Escorting the Player (The Escort Collection Book 3)

by Leigh James

  But all of that had clearly changed—or just been drunkenly ignored—after multiple purple shots, margaritas, a body shot, and God knew what else. Maybe if Eric kept Chase and me drunk the entire time I was here, we'd get along just fine.

  But I hadn't slept with him last night because I felt like I had to. It wasn't awkward like my other assignments, where I'd waited, dreading the John's first touch.

  I'd had fun last night. I was drunk and when Chase had pressed all those big muscles against me, it'd made me horny as all hell. I remembered pulling him into my room and ripping his shirt off, gleefully running my hands down his enormous chest, feeling like I'd just opened the best Christmas present ever.

  He rolled his massive body over and threw his arm across my chest. I held my breath, not daring to move. Part of me considered getting up and running. Maybe he wouldn't remember everything that happened.

  Another part of me contemplated staying and playing with his enormous erection, which jutted against my thigh. If I was being honest with myself—which I genuinely tried not to be while on assignment—I really wanted to take another ride on Chase Layne's massive manhood. Just to see if it was as awesome as I remembered. I'd never screamed like that before. The pleasure I'd felt was utterly new to me. My thighs shuddered just thinking about it, which somehow made my head hurt worse.

  Had I retained my sense of humor this morning, I would've laughed. Instead, I pulled the sheet off my face so I could breathe.

  Chase opened one eye and looked at me. "Hey." He sounded vaguely surprised.

  "Morning." I forced myself to smile at him, even though it killed my head.

  He opened his other eye and looked as though he were trying to clear the fog from his brain. "Well…I guess we broke the ice last night."

  I wanted to dive back under the covers. "Um, yep. We sure did."

  He took his arm off me and quickly took his erection back to his side of the bed. He gave me an embarrassed smile. "Sorry about that."

  I felt cold without his body touching mine. "It's okay. You were asleep." It's okay. We fucked each other's brains out last night, remember? Don't worry about a little morning pokey-pokey!

  Again, if I'd been capable, I would've giggled. Instead, I said nothing, and things instantly went back to awkward and miserable between myself and Chase Layne.

  He sat up and gave me a wooden smile. "Well…gotta go hit the gym." He grabbed his underwear from somewhere under the sheets and pulled a T-shirt over his head.

  And then he practically ran out of the room.

  I might be the worst escort ever.

  Chapter Eight

  CHASE

  I can't believe I fucked her. I just had to go and fuck her. That had never been the plan. She was for show, not to shove my dick into.

  Of course, my traitorous dick twitched at the thought. It wanted to go shove itself all sorts of places after last night. Avery's pussy, Avery's mouth, between Avery gorgeous, round tits…

  I grabbed some heavier weights to punish myself and tried to stop obsessing about her. Hot images from last night kept flashing in my mind, but I didn't feel right about what we'd done. Last night I'd felt very, very right—but in the light of day, I was nothing but ashamed.

  I'd taken advantage of this girl. Avery was here because she was on a job. I didn't believe for a second that she was an escort because she enjoyed it. She was too young, too pretty, too innocent. She must really need the money. She was as vulnerable as she could have been, and I'd preyed on her. My gut twisted at the thought.

  But last night, once I stopped being a dick, she'd seemed like she was having fun. And even as shy as Avery had been when she'd first shown up, she'd lost all inhibition once we'd gotten back to her room. She'd ridden my cock and bossed me around like a pro, and I'd loved every second of it.

  That's because she is a pro. My gut twisted again. I fucked a prostitute.

  I couldn't believe it.

  I felt sick—not because I thought bad things about Avery and what she did for work—not at all. It was because I felt like I'd exploited her. I was not one of those pro athletes who thought I could take what I wanted, when I wanted. That wasn't how I operated. I thought prostitution was dangerous, ugly, and degrading to women.

  Says the guy who just hired a hooker.

  I added more weights, grunting as I did another chest press. Never in my wildest dreams had I thought I'd end up sleeping with her. I thought I was above taking advantage of people. But I'd fucked her brains out last night, and I'd enjoyed every abandoned, debaucherous second.

  Worse than that? I'd enjoyed running my hands through her long blond hair. The power I'd felt when she came so hard she screamed my name. Waking up next to her warm body—before I realized how badly I'd messed up.

  I fucking hated myself this morning.

  But before I could do more punishing presses, my phone started to blow up.

  First was a text from Reggie. That is a seriously hot girl, he wrote. You're the man.

  It buzzed again—a text from Trevor, one of my defenseman. Who's the blonde? he wrote with a winking emoji. She have a sister?

  I grunted as my phone continued to vibrate.

  Be prepared for Jessica to lash out, Mickey wrote. But who cares? That girl's gorgeous. Even Mickey included a winking emoji. Christ.

  So much for laying low, wrote my coach, Wes. Nice to see you looking relaxed, though. But maybe lay off the binge-drinking in public when the season's about to start. There was no winking emoji.

  I expect to meet this young lady sooner rather than later, Martha wrote. Your mother's always the last to know, I guess. No winking emoji.

  I grimaced and did a quick Internet search of my name. Sure enough, there was picture after picture from last night posted to Instagram and Twitter. Images of me with different fans, grinning and holding various alcoholic beverages. I barely remembered any of it.

  What was consistent in each picture was my smile and my grip around Avery. My arm was locked securely around her waist in each shot. She smiled next to me for an endless stream of photos, looking genuinely happy. I remembered the feel of my palm against her hip, pulling her to me. I loved the way holding her felt.

  I scrolled through more pictures.

  We were just pretending. Why does it look so real?

  "You're really nice to your fans," she'd said after we'd posed for yet another shot. "I think it's sweet."

  Jessica had grown to hate the fans. After a while, she'd thought she was above them. She just didn't get it.

  "The fans are the best part," I'd said. "Without them, it doesn't mean a whole lot."

  Avery smiled at me then, and I felt as if I was seeing her real smile. Part of me had softened toward her in spite of my better judgment.

  And then I'd had another drink. And another.

  After we finished at the restaurant, Eric had insisted that we go to a hot new club in the Theater District. That's when all the trouble had started. He'd called ahead, and we'd been let in immediately, cutting the long line that snaked down Tremont Street. A starstruck hostess had ushered us up a winding staircase to a VIP booth. Avery's eyes were wide as she'd taken in the mass of writhing bodies on the dance floor, the multi-colored lights bouncing off the chandeliers.

  I leaned over to her. "Do you like clubs?" I'd asked, genuinely curious. I personally hated them. I danced like Frankenstein—or so Jess had told me.

  "I've never been anywhere like this," she'd said, gesturing around and laughing self-consciously. "But I'm pretty sure it's not my scene."

  I wanted to pull her against me to protect her—from the dancers below? From the swirling lights?—but I didn't feel like I had the right. "We don't have to stay long." The waitress brought over a bottle of vodka, different juices, and limes. I took another look at Avery, the way her hair tumbled past her shoulders as she laughed at something Eric shouted over the music. I grunted to myself, feeling the low pull of desire in my belly. She was undeniably gorgeous, and ev
en better than that, she wasn't annoying…she was nice. Sweet. And now that we'd both relaxed a little, she was easy to be around.

  I didn't make a conscious decision about it then. About her. I made a conscious decision to drink enough to not make a conscious decision—which, in dude logic, is essentially the same thing.

  We all did another shot, and then things started to get blurry.

  Avery excused herself to go to the ladies' room, and I watched her. Her hair swung as she timidly made her way through the crowd. Every guy she walked by checked her out, looking at her as though she were a cupcake they wanted to devour. I clenched my hands into fists. I should've gone with her… If one of these drunk fucks touched her, they were going to get pummeled, courtesy of Chase Layne.

  The booze was making me more aggressive than usual, which was saying something. I stood up, getting ready to follow her.

  "Chase," Eric interrupted me, "you're doing better, but you need to touch her more. People are seeing you together for the first time. This needs to seem real."

  "I'm getting along with her," I said, defensively, trying to see her through the crowd. "I'm making an effort."

  Eric snorted. "You make it sound like such a chore. She's gorgeous, dude. And sweet. If she wasn't an escort, you'd totally be into this girl."

  "She's cute," I admitted warily.

  He shook his head. "Maybe you've had so much pussy thrown at you over the years that you're immune to her."

  "I don't go after pussy that's thrown at me. That's desperate, and I don't do desperate."

  Eric held up his hands to stop me. "Just dance with her. Act like she's your girlfriend, dammit."

  "Okay, dammit."

  Eric motioned to the server and had her pour us two more shots. I knocked mine back and went to find Avery.

  "Where're you going?" Eric yelled after me, over the music.

  "To find my girlfriend." I jerked my thumb toward the throng of dudes in skinny pants and too much hair gel. "Gotta protect her from the natives."

  I did want to find her. I'd brought her here; she was my responsibility. I didn't want to tell Eric that I was starting to like her; it was a) none of his damned business, and b) I didn't want to hear him praise himself and say "I told you so" again so soon. I pushed my way through the crowd, smiling and nodding when I was recognized. I didn't stop until I was parked outside the ladies' room.

  A frizzy, strawberry blonde stumbled out, wearing a sequined tank top and too much lipstick. She almost fell over when she spotted me. "Chase Layne?" she yelped. "Shut the fuck up!"

  I grinned at her. "Can you do me a favor?"

  The girl started twisting her coarse hair, her eyes glittering. I'd seen that look before—often from a defensive end who was about to tackle me.

  She grinned back at me. "Oh yeah, I can. You betcha."

  I jerked my thumb toward the ladies' room. "Can you go ask my girlfriend if she's okay? She's blond. Black dress. On the taller side."

  The girl looked crestfallen for a second, but then she obediently ducked back into the bathroom. Women had been throwing themselves at me my whole life. I never once took one up on it. I was a big, star quarterback, but I was not a hookup kind of dude. What I'd said to Eric was the truth. I didn't do desperate. Not only because I didn't have to, but because to me, desperate was the opposite of sexy.

  "Found her," the strawberry blonde said, her bottom lip jutting out. She had Avery in tow. My escort tentatively smiled at me when she found me guarding the door to the ladies' room.

  "Hey," she said.

  "Hey yourself." I grinned at her and then turned to the other girl. "Thank you. That was really nice."

  She perked up a little and shrugged. "No problem. Can we take a picture?"

  "Sure. D'ya mind if my girlfriend's in it?" I didn't wait for her to answer. I pulled Avery against me. Eric said I was supposed to touch her, so I was going to touch her. I had other reasons for wanting to, but I ignored them. I also forced myself to ignore the fact that my cock was lengthening and heading in her direction.

  The girl snapped some selfies with us and then sniffed and walked away, as if we'd served our purpose. That was fine with me. I turned to Avery, not letting her go. I was very aware that her skin was hot to my touch. My vodka-befuddled brain started wondering if the heat was from her or from me, but I was getting too confused to think it through. I just knew I wanted to keep my arms around her. "Would you like to dance?"

  She looked stricken. "Uh…yes?"

  "Is that a yes that's actually a no?" I asked.

  Avery composed her face and smiled at me bravely. "It's a yes. I'm not really a big dancer, though."

  "Me either. It's not like there's a lot of room down there for my moves anyway. I can do a mean robot, but that's about the extent of my talent." I laced my fingers through hers and pulled her down the stairs.

  Another server met us at the landing and offered us more shots. "On the house, Mr. Layne," she said and winked. "Go Warriors!"

  Avery and I each did another ill-advised shot, and then I pulled her into my arms on the dance floor. "For someone who's not a big drinker or a big dancer, you're sure managing nicely tonight," I said.

  She put her arms around my neck, eighth-grade dance style. "I'm at your service, Mr. Layne. Remember?"

  I leaned down to her ear. "I'm sorry I was a dick when you first showed up."

  Even though that was the booze talking, I meant it. A drunken man's words are a sober man's thoughts. Cass, one of my "deep" football buddies, often said that. Usually when we were drunk and he was telling me how I could improve my game.

  Avery trained her clear blue eyes on me. "S'okay. You've been through a lot lately."

  I wanted to know what it was she'd been through, what her story was, but the loud, thumping base and the crowd of people around us weren't really the best place for a deep conversation. So I just wrapped my arms around her and pulled her to me. That same server showed up next to us with more shots. "Your buddy told me to keep 'em coming," she yelled and pointed at the mezzanine. Eric leaned over, smiling and giving us the thumbs up.

  Avery looked at me nervously.

  "One more for courage," I said, downing it. I needed courage tonight. My cock twitched again, trying to reach out and touch her. It'd been a long time, and at this stage of my buzz, I couldn't lie to myself. I was totally attracted to her. I ran my hands down her back. I was about to cross some lines, I could tell. My hard-on was getting thicker by the second.

  Still, I wanted Avery to make her own choices. That was the only way I'd be able to live with myself.

  I gestured toward the shot. "Don't drink that if you don't want to—don't do anything you don't want to do tonight."

  Her eyes lit up. "Thank you for saying that," she said, sounding genuinely grateful. She eyed the small glass. "I guess I could use some more courage." She knocked back the shot, and I watched as she grimaced while it went down.

  Then we grinned at each other like we were allies in a secret war.

  I pulled her back to me, for better or for worse. This girl needed protection. And I wanted to keep seeing her eyes light up like that.

  That'd been my last thought as ran my hands down her body, relishing the feel of her against me. I want to be the one to light them up.

  And now I sat in my gym, feeling sick and shaky from my regular old hangover as well as a guilt hangover. I sighed and picked up even heavier weights, ignoring the vibrations of my phone. I wasn't trying to be a douchebag last night. I was trying to make Avery's eyes light up.

  They said the road to hell was paved with good intentions. I had a sinking feeling I was about to find out if they were correct.

  Chapter Nine

  AVERY

  I stayed in my room the entire next day, venturing out only for a run to the kitchen for ibuprofen, water, and coffee—I still couldn't look at food. And I was petrified to face Chase. Elena called me on the loaner phone she'd packed. "Nice work, Avery. I'm loving these
pictures of you and Chase out on the town. You guys look like you had a good time."

  "We did." I swallowed hard. I'd taken the ibuprofen, but nothing had stopped the pounding in my head. I vowed to never touch hard alcohol again.

  "How's he treating you?" the madam asked.

  I forced myself to sit up and winced at how my whole body hurt. "He's very…nice. His agent wanted us to go out so we could be photographed. It seemed to go well."

  "So, is this going to work out? I don't normally call my girls when they're on assignment, but this is a very special client. I wanted to be sure that you're comfortable, but also that you're confident Mr. Layne is satisfied with the service."

  "Everything's going great." I felt a pit of dread form in my stomach. Chase and I had sex last night, and he practically ran, screaming, out of my room this morning. I'm afraid to see him. "Thank you so much for giving me this job, Elena. I'll never be able to say that enough."

  I won't live long enough to say thank you appropriately—I'll probably die from embarrassment first. As soon as I face him again.

  Elena clucked her tongue in approval. "I'm thrilled it's working out. Please get in touch if you need anything. I'll keep watching you online. I'm very pleased, Avery. Keep up the good work."

  I plastered a smile onto my face even though she couldn't see me. "Thank you. I will. I promise."

  I hung up and lay there, miserable and confused.

  There was a knock on the door. I perked up, hoping it was Chase.

  "Avery?" Eric called.

  Even though I liked the agent, my face fell. "Um…yeah?"

  "Do you want some food?"

  "God no," I said.

  "Let me know if that changes. Listen, first thing tomorrow, we're meeting a broker to shop for condos in the Leather District. Photo opportunity," he called, sounding so chipper that I sunk back underneath my covers, away from the harsh brightness of his voice. "Just relax. I'll get you some ginger ale—so you don't puke like I just did."