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

by Bella Matthews

  Nope. Still my room.

  Who the hell is this?

  She spits out the toothpaste and smiles. The girl might be a bombshell, but I’m pretty sure there’s a train wreck hiding beneath the surface. “It’s attached to the bedroom I slept in.”

  “I’m Murphy.” I hold my hand out to her like my momma drilled into me.

  Her eyes move from it back to my face, leaving my hand hanging.

  “Emma.” She turns back to brushing her teeth.

  “I’m gonna go make coffee, Emma. I’d say it was nice to meet you, but that’s yet to be seen.”

  She watches me leave through the reflection in the mirror, and then I hear the click of the lock on the door behind me. I glance over at Sabrina, who’s still in my bed. The blanket is covering her from the waist down. Her hair is spilling down her creamy back, and her face is practically smothered in my pillow with her hands hidden underneath. I’m tempted to wake her up now, but I let her sleep because we woke each other up a few times last night, as evidenced by the condom wrappers littering my floor. I grab them as I go and throw them in the trash.

  Coffee and waffles, coming up.

  I’ve got The Killers playing in the kitchen. The smell of bacon crisping up is coming from the oven, and my favorite waffle batter is going in the waffle iron. I’ve cut up a bowl of strawberries and set out the bowls of mini chocolate chips, hand-whipped vanilla cinnamon whipped cream, and warm maple syrup.

  We all eat pretty clean during the week, but Sundays are when I go overboard on breakfast. I enjoy it. I also enjoy making a fucking mess that the guys have to clean up. I cook, they clean. Those are my rules.

  Brady comes downstairs first. It’s usually the smell of coffee that gets him moving. Actually, it’s the smell of coffee that usually gets Nat moving, and where she goes, he goes. Brady’s quiet as he grabs his Captain America mug and fills it, inhaling before taking his first sip. Coffee is on a different level for him and Nattie. The rest of us drink it, but these two love it. Nat likes keeping us stocked with all kinds of fresh beans in fancy glass jars that sit on the counters. Today’s were Jamaican Blue Mountain.

  “You alone down here, Murph?”

  “I am.” I pop out a waffle, then add more batter to the iron.

  “Didn’t sound like you were alone last night.”

  “You jealous you were jerkin’ off alone last night while your girl’s in Boston, QB?”

  “Fuck off, Murph.” He shoulder-checks me as he passes, then watches as coffee sloshes over the edge of the mug. “Fuck.”

  Flipping the waffle maker over, I answer, “I’m good, thanks.”

  QB leans against the counter and sips his coffee. “It’s the first time she hasn’t slept in my bed since we moved in. I slept like shit.”

  “Aww, boo-hoo. Poor baby.” I love messing with him. He makes it so easy.

  “Fucker.” He glares and walks over to the table.

  I look up when I hear the footsteps coming down the stairs, but it’s not my girl. The train wreck from the bathroom walks into the kitchen. She’s dressed in dark-washed skinny jeans that fit her like a second skin and a tiny, white strappy tank top that hangs low in the front. No way there’s a bra under there. A black leather string is wrapped around her neck a few times before being tied in a bow with the ends hanging loose. Tall black heels with expensive red soles we don’t usually see on campus make her legs look as long as mine.

  She walks into the kitchen like she owns the place. “Ahh, Murphy. Again with the staring.” She hops up onto the kitchen counter, tilts her head to the side, and pouts her lips in a move that looks practiced and calculated. “Whose dick does a girl need to suck for a cup of coffee?”

  Sebastian follows her in, looking like his head might explode. “Knock off the act, Em. Just let me get some coffee, and I’ll take you home.” He grabs two mugs from the cabinet.

  “What is that smell? Something smells fantastic.” Sabrina is pulling her wet hair into a messy bun on top of her head as she finally joins us. She couldn’t be more opposite from the girl sitting on the counter if she tried. She’s got another slouchy shirt falling off her shoulder today. This one is baby blue fleece, layered over black leggings and fuzzy blue socks.

  I turn to pop the last of the waffles out of the iron. “Cinnamon waffles. There’s plenty. Bash, you and your friend should join us.” I wink at him. God, I love giving this guy shit. He’s always the guy who’s totally in charge. He never lets himself get into a position that we can bust his balls about, which makes it so much more fun when we finally can.

  Emma smiles a malicious smile. “Thanks, Creeper. That sounds good.” She hops off the counter and walks to Sabrina, holding out her hand like I’d done to her earlier. “Emma. Nice to meet you.”

  Brina takes her hand. “Sabrina. Nice to meet you, Emma.”

  “You weren’t with All-American over there last night at the party.” She stares at Brady before pointing to me. “That means you're with Creeper?”

  Sabrina tries to hold back a laugh but fails. “Creeper?”

  I don’t think it’s as funny as she does. “You were in my bathroom. And you didn’t lock the damn door. I didn’t know you were in there!” I place the plate of waffles on the table and grab an oven mitt to get the bacon out.

  “Better be careful, Em. Murphy won’t let you have any waffles.” Bash is smiling like this is great until I hit him in the chest with an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter. He glares and throws it back at me, but Brady grabs it mid-flight and takes a bite.

  Sabrina wraps her arms around my waist and leans her head on my shoulder. “I don’t think you’re creepy. You could have woken me up.”

  “I wanted to let you sleep. Just because I’m an early riser doesn’t mean you have to be.” I kiss the top of her hair.

  She tips her head back to look at me. “Can I help with anything?”

  Quickly, I drop my lips to hers, and spin her toward the table. “Nope. Just grab whatever you want to drink and sit down.” She moves to the fridge, and I playfully smack her ass. The look she throws me over her shoulder has me ready to bend her over the table.

  I love this playful side of my girl.

  We all get settled, adding food to our plates, and the table goes quiet until Bash’s girl speaks up . . . again.

  “So, Creeper. You like a chef or something?”

  “Well, Train Wreck, I’m not a chef. It’s my fallback career though.”

  Those dark, perfectly sculpted eyebrows raise. Emma glares. “Train Wreck?”

  Brady chokes on a laugh.

  “Creeper?” I smile smugly.

  Sabrina breaks the tension. She lifts a piece of bacon to her mouth, and looks from me to Emma, then points the bacon at me. “I’d go with ‘No Filter’ or maybe ‘Big Mouth.’ Not really ‘Creeper.’” Brina bites down on the bacon like she didn’t just say that.

  “Oh, Princess, I’ll show you a big mouth later.” My hand moves under the table to her thigh, and she inches closer to me.

  A strawberry pings me in the head. When I look up, Brady is shaking his finger at me like I’m a naughty toddler. “Hands above the table. I don’t need to watch that shit.”

  Bash puts his coffee down and turns to Brady. “Since when is that a rule? Pretty sure you tried to get Nattie off during dinner last week.”

  “He totally did.” I reach up and high five Bash.

  A heaping forkful of waffles is shoved in Brady’s mouth, and then the fucker smiles like that got him out of answering.

  “What time are Nattie and Chloe coming back today? Are they going to be back for the game this afternoon?” Sabrina’s the only one at the table nice enough to take pity on Brady and change the subject.

  Dude doesn’t even bother swallowing before he answers her. “Game’s not until four today. They’ll be back for it.” I swear he sounds fucking relieved. It was two damn days. Jesus. Brady swallows his waffles and continues, “Annabelle and Tommy are coming ove
r for it too.” Pretty sure he’d tuck Nat in his pocket and take her with him everywhere if he could.

  “You gonna be around, Brina?” I squeeze her thigh again and she grabs my hand.

  A look of disappointment flutters over her face. “I can’t. I have to stop by my parents’ this afternoon and go over my dad’s speech one more time. And then I have my final fitting for the gown I’m wearing to the fundraiser next week.”

  “Gown? Who are you? The Queen of England?” Train Wreck is looking at Sabrina like she’s an animal at the zoo.

  Bash places his arm along the back of Emma’s chair. “No, Em. Sabrina’s dad is Senator Cabot.”

  Train Wreck chokes on her pancakes then sits back in her chair and looks at Bash. “Oh, that’s rich. You live with Senator Cabot’s daughter? Does her dad know who you are? Fuck that, does your dad know?”

  I hear Sabrina answer that she doesn’t live here, but I’m seeing red. Brady, Bash, and I have been close since we were little kids. Everyone in Kroydon Hills thinks they know the deal with Bash’s dad, but they don’t actually know. Nobody talks about it. Not like this fucking girl is. Nobody is allowed to talk about it. Bash might not need anyone’s protection, but he’s got us, and we’re not happy. I glare at her. “Who the fuck are you?”

  Bash silences me with a look. Well, he tries to. “Chill, Murph.” He shakes his head as if to tell me to leave it be.

  Train Wreck smiles a slow, creepy fucking smile.

  “Don’t they know, Sebastian?” With an evil gleam in her eye, she announces, “I’m his future wife.”

  25

  Sabrina

  Our breakfast has turned into complete chaos. Murphy and Brady are yelling. They’re furious. Sebastian can’t get a word in. I’m watching Emma. A sly smile covers her beautiful face. She’s enjoying this. I don’t think it’s the idea of being Bash’s wife that is making her smile. I think it’s the chaos she just caused. Her eyes meet mine, and she winks and taps something out on her phone.

  Emma pushes to her feet and extends her hand to me. “It was lovely to meet you, Senator Cabot’s daughter. My dad’s a big fan.” Then she turns to Bash. “My Uber will be here in three minutes. I’m gonna wait outside. Last night was fun. See ya soon, future husband.” She leans down and kisses him on the lips, then makes a dramatic exit.

  Damn. This girl is insane.

  The guys are still yelling at Bash. He’s not even responding anymore, just letting them yell.

  I grab his arm. “Bash, who is she?”

  “That was Emilia Sabatini.” He turns around, taking two steps back, putting both hands on his head.

  Glancing from the guys to Bash, I ask, “Why does that name sound familiar?”

  Murphy crosses his arms over his chest. God, he’s yummy with his bare chest and dark grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips.

  Wait. Focus . . . What did Bash just say?

  Murph’s speaking to Bash now. “Atlantic City Sabatinis? Like, your Pops, but down the shore?”

  Brady sits down and puts his head in his hands. “Fuck, man.”

  I prepare to stand up, but Murph grabs my hand and squeezes. Guess he wants me to stay, but this seems like a family matter. “I should go and let you guys talk about this.”

  Bash shakes his head. “It’s all good, Brina. I’ve known her most of my life. Your nickname for her was pretty spot-on, Murph.”

  He runs his hands through his hair. “Our dads have been pushing us together for a while, but it’s not happening. I’m not going to be forced into something I don’t want. It’s my dad’s way of trying to control me.” Bash turns away, but Brady stops him.

  “Then why was she here, man?”

  He turns back to look at Murphy and Brady. He laughs a sad, defeated laugh. “Did you see her? She’s hard to deny on a good day. Add a few beers chased by a few shots of Jager, and it sounded like a good idea at the time.” He slaps his hands on the table. “I can’t do this now. I gotta get out of here, guys. I’ll try to be back before the game.” He grabs a set of keys from the bowl on the counter and walks toward the door with Murphy and Brady following behind.

  I sit there for a moment, wondering what I should do next. What are you supposed to do when all Hell breaks loose and you’re not in your own house? I decide to clear the dishes and place them in the dishwasher. I’m just starting to put the leftovers in storage bags when Murphy and Brady walk back in.

  Murphy walks up behind me and wraps those delicious arms around me again. “Leave this stuff, Brina. It’s Brady’s turn to do the dishes.” He kisses the top of my head.

  “Yeah, man. I got it. You and Tommy making pizzas tonight?” Brady moves to the sink and turns the hot water on.

  “Are the Kings playing? Of course, we’re making pizzas. Little man is getting pretty good at rolling out the dough.” It’s a given that if Tommy’s there, Murphy’s making him his favorite pizzas. The guys laugh, and I’m even more disappointed I won’t be able to spend the afternoon with everyone.

  Later that afternoon, I’m sitting in my dad’s home office, going over last-minute changes for his speech and I’m wishing I was watching the game with my friends. For years, this was a room that I was told to stay out of. This was his sacred space, and my younger self started to romanticize all the political wheeling and dealing he was doing in here. This is where his chief of staff and he would always go to discuss anything, and those were the days that planted the seed in my brain that this might be something I’d want to do someday.

  As a grown woman, I can see the office for what it is.

  Just a room.

  A really stuffy, old-fashioned room.

  My mother had it redone a few years ago, and yet, it still looks like something out of the fifties. Dark red and gold plaid wallpaper lines the top half of the walls with dark wood paneling on the bottom. There are floor-to-ceiling bookcases lining half the room and oversized windows that overlook the side yard lining the other half. Dad’s desk is big and designed to make the person sitting on the opposite side of it feel small and less powerful. He has a seating area by the windows that has beautiful natural light filtering in through the heavy velvet curtains that frame them.

  Dad has let me look over his speeches for the past two years. I was so excited the first time he used one of my lines, and it only grew from there. I’ve always found politics fascinating, but I don’t want to be my dad. I want to work behind the scenes. I understand that a certain amount of spotlight comes with the position I want, but I’m not expecting it to be that different from the amount that’s already been forced upon me.

  I’m working toward a dual major in pre-law and political science. With the advanced placement courses I took in high school, and a few well-placed internships, I should be able to graduate with both in three years and hopefully get into my dream law school, Georgetown. My parents are pushing me to consider Harvard, but Georgetown has always been the goal in my mind. I don’t know that I want to stay in DC forever, but it’s where I want to start.

  As much as my mother has pushed me through the years, my father has done the same but in a different way. He’s pushed me to do my best, but it always felt like it was coming from a supportive place. He’s always treated my sister and me like his daughters and not just pawns in his game.

  We’re finishing up when my mother walks in, dressed in a winter white Chanel skirt suit. Guess she has a function to attend today. “Sabrina, the stylist is here. You need to come and try on your dress now.”

  I look to my dad, hoping he’ll tell my mother I’m busy. But he just shrugs his shoulders and pulls my chair out for me.

  Dad is classically handsome. He’s about five-foot-ten, with salt and pepper hair and a lean build. If the man isn’t in a suit, his version of relaxing is a shawl-collared sweater and a pair of chinos. It’s practically the polar opposite of my version of relaxing, but to each their own. He never truly looks comfortable to me, which is a bit sad. My father has always talked about runni
ng for higher office, and I dread the day he puts that spotlight on our family.

  I walk up the curved staircase, knowing exactly where I’ll find my mother. She’s in the spare bedroom that’s been turned into her dressing area. Multiple gowns hang from a rolling rack. Looking through them, I can’t find mine. “Mom, where is my dress?” I’d picked out a pretty, strapless green column gown with a black velvet band along the neckline and down the back. It was gorgeous, and it was Murphy’s favorite color.

  My mother looks away. “Sabrina, dear, that dress just wouldn’t do. It was far too tight and far too revealing. Look at what Carolina has brought for you. She’s tailored it to your measurements. Go.” She shoos me with her hands. “Try it on.”

  Glancing over to Carolina, who at least has the good graces to look embarrassed, I grab the garment bag and head for the en suite bathroom. I hate to admit it, but the gown is gorgeous. It’s a deep emerald green, fitted with a thin band, making my waist appear ridiculously tiny before flowing out into the perfect ball gown. The tiny off the shoulder cap sleeves mean I won’t have to worry about pulling up the otherwise strapless top. It dips lower than I expected in the front. Guess Carolina didn’t take into consideration how much my girls stand up on their own. Add a strapless bustier and this might actually be indecent.

  I’m going to love the look on Murphy’s face.

  Once I slip it on and wiggle to get it zipped up, I take in my appearance in the mirror. The dress is gorgeous. It’s not the dress I picked out, it’s better.

  I walk back out and stand on the raised platform in the middle of the room. My mother claps her hands together dramatically. “Oh, Sabrina. You look stunning. Spin around. Let me see.” She looks to Carolina. “You don’t think it’s a little low in the front and the back?”

  “No, Mrs. Cabot. I think it is perfect. Add that pair of chandelier earrings you showed me and no necklace and Ms. Cabot will be the belle of the ball.”

  My mother tsks. “Are you sure no necklace? Not even a simple diamond?”