hear the slurp of the suction as cleats get caught in the mud.

  This kind of game is great for the offense but bad for the defense. The offense knows where they’re going and can go with their momentum. The defense has to react, and everything is slowed down due to the weather, the mud, and the beating our bodies have taken.

  This is it.

  We have to stop this drive.

  When the play starts, I can see it’s a pass.

  The quarterback drops back into the pocket, so I drop back into pass coverage.

  Bash bull rushes the offensive left tackle, pushing him right into the quarterback as he’s drawn his arm back for the pass.

  The ball pops out.

  Bash recovers the ball and ends the game.

  All that’s left now is for Brady to come back onto the field and take a knee after the snap, letting the clock run out.

  Thank. Fucking. God.

  This game is over.

  We all herd into the locker room, and I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a hot shower this badly before in my life.

  Coach Barnett keeps his speech short and sweet. “You did good. You fought. You won. You came into another team’s house and beat ’em. I’m proud of you, men. Now get a shower, get in your suits, and let’s get the hell on the bus and get home to the U.”

  The atmosphere in the locker room isn’t the crazy excitement that usually follows a winning game. Everyone’s exhausted, physically and mentally. Bash and I sit on the bench in front of the lockers, arms leaning on our knees, heads down, while everyone shuffles around us.

  “I fucking love you, man,” I say, smiling, surprised my muscles have thawed enough to do that. “You won us this game. I don’t know that I could’ve made that play if the QB got that pass off. Good job, man.”

  Bash turns his head to me. The exhaustion I feel is mirrored on his face. Then he surprises me by laughing. “I just wanted it to be over. I swear the thought that I could end this and get into the heat pushed me harder than any Coach ever has. I just want to go home and sleep for days.”

  “Yeah, man. Me too.” I smile as I think about sleeping wrapped around Sabrina tonight and move a little faster than I did a minute ago. “Home sounds really good right now.”

  21

  Sabrina

  I rarely take my mother up on her many offers to spend the day being pampered. They generally come along with a guarantee of a day spent listening to her complain about every aspect of my appearance.

  “Sabrina, you need to take better care of yourself if you want to catch anyone’s attention.”

  “Sabrina, your skin is looking dull, dear. You don’t want to look sickly on camera.”

  “Sabrina, highlights would really freshen up your face.”

  I’m nineteen years old. How unfresh can I possibly look?

  When my mother called me last night to inform me that her friend Jillian had to back out of the spa day they had scheduled for today, I actually jumped at the chance to take her spot. What damage could getting pampered do? I may also have wanted to make sure I looked my best for tonight. But no need to mention that to Mother Dearest.

  We met this morning at her favorite spa in Center City in Philadelphia, and I have to begrudgingly admit it was heavenly. The only thing that could have possibly made the day more enjoyable would have been if I didn’t have to listen to my mother blather on all day about letting myself go.

  Seriously? Split ends are not the devil, and manicures are not at the top of my to-do list. But after four hours, I’ve been cut and colored, buffed and polished, massaged and waxed to within an inch of my life, and I didn’t hate every minute of it.

  We even stopped to do a little shopping, and I picked up the softest cashmere sweater to wear tonight. It’s a pretty, slouchy, cream-colored sweater that falls off one shoulder and looks killer with my dark blue skinny jeans and my cute brown opened-toed booties. Gotta show off the newly painted, pretty dark purple color sparkling on my toes.

  Now, here I am, back at my dorm, and I’m a little nervous. I don’t know what to expect tonight. Murphy texted me when they’d just gotten on the plane to fly home. He said he’d let me know when they landed. Nattie and Chloe road-tripped up to Boston this weekend to do a girls’ weekend. They were texting throughout the game, so I know it was a wet, cold, windy mess of a day. I selfishly hope that he doesn’t bail on me tonight, but I guess I won’t be surprised if he does.

  I’m trying to convince myself to stop messing with my hair when Murphy’s next text comes through.

  Murphy: Buses just pulled up to the school. See you in a minute, Princess. Pack your toothbrush.

  Sabrina: Anything else?

  Murphy: Nope. You won’t be needing anything else.

  Sabrina: K. See you in a minute. I’ll wait downstairs.

  Murphy: Don’t you fucking dare. I’ll be at your door. Stay put.

  Sabrina: Awful bossy, Murph.

  Murphy: Yup. And I’ll bet you’re wet for me already. See you in a minute.

  Damn, this man. I grab my overnight bag from my bed and head for the door. For a moment, I contemplate waiting for him downstairs just to rile him up but decide against it. I kinda like bossy Murphy.

  Instead, I take a seat in my desk chair and scroll social media. Nattie and Chloe look like they’re having a great time in Boston. The guys have all posted about today’s win, and all the jersey chasers have been commenting. Looks like there’s a party tonight at the football house again.

  I wonder if we’re going. Murphy didn’t mention anything.

  The heavy knock on my door pulls me from the rabbit hole of social media I so easily get lost in. The sight that greets me when I open the door has my mouth watering.r />
  Aiden Murphy is standing in front of me in a navy blue, tailored suit with a crisp white shirt stretching across his muscled shoulders and chest. His grey and blue polka-dotted tie is hanging loose. His hair is messy, and his smile is deadly. “Good girl. You waited up here like I asked you to.”

  I lean in, grabbing that tie and pulling him down to me. “More like what you told me to.” I quickly kiss his lips before I can let my nerves catch hold. “But that’s okay. I like it when you take charge.”

  Murphy wraps both arms around my back and anchors me to him. He’s searching my eyes, but I’m not sure what he’s looking for. He must be content with the answers he finds there because he leans in slowly and kisses me more tenderly than I’m expecting. Murph pulls back slightly and nods toward the bag at my feet. “You bringing that?”

  “Yes.” It comes out more breathless than I intended.

  “Awful big for a toothbrush.” He picks up the bag with one hand and laces our fingers together with the other as he guides me to the glass door of my building. “Looks like it’s starting to rain. Guess it followed us home. You okay to make a run for it? I can pull the car up.”

  I squeeze his fingers in mine, liking the feel of his calloused hands against my soft skin. Walking through the door, I pull him outside with me. “I don’t mind a little rain.” I try to pull away to run for it, but Murphy holds my hand tight and takes off with me. We race to the oversized SUV, and he opens my door as I jump up into the passenger seat.

  Rough hands reach for my face seconds before his mouth claims mine. The rain pounds out a staccato rhythm against the roof of the car and I get completely lost in this moment. The feel of his hands against my skin, the minty taste of his tongue, and the citrusy scent of Murphy overwhelm my senses. When Murphy pulls back, a satisfied smile sits on his handsome face, and I am a melted pile of goo. “I’ve been waiting to do that for hours, Princess.”

  Wow. I hope he does that again.

  Minutes later, we’re pulling up to his big brick house on the other side of campus.

  Murph pulls the keys from the ignition and turns his body to look at me. He’s quiet, and it’s a little unnerving. This man is usually the loudest voice and biggest boom of laughter in the room. Instead, his hands softly skim up my throat and hold my face. His words are barely a whisper, “You look incredible, Sabrina. I couldn’t wait to get home to you tonight.”

  Wow. I wasn’t expecting to hear that.

  His thumb is stroking my cheekbone and driving me insane.

  “Are we going to the party to celebrate?” My face leans into his touch.

  “Do you want to go? We can if you want.”

  I shake my head no.

  “Good. I want to be selfish tonight. I want you in my bed. No interruptions, no distractions. Just me, worshiping your body the way I’ve wanted to.” His thumb brushes over my bottom lip before he pulls his hand back, leaving a chill in its place.

  His words make me feel heady.

  Once we make it inside the house, Murphy pulls his suit coat off and drops it over a kitchen chair. “You hungry? I could make you something to eat.”

  “A little.”

  He grabs a bottle of pills out of his pocket and two bottles of water out of the fridge just as Sebastian comes down the steps into the kitchen. Bash waves. “Hey, Sabrina.”

  “Hey, Bash. I hear you had a great game today.”

  Sebastian shakes his head. “Oh yeah? Who’d you hear that from?”

  “Chloe and Nattie were live-texting me during the game. Great play there at the end. Way to force that turnover.” You can’t have Chloe as a best friend your whole life and not know football. Getting closer with these guys just means I enjoy it more now than I did when she used to force it down my throat.

  Murph offers Bash a bottle of water, then leans in whispering, “I like it when you talk football, Princess.”

  Bash has a hint of a smile on his face. “Are you two heading over to the football house for the party? Brady should be down in a minute, then we’re gonna head out.”

  I look back to Murphy, who just rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. And, yes, ladies and gentlemen, arm porn is a real thing. He’s wearing a gorgeous watch with a large silver face attached to a dark green leather band. It’s accentuating his muscled forearms, and I kinda wish I could take a picture of him right now.

  Hmm. Let’s give this a try. “Hey guys, do me a favor and get together. I want to take a pic.” Yup. This should work.

  Sebastian grumbles, but Murphy smiles and puts his arm around his best friend.

  “Say, ‘Go, Crusaders!’” They do as asked and smile for me. I get a few good shots of them together, and just as Bash backs away, I take a quick one of Murphy by himself. His green eyes sparkle with mischief as he looks at me. I think he may have caught on to what I just did but can’t actually bring myself to mind being caught.

  Brady bounds down the steps, coming to a screeching halt in the kitchen. “Hey, Brina. How’d you get out of going on the girl’s trip to Boston?”

  “Good game, Brady. Congratulations on the win. That was a tough one.” Looking at these three kings of football together, I wonder if they have any clue what kind of effect they have on the female population.

  Brady with his all-American good looks.

  Sebastian, rocking the tall, dark, and handsome thing.

  And then there’s Murphy, the broad-shouldered, sexy, muscled, ginger giant.

  Yum.

  Oh wait . . . Brady asked me a question. Oops. “Yeah, I told Nat and Chloe they were on their own this weekend. I promised my dad I’d take a look at his speech for next weekend and had a few things I needed to get done last night. I love watching you guys kick ass, but I’ll have to wait until the next home game to cheer you on in person.”

  Murphy moves behind me, one of those drool-worthy arms bands around my shoulders and chest. My goodness, he smells good. “Back off. This one’s cheering me on. Go find your own.” Laughing, he pulls my body back so I’m flush against him, and I can feel every muscle of his chest.

  Sweet baby Jesus in a manger.

  Who needs foreplay when you have Aiden Murphy keeping you trapped in his arms?

  Brady shakes his head. “Oh, how the tables have turned. Wait until Coop hears about this. Come on, Bash. Let’s get to the party before all the good beer is gone.”

  Bash grabs his keys from the counter and walks out of the kitchen. We hear Brady and him laughing, then a loud, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” coming from Bash before the door slams shut.

  Murphy lets go, and I feel the loss of his warmth immediately. He walks to the fridge and grabs a carton of eggs. “Omelets sound good? I’ve got some ham, romano cheese, tomatoes, and fresh basil.”

  “That sounds delicious. What can I do?”

  “Want to grab the bread from the cabinet? You can make the toast.”

  He goes to work chopping the ingredients with ease, and I go to work ogling his ass like a champ. There’s something so hot about a man in a fitted suit with sleeves rolled up. Add to that him cooking for me, and I’m sold. Murph syncs his playlist to the speakers in the kitchen, and “Paint the Town Green” by The Script plays through the room.

  I pop the bread in the toaster and lean against the counter next to the Viking range while Murphy cooks for me. “So, tell me, Mr. Hotshot Football Stud. How are you feeling? Is your shoulder bothering you?”

  He lifts his eyes to mine. “Honestly?” I see the exhaustion in them for the first time since he picked me up. “My whole body fucking hurts. I popped a pain reliever when we walked in earlier. I’m waiting for it to kick in. I didn’t want to take anything on the plane because I wanted to be okay to drive when we got back.”

  He waited so he could pick me up.

  And my heart just stopped for this man.

  “Tell me about this fundraiser next weekend.” Murph’s looking at me from the opposite side of the kitchen table as he devours h
is omelet and a big glass of orange juice because, apparently, it’s sacrilegious to eat eggs without OJ. The omelets are excellent—light, fluffy, and bursting with flavor. He could definitely give a few chefs I’ve met a run for their money.

  I think about his question for a moment. “What do you want to know?”

  “Who will be there?”

  I think about that for a second. “Hmm. Everyone who’s anyone in Philadelphia politics will be there. They all want to be seen, especially now with so many people fighting for their lives in the upcoming election. It’s less than a month away. This is the final push.” I pop a tomato into my mouth and then throw my napkin on my empty plate. “I’m sure there will be a few players from DC that come up for the event too.”

  “What will you have to do that night?”

  “Not much. We won’t have to stay the whole night, but I need to make sure I’m there for the photo ops. You’ll probably be in a few of those pics. I didn’t really think about it before. Are you okay with that? Being photographed, I mean?”

  Murphy stands from the table and grabs our plates, then walks over and places them in the sink. He turns around and leans back against the counter with his feet crossed at his ankles. The carefree jokester I’m used to is nowhere to be seen right now. He looks sexy and relaxed in his skin. One eyebrow raises as that damn grin crosses his face. “If I look pretty in the pictures, will I be rewarded?”

  I cross the room to him, lacing my fingers through his belt loops. “Oh, I think that can be arranged. But it sounds like it should be a sliding scale, don’t you think? The more votes you earn, the bigger the reward.”

  “Oh, Princess. I love it when you talk politics. It’s so sexy.” His big hands rest on my shoulders.

  “I’ll have to keep that in mind next weekend.”

  “Anyone I need to work on impressing?” Those fingers start to explore my bare shoulder, stoking the fire that was lit the second I opened my dorm room door earlier.

  “Nope. Just be you.” I lean my head against his chest, not wanting him to see what his touch is doing to me.