by Anthology
“I told you, I want to experience a football game just like anyone else would,” she said. “Being served martinis in an air-conditioned box with the Salasian owner of the New York Knights wouldn’t precisely fit the bill, now would it?”
She moved to the hotel mirror—one of many in the lavish hotel suite—making sure her own face paint was perfect and that her long, dark hair was pulled up in a neat ponytail. Normally, she’d wear a suit to any public event, but today she wore jean shorts and a tight tank with BOOTLEGGERS emblazoned across the chest.
After a few more finishing touches, they drove to the stadium in the limo rented for Arabella’s use. New Yorkers bustled along the sidewalk, phones in hand or yelling at taxis. What would it be like to walk out of her flat—no, her apartment—and just go where she wanted? She sighed inwardly at the thought, knowing it wasn’t something she’d ever experience for herself.
She shouldn’t complain, though. She had grown up with wealth and gone to the best schools and could travel the world. But then again, what good was wealth if she always had to worry about how others would react to what she was purchasing? What good was traveling if it was always for business or charity, and she always had to be around others, and could never truly relax?
“We’re here,” Royce said just as the limo stopped. Outside, groups of people were walking toward the stadium. Anabella was thrilled that so many fans were attending a preseason game.
“We’ll wait until we’re closer to the gates before we exit,” Royce said.
“No, let’s get out now,” she replied, bouncing with excitement. “I’d rather not make a huge show of being in a limo.” Arabella reached for the door handle and before Royce could protest, stepped out into the open. She heard him mumble underneath his breath as he followed her.
“Your Majesty, I would advise you to stay close to me and do as I say. Your mother only allowed you to come to New York on the condition that I stay with you at all times, and she wasn’t happy about you wanting to watch a football game to begin with, let alone watch from the common area.”
“Yes, I know. But I want to experience this like any other fan. And if anyone asks, you’re my brother. At least attempt to act like a normal person today, please?”
His dark eyebrows furrowed, but at her stubborn expression, he nodded.
After purchasing beers and hot dogs and nachos, she and Royce found their spots in the stands. Arabella sat next to a teenage boy, who blushed when she smiled at him. She just smiled wider, and laughed out loud simply because she felt happy and free.
“What is so amusing?” Royce asked.
“Nothing of consequence.” She poked him in the side, like she would her own brother Louis. “Liven up, Royce. Everything will be fine. Maybe you’ll even have a little fun.”
He grunted.
The game didn’t start for another twenty minutes, but when the marching band began playing, the crowd erupted in cheers. Arabella waved her foam finger and held her beer up as the Knights ran onto the field. But she screamed when the Savannah Bootleggers came out, their uniforms bright blue against the green of the field.
“Oh, my goodness. Is that...? It is!” she squealed, reaching over and squeezing Royce’s arm. “Look, it’s Kyle Young, the first-string quarterback,” she told her bodyguard, who looked less than impressed.
“I’m pleased that seeing Mr. Young makes you happy, Your Majesty,” he said politely.
More like made certain parts of her body happy, Arabella thought, given Kyle Young had starred in several of her more X-Rated fantasies, and at her first sighting of him out in the wild, her body appeared to be undergoing some Pavlovian response. Down girl, she commanded herself. Dressed in street clothes, Young wore a headset, which he, like the coaches, would use to communicate with Murphy. She strained to see his individual features—the sparkling blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, and strong jaw she’d only seen on screen or in magazines before. But unfortunately, he was too far away to properly admire, so she focused her gaze on the field instead.
As the team readied, Arabella sipped her beer. It tasted awful, and she loved it.
“Have you ever attended a football game?” she asked Royce.
He glanced at her, his blue face paint creasing as he frowned. “No, Your Majesty.”
She shushed him. “Please don’t call me that. Call me Arabella.”
“Your Majesty—”
“Please,” she said more firmly.
He seemed to struggle inwardly before nodding. “As you wish, Arabella.” He ground out her name as if it pained him, and she had to hold back a laugh.
“Did you play sports as a child? European football? Basketball? Cricket?”
He didn’t reply for a moment. “I played rugby briefly in school.”
She waited for him to go on. But getting Royce to talk was like pulling very stubborn, very large teeth. “And you enjoyed it? You hated it? You had no feelings about it whatsoever?”
“It was fine.”
Fine. Of course it was fine. Arabella looked away and sighed. So much for trying to have some kind of conversation. Why couldn’t her mother have hired a chatty bodyguard?
The game started with the blow of the ref’s whistle, the Knights having won the coin toss. They scored a touchdown early in the first quarter and then another early in the second. Then, just when Arabella was beginning to feel sorry for Murphy, he threw a long pass to wide receiver Heath Dawson.
“Touchdown!” the announcer yelled as the stadium erupted. Arabella screamed and shouted, her beer sloshing onto her hand. But she didn’t care—the Bootleggers had scored a touchdown, and even though it hadn’t been scored by her favorite player, she was loyal to the team nonetheless.
The audience continued to cheer as the second quarter wrapped up, the Bootleggers gaining one more point in a field goal.
“Wasn’t that amazing?” Arabella asked Royce. “I so wish Kyle Young was playing, but then again it’s wonderful that Murphy is getting his time to shine.”
“Yes, wonderful, Your—Arabella. Quite.” He golf-clapped, and she rolled her eyes at him.
“Here, have something to drink. You look parched.” She handed him another beer, and although he seemed like he was going to refuse, he drank it without comment. To her surprise, he drank the beer in a few swallows.
“What a delicious drink,” he commented. “What is it called?”
She bit her lip. “Budlight, I think.”
Royce’s expression seemed lighter already, and Arabella wondered if he’d ever drunk a beer before. Clearly he was a bit of a “lightweight,” as the Americans would say, since his shoulders relaxed after drinking the alcoholic beverage.
Halftime began, and many of the fans got up to stretch their legs and use the restrooms. “I’d like to purchase some souvenirs,” she said as she stood up as well. “And perhaps purchase more drinks?”
She and Royce followed the crowd, finally arriving at a kiosk with a bored attendant. Arabella glanced at the blue Bootleggers items—t-shirts and bobbleheads and trading cards and water bottles—wondering if she and Royce could carry one of everything back to the limo. She picked up a t-shirt with a glittery BOOTLEGGERS on the front, holding it up to her chest.
“That’s a good color on you,” a voice said. “Brings out the blue in your face paint.”
She looked up at a tall man who had the bill of his baseball cap pulled down low. When he thumbed up the bill of the cap, giving her a good look at his features, she gasped.
It was Kyle Young, a grin on his handsome face.
Even dressed in street clothes, he seemed unnaturally large. Arabella was sure she could see the delineation of his abdominal muscles through his button-down shirt. He exuded masculinity, from his strong jaw to his muscular legs.
His appearance was so unexpected that her normal, princess-like reserve vanished. “You’re—why are you here?” she blurted.
He grinned wider, pointing to a stand behind him. “Was gonna get som
e nachos. I like making them myself. They never give me enough jalapenos if I ask an assistant to get ‘em. Plus, I’m tired of eating carrot sticks down below.” He looked at the shirt she was still holding. “You gonna buy that?”
She nodded slowly then shook her head before putting the shirt back. She then looked at Royce, who was frowning so deeply she was afraid he was going to toss Young away from her.
“Royce, this is Kyle Young. The first-string quarterback I was telling you about.”
“A pleasure, sir,” Royce said, shaking Kyle’s hand.
“Likewise,” Kyle said before turning back to her.
“Royce, will you get some more drinks? Please?”
Her bodyguard hesitated and she widened her eyes at him, silently communicating that she was giving him a royal command even if it had sounded like a request.
“I will return shortly,” he finally said, though she could tell he wasn’t pleased.
Young watched as Royce walked a short distance away to the food concession stand, though he continued to watch both of them with an eagle eye. “Who is that? Your bodyguard?”
Arabella froze. Then she saw his smile and realized he was joking. “My brother,” she replied. “He’s not particularly fond of football games.”
“And you? Are you ‘particularly fond of football games?’” As if answering his own question, he lightly swiped her cheek with his finger and held it up. It was tinged with blue paint.
Inwardly, she winced. Not exactly how she’d prefer to meet a handsome man for the first time, but he didn’t seem put off, which just made her like him even more. “I love football,” she responded. “I recognized you, after all.”
“That’s right. You did. But that doesn’t necessarily mean you like football. I mean—um—”
She blinked. “You think I’m more interested in hooking up with football players than the game? Because I’m not. I’ve watched the Bootleggers play since before you joined the team.”
His eyebrows rose. “Really? You aren’t American, though. Where are you from, England?”
Her accent tended toward a proper British tinge, but at the moment, she wished she could speak “American” like a regular girl in New York. “I’m not from England, but Salasia. It’s a small principality in Europe.”
“I know where it is.” At her raised eyebrows, he laughed. “You thought a dumb football player wouldn’t have heard of it, huh?”
She blushed a little. She had assumed that, but only because most people outside of Europe didn’t know Salasia existed.
“Don’t feel bad, Duchess. You’re too pretty to look sad.”
“I’m not merely pretty, Mr. Young.” She wanted to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Not only was she speaking with Kyle Young, he’d called her pretty!
“Call me Kyle.”
“Kyle,” she said, testing out the name. Her heart fluttered at the sound. “But as I was saying—I’m not just a pretty face. I’ve studied the Bootleggers’ defense and offense. I know you’re one of the top five players in line for NFL MVP. However, you have a tendency to throw long when there’s little time left in a game.”
His eyebrows rose at her recitation. Then he stepped closer, and her heart pounded. “Duchess, I have to say I love hearing you talk football,” he murmured. “But you haven’t told me your name yet.”
She froze. Should she tell him who she was? But people always treated her differently when she revealed her royal lineage. So instead, she replied, “I’m Bella.”
“Bella. That’s a pretty name. A pretty name for a beautiful woman.”
She could hardly believe what was happening—Kyle Young, star quarterback of the Bootleggers—was flirting with her. She had had her share of suitors, but men didn’t flirt with princesses. They courted them, and they treated them like porcelain dolls. She’d dated so little that she’d only slept with a man once, and it had been so lackluster she’d been afraid something had been wrong with her.
But at Kyle’s nearness, and as her breathing increased and she felt her body tingle all over, she knew she wasn’t broken. She wanted to flirt with him; she wanted to touch him, she wanted him to touch her. And she wanted to cry because chances were none of that was ever going to happen.
“There you are.” A woman with blunt bangs and glasses came walking up, and Arabella jumped away. “You need to get back downstairs.”
Kyle glanced at the woman, then back at Arabella. Once more, he leaned forward, this time to whisper in her ear. “You made me miss my nachos, Duchess. That means you owe me. Meet me after the game in room 586 down the hallway across from the ice cream cart.”
Her eyes widened and though she opened her mouth to respond, he’d rendered her speechless.
With a final wink, he followed the woman and disappeared.
She was still standing there stunned when Royce returned, bearing more beer, his face flushed. “I drank another one of these,” he said, his voice slightly slurred, “and I have to admit, they are delightful. Do you think we can buy them in Salasia?”
“Um, I don’t know, but we’ll certainly have to check.” Arabella led him back to the stands, where she plied him with more beer even as she felt guilty for doing so. But he never left her alone, she reasoned. She was always followed. Always watched.
That had to change, if even for a short time.
She’d wanted an adventure. She’d just never imagined she’d have the chance to experience such a big one.
Meet me in room 586.
Should she dare? What did Kyle want? Did he want to kiss her? Sleep with her?
And if it turned out he wanted both those things, what was she going to do?
2
“So how do you feel about Murphy scoring those three touchdowns?” the reporter asked, shoving her microphone in Kyle’s face.
“I feel great,” he replied. “Why wouldn’t I? Murphy’s an outstanding quarterback.”
After returning to the sidelines after halftime, Kyle had helped coach Murphy and the other Bootleggers to victory, with the final score being 23 to 15. But despite the victory and the thrill of the win, Kyle had been distracted.
He couldn’t get Bella out of his head. Even her blue face paint hadn’t been able to disguise how pretty she was. Not only that, but her accent had somehow been the most seductive sound he’d ever heard. He’d never been much for snooty, proper accents, but the way she’d sounded discussing football in such a formal sounding voice? All he’d been able to think about was how she’d sound when his dick was inside her and she was calling out his name, begging him to fuck her harder.
What had really set Bella apart, though, was how she’d talked to him like he was a normal guy, not all-star quarterback Kyle Young. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d met a woman who hadn’t fawned all over him. Not only had Bella not fawned, she’d made it clear she was a fan of the team, not necessarily him. Just like that, he’d been hooked, and he could only hope he’d managed to capture her attention as well.
When he’d first spoken to Bella, he’d only intended to flirt with her before quickly heading back down to the locker rooms. But the minute she’d looked up at him—her pale green eyes framed by her ridiculous blue face paint—and opened her mouth, he’d wanted to know more about her. He’d wanted to know how she tasted. How she felt. He’d even wanted to learn more about how much she knew about football. So when Brandy had interrupted them, he’d asked her to meet him later in the room that his former teammate Omar Perkins had told him about just after Omar had met his wife. Now, Kyle was anxious to head over and see whether Bella was indeed waiting for him. After wrapping things up with the press, he caught the stairs and jogged up to the level where room 586 was located.
He glanced around, noting that there were a few fans still lingering. He quickly made his way to the room and breathed a sigh of relief when he found the door unlocked. Stepping inside, he saw that it was being remodeled, the carpet rolled up and only a couch shoved
off to the side. But no Bella in sight.
After several minutes, he assumed she’d decided against seeing him again, and he was surprised by the intense disappointment that washed through him. He’d barely spoken to the woman—hadn’t even seen her out of her face paint—and yet she seemed to have this huge hold on him. Maybe it was better that she hadn’t shown. Maybe…
The door suddenly opened. He watched as Bella stepped inside. She’d washed off the face paint, exposing delicate features and creamy skin. She bit her lip as she looked at him. That small movement, with her teeth against her red bottom lip, sent a surge of lust straight to his groin.
“Lock the door,” he said. “So we won’t be disturbed.”
Her eyes widened, but after only a brief hesitation, she did as he said.
She seemed nervous, he realized. She was messing with her hair, and she couldn’t seem to figure out what she wanted to do with her hands. Kyle found this so charming that he had to restrain himself from kissing her right then and there.
“How did you like the game?” he asked, leading her over to the couch, where they both sat down. “Any plays you liked?”
She blinked at him. “Did you really invite me here to talk about football?”
He barked out a laugh, loving how she didn’t play games. On the other hand, she still seemed tense, and he wanted her to relax. Enjoy this time with him. “We could talk about how insanely attractive you think I am, if you prefer.”
She pursed her lips. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Why not? You don’t find me attractive?” He knew she did. He could see it in her eyes. In her blush. In the way she stared at his mouth and seemed determined to not let her gaze wander below his neck.
“I didn’t say that. I just wouldn’t want your head to get any bigger than it clearly already is.” But she smiled, her white teeth gleaming in the light.
He couldn’t help himself. He put his hand on her knee, leaning closer to her. She didn’t move away—thank God—but her eyes widened, making him pause. Was she really surprised he was attracted to her? Or just inexperienced?
