The Rival: A Washington Rampage Sports Romance

by Megan Green

  “I know you’re tired, but do you mind if I sleep with you tonight?” she asked, looking up at me from beneath her lowered lashes.

  It took everything in me not to leap into the air, Fred Flintstone–style, before dragging her down the hall and throwing her onto my bed.

  Fortunately for me, I had the good sense not to overreact. I simply smiled and nodded, taking her hand in mine, the two of us walking the few steps to my bedroom together before splitting to go about our nightly routine.

  Avery changed in the attached bathroom while I did so in my room. After, we each brushed our teeth in the dual sinks, our eyes constantly finding each other in the large mirror before us. Each time our gazes locked, our mouths would spread into a wide smile around our toothbrushes, and I had to lean over the sink several times to avoid a dab of toothpaste dribbling out past my lips.

  Needless to say, it was the most fun I’d had brushing my teeth in…well, ever.

  I climbed into the bed first, lifting the blankets for Avery so that she could join me. She curled right into me, her back pressed firmly against my front, her tiny body forming itself so perfectly against my own. I briefly worried what I would do if she tried to take things further between us, but it was all for nothing. Within moments, Avery’s soft breaths evened out into a steady cadence, her heartbeats lulling me to sleep with its gentle rhythm.

  Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

  It’s those same heartbeats that pull me from my thoughts this morning, their light beats quickening against my chest as I lie, replaying the events of last night. Opening my eyes once again, I find Avery’s dark brown gaze locked on my face, a veil of something I can’t quite place darkening their already deep color.

  It’s not until her smooth fingers come up to trail against the skin of my cheek that I realize what it is.

  Heat.

  Want.

  Desire.

  With a tilt of her head, she lifts her face to mine, her plump lips brushing ever so slightly against my own. Not once, not twice, but three times does she tease me, her plump lips so close but not giving me what I want.

  What I need.

  With a quick twist, I move our bodies so that she’s no longer pinning me in place. Instead, I hover over her, one of my hands tangling in her hair as my other lifts to her face. I trail my fingers over her lips, feeling their warmth with the pads of my fingertips, before bending and claiming them with my own.

  I slowly kiss her, taking my time to learn and explore every inch of her delicious mouth. Even after hours of sleep, Avery still tastes amazing. My tongue begs for entrance, licking against the closed seam of her lips, and she opens for me.

  I feel my fingers fist in her hair as she deepens the kiss, her warm tongue dancing with mine as her firm body writhes against me. Her arms move to circle my neck, her long fingernails scratching against my scalp as she locks me in place.

  I can feel the moment the kiss turns. The moment it goes from sweet and innocent to something deeper. Something dangerous.

  And, as one of Avery’s hands leaves my hair, instead running down my side, drifting lower and lower until…

  “Avery,” I pant as I pull my lips free from her, “we have to stop.”

  My hand comes up to halt her movement, and she whines in protest.

  “I can feel how much you want this, Carter,” she says, pressing her core up into my erection for added emphasis. “You don’t have to stop.”

  And fuck if she isn’t right. I’ve dreamed about this moment more times than I could ever possibly count. I’ve wanted Avery for more years than I can even remember.

  But not yet. Not like this.

  I roll off of her, resting my head back into the plush pillows beside me. She follows, her body coming up onto its elbow as she looks down at me, her brows furrowed in confusion.

  “What is it, Carter?”

  Pulling her down into my chest, I cradle her against me. I can feel the still-frantic beating of her heart, her body ready and more than willing to pick up where we left off. And my labored breaths and rock-hard cock all but scream at me to stop being a fucking idiot and give the girl what she so obviously wants.

  But my brain wins out.

  “I want you, Avery,” I say on an exhale. “Believe me, I want you. But we need to take this slow. I want to do this right. Take you out. Woo you. Win your heart.”

  She smiles. “You’ve already done that,” she says, lowering her face back down to mine with a smirk. “Now, can we get back to—”

  I slide out from under her, pushing up off the bed. “You’re not making this any easier. I’m trying to do the right thing here, Smalls.”

  She sits up, crossing her legs under her as she gives me a puzzled look. “And I’m telling you that you don’t need to.”

  I shake my head. “Yes, I do. We’ve known each other for ages, Avery, and you deserve everything I could possibly give you. More than what I can give you. You deserve more than a few dinners and a ride on a childhood playground before we do this. You deserve…everything.”

  She smiles, climbing up off the bed and coming to my side. Taking my hand in both of hers, she lifts them to her chest, right against her heart. “I have everything. Right here. With you.”

  I want to believe her words. I want more than anything to trust what she said, throwing all caution to the wind and diving in headfirst.

  But this is Avery. And I refuse to mess this up.

  “You need time, Avery. Despite whatever you say, you need time to move on. Time to grieve what you had with…” I let my words taper off, not wanting to say his name and let him ruin yet another moment between me and Avery.

  Now, it’s Avery’s turn to shake her head. “I don’t, Carter. I know you don’t believe me, but I’m really okay. What Miles and I—” She breaks off when I cringe at his name. “Sorry. But what he and I had…Carter, it was nothing compared to the things you’ve made me feel with just a few kisses. A few hours in your arms have shown me how much I was missing out on with him.”

  “But that’s just it, Avery. I don’t want to be your rebound. I don’t want to just be the next guy because I make you feel better. I want to be the guy. If and when we do this, it’s going to be because you love me. Because you love me as much as I love you.”

  Avery’s eyes soften as she looks at me, an almost-sad smile twisting the corners of her lips. “I do love you, Carter. But, okay, we’ll take this slow. I’ll let you woo me, as you so eloquently put it. And, in turn, I’ll prove to you that I love you. That I might love you even more than you love me.”

  I lace my fingers with hers, smiling down at her. “Not possible, Smalls. I’ve got years of experience on you. But, if you think you can prove me wrong, I’m more than willing to let you try.”

  “Is that a challenge, Mr. Hughes?”

  I smirk. “One, don’t ever call me Mr. Hughes again. It’s just creepy. And two…” I trail off, watching as she expectantly leans into me. “It’s a goddamn dare.”

  Chapter 14

  Avery

  “C’mon, Smalls. I dare you.”

  I couldn’t even begin to count the number of times I’d heard those words from Carter’s lips over the years.

  “I dare you to prank call Mr. Bishop.”

  “I dare you to stick a hot Cheeto in your nose and leave it there for a full minute.”

  “I dare you to lick a doorknob.”

  “I dare you to sneak out and come to Brady’s party with me.”

  Carter was constantly pushing my boundaries when we were younger, always trying to see how far he could push me before I finally cracked and said no.

  Unfortunately for him, I always rose to the challenge.

  And this time…this time I’m not only going to succeed in the dare; I’m going to freaking own it. By the time I’m done, there’s not going to be even a single inch of room for doubt in Carter’s mind. It’ll be too full of all the amazing things I’ve done to prove to him that I love him. More than just a
friend. More than just the boy I’ve known my entire life. And more than just the man who helped put me back together after I fell apart.

  I might have been blind to it for years, but now that my eyes have been opened, it’s impossible not to see.

  I love Carter Hughes. And I’m going to do everything in my power to prove it to him.

  If I ever see him again, that is.

  It’s been two days since Carter issued his dare, and I think I’ve seen him for a total of twenty minutes. He had back-to-back games, and by the time he dragged himself home after practice and the games, it was all I could do to steer him to the bedroom and take off his shoes before he collapsed face-first into the pillows.

  Dating a sports star isn’t easy when you’re trying to prove something. This would be far less complicated if he didn’t have to try to split his time between me and the field, the field pretty much always winning out because of his contract and his career.

  Not that I begrudge him his career. It just makes things a little more difficult.

  Tonight though…tonight, Carter is all mine. And I’m determined to make the most of it.

  I look around the kitchen, not recognizing half of the ingredients and gadgets before me. But, when I called Carter’s mother, she insisted this would be the trick to winning him over. He never could resist his mama’s lasagna with homemade garlic bread.

  Let’s just hope the same can be said for mine.

  I open the package of Italian sausage, dumping it out into the pan and bending over to turn on the stove.

  Sign number one this is a bad idea…

  “How in the hell do I turn this thing on?” I ask the empty room.

  I look at the little diagram on the front, determining the knob I need to turn in order to get the flame under the right burner. But, when I turn it, nothing happens.

  “Hmm,” I say, furrowing my brows as I look at the numbers on the dial.

  Maybe the lower the number, the higher the flame?

  I turn it all the way over to one, hoping that the single digit represents the ranking of the flame instead of the heat. I mean, who wouldn’t want a number one flame?

  I’m met with only a strange hissing noise.

  I slump back against the kitchen island, already ready to admit defeat. I’ve never been what anybody would call a cook, most of my meals consisting of precooked food and frozen dinners. I can work a microwave like nobody’s business. But, despite my ineptitude with the monstrosity before me, I have used a stove before. Just never a gas one. And never one that looks like it could cook eight different meals and prepare dessert while it’s at it.

  Damn Carter and his fancy kitchen.

  I’m two seconds away from calling it quits and just ordering takeout when Carter’s words ring through my ears.

  “It’s a goddamn dare.”

  The cheeky smile he gave me as he said the words was all I needed to know there was no way I could fail. There was no possible way I’d let myself be responsible for wiping that grin off his face.

  I couldn’t give up. I wouldn’t.

  For Carter.

  Pulling out my phone, I quickly Google how to light a gas stove and click on the first link that pops up in my browser.

  Huh. Who knew that little flame symbol is actually where you light it before adjusting the temp?

  Apparently, not this girl.

  Trying again, I twist the knob over to the flame and hold it until an actual flame roars to life under my pan. I do a little victory dance, clapping my hands together as I watch the blue fire lick up the sides of the pan.

  I’m feeling so proud of myself at my new accomplishment that I don’t even realize the meat is starting to burn until I hear a scorching sizzle.

  Shit. Guess I’d better turn that down.

  I spend the next ten minutes browning the meat and adding the spices Mrs. Hughes read off to me over the phone. It’s a little…browner than it probably should be, but all in all, I have to say it isn’t too bad. I can totally handle this cooking thing.

  Look at me, being all domestic and shit.

  After I add the sauce and layer it with the cheese and noodles, I put the lasagna in to bake for an hour before I get started on the bread.

  I’ve never made bread before, but it can’t be too hard, right? I mean…it’s just bread.

  Wrong. Oh-so very wrong.

  By the time the buzzer on the oven sounds, I’m no closer to having dough made than I was before I started. But I do have enough flour on my face and in my hair to make at least a dozen cakes. Maybe even a few pies, too.

  Swiping away a swatch of flour I can see on my nose, I blow out a defeated breath.

  “Fine, you win. Are you happy now?” I shout at the lump of should-be dough on the counter before me, the gooey mass looking more like something that belongs in a horror flick than a kitchen. I beat my fist into it once more for good measure—just so it knows exactly what it’s done—when I hear the door click shut down the hallway.

  My eyes fly to the clock on the microwave.

  What’s he doing here so early?

  Only he’s not early. I’ve spent far more time than I realized trying to get this dough to work, and now, I don’t even have time to shower and get rid of the evidence.

  “Avery?” his deep voice calls from down the hallway. “Is something burning?”

  “Fuck!” I shout, spinning around in place and flinging open the oven door.

  A heavy cloud of smoke pours out, revealing the remains of my blackened lasagna.

  In my frustration with the bread, I reached over and flicked off the timer when it sounded, telling myself I’d grab it just as soon as I added these last few ingredients to the dough. But, obviously, I forgot.

  Barbecue lasagna. That’s a thing, right?

  I cringe as Carter makes his way down the hall, waiting for him to start yelling at the disaster I’ve made of his kitchen. Sliding pot holders onto my hands, I bend over and grab the lasagna, contemplating just crawling inside with it so that I don’t have to deal with the embarrassment of trying to explain the situation to Carter.

  Taking a deep breath, I straighten, holding the lasagna out in front of me like maybe it’ll somehow protect me from the backlash. I brace myself, anticipating the words he’ll say as he kicks me out for destroying his apartment.

  Carter doesn’t say anything as I turn, and after several long moments of silence, I force myself to lift my gaze to his. There, instead of the hard jaw and angry features I was expecting to find, I’m met with Carter’s bottom lip pulled tightly between his teeth, as if he’s desperately trying to fight back a smile.

  “What did you do, Smalls?” he asks, his voice wavering more and more with every word.

  “I, uh…I made dinner.”

  At that, Carter is no longer able to hold in his laughter, the hearty chuckles ripping themselves deep from within his belly and echoing noisily throughout the room. He reaches forward, bracing himself on the edge of the island as he tries to regain control, but it’s no use.

  The longer he looks at me holding this disaster of a meal, the harder he laughs. And the harder it becomes for me to be angry with him for mocking me.

  I mean, even I have to admit, the whole situation is pretty hilarious. I spent two hours trying to make a nice home-cooked meal for Carter, and all I have to show for it is this hunk of charred unrecognizable-ness and a kitchen that looks like a tornado ripped through it.

  A tornado named Avery.

  After a few minutes of the two of us laughing over the absurdity of it all, Carter walks around the island, coming up behind me and placing his hands on my elbows. He leads me over to the trash can in the corner, his foot coming out to step on the lever to open the lid before urging me to toss the lasagna inside, pan and all.

  Once that’s done, he spins me around, not even giving me a chance to remove the pot holders from my hands before he hugs me against him.

  “Was that my mom’s lasagna?”

&nb
sp; I nod against his chest. “Well, it was supposed to be.”

  I feel him press a kiss to my hair, his arms winding around me tighter at my admission.

  “You made me my favorite meal.”

  I sigh. “That was the idea. The execution of that idea, on the other hand…”

  His hand comes up to my chin, lifting my face from his chest until my gaze meets his. “Haven’t you ever heard the expression, It’s the thought that counts? I love it, Avie. Even if I don’t get to eat it.”

  His lips come down over mine before I can get a word out, Carter’s kiss stealing away any smart-ass reply I was going to come up with anyway. After he kisses me senseless for several minutes, he pulls back, taking my hand and tugging me over toward the couch.

  “Come on. We can deal with this mess tomorrow. Let’s order a pizza.”

  Two hours later, and this evening has turned out to be even better than expected despite my mishap in the kitchen. Carter pulled up an app on his phone and placed an order for a large pie, and I rushed down the hall to grab the second part of my surprise.

  His eyes widened when I came back out of my room, wearing a dark gray T-shirt with a picture of Hamilton Porter, along with the iconic words from the movie written across the front in white. The corners of his lips tilted up into a sideways smirk, the smile reaching all the way to his eyes as he took me in.

  “I have to say, Avery, you always look gorgeous. But I don’t think you’ve ever looked quite as amazing as you do right now.”

  I laughed, reaching behind me and untucking the matching T-shirt I’d stuffed into my back pocket before tossing it at him.

  “Well, it’s a good thing I got one for you, too, then. Now, we can definitely be the best-looking couple in Seattle.”

  He immediately reached behind his head and yanked off the T-shirt he’d worn home, my breath hitching at the sight of his naked chest for the split second I saw it before Ham Porter was staring me right in the face.

  “I love it,” he said as he pulled out the hem of the shirt, so he could see it better. “Best T-shirt ever. Goes right up there on the list with my favorite mug.”