All In: Playing to Win (Gambling With Love Book 5)

by Hart, Lane

  "I-I don't have a pen," I say, still surprised by his attention.

  "Don't worry. I'm arrogant enough to keep one on me," he says, then one magically appears in his hand.

  After uncapping the permanent black marker with his teeth, he poises his hand over my stomach to write. His hand is almost too close for comfort to where my breasts would be if I had any hidden underneath my padded bra. Before I can panic, he's thankfully done. I pull the shirt out to read it. He wrote, "My Lucky Charm," in the white number one and then signed his name in the four.

  "So, can I see you tonight?" he asks as he signs and then palms the football he'd gifted me with during the game.

  This is it, time to put an end to what can never be if I want to come out of this in one piece. If it's the right thing to do, then why does it hurt so much? I nevertheless push through the ache and say what needs to be said. "Yesterday was our fourth date," I remind him.

  "I know, but I thought you said we could renegotiate," he says with a smile.

  I have to lower my eyes because I can't bear to look at him or I’ll chicken out. "Zack, I had a lot of fun on our dates, but from now on...I don't want to lead you on. I can't offer anything more, but I really do hope we can still be friends." The pain in my chest is agonizing, especially when I look up and see what looks like genuine hurt cross his gorgeous face. Just as quickly the hurt is replaced with anger.

  "Friends?" he asks tersely with a clenched jaw. "You wanted to be a helluva lot more than friends when we were fucking Friday night and you were getting off yesterday morning."

  I glance around to see if anyone else heard his comment, but other than my three friends standing a foot away from us, I think the remark goes unnoticed by the other fans.

  "I'm sorry," I say as I search for an excuse other than wanting him so bad I can't stand to be around him. "I'd had one too many drinks-"

  "Bullshit, Natalie! You weren't drunk Friday and you didn't have anything to drink yesterday, so don't even try to use that fucking excuse," he snaps as he sits my feet down and then stands up, seeming to tower over me more than usual in his shoulder pads.

  "I…I don't know what else to say," I tell him, and for a few seconds he searches my eyes like he's looking for answers.

  "I saw the photo," he snaps caustically. "You know, the big canvas one of us in the center of your wall? I'm gonna take a wild guess and say that it's been there longer than we've been seeing each other. So then, what's your problem, Natalie? After all this time did the real thing just not live up to the fantasy?" A slap in the face wouldn't have stung as much as his words.

  Zack had barely been in my apartment those two or three times, so when did he see the picture of us? The sudden vulnerability caused by him knowing that I've been pining away for him for four years makes me instantly defensive. If I want to end things, there’s definitely one way to do it. All it will take is just three little words to ensure that I never see the man in front of me again.

  "No, it didn't," I finally answer his question. My throat burns with the threat of tears when he flinches at my hurtful and untrue words. Being with him is even better than the fantasy.

  "At least now you know. But a deal’s a deal so I guess I'll see you at the photoshoot," he mutters.

  In the blink of an eye Zack hurdles back over the stadium wall and walks across the field, out of my life. Thankfully he never once looked back or he might’ve seen the tears running down my cheeks.

  ...

  Zack

  After the game, I stupidly let Jake and a few other teammates convince me to go out with them to celebrate our first win of the season. Hell, I needed something to take my mind off of Natalie's brutal insult. I still can't believe I’ve been rejected.

  Again.

  First Lacy dumps me and moves on like our year together meant nothing at all to her, and now Natalie just wants to be friends. How the fuck can I be her friend when I can't resist putting my hands on her. Not to mention the fact that my ego refuses to be reduced to chasing after a woman that's made it clear she doesn’t want me. And thinks I'm a shitty lover.

  But that right there is the confusing part I can't figure out. I know Natalie wants me, at least physically. Last night I hadn't imagined her desperation to fuck or the orgasms she had all the times we were together. Something had made her go from hot and ready to suddenly shutting down. Did I do something or say something that pissed her off? I played the whole damn thing over and over in my mind trying to figure it out.

  "I am so fucking horny I'd probably come in my pants if a woman looks at my zipper," Jake complains from beside me at the bar.

  "Mm-hm." I nod my agreement, my mind still on Natalie. "That’s too damn bad unless you want to flip burgers for a living just for a little pussy. Although, I'd almost bet it'll be a lot harder for you to get said pussy when you're not making millions a year."

  "Damn Jerry!" Jake curses. "And Addison is so fucking frosty it'd take a blowtorch to unthaw that bitch. I'm paying her a hundred grand to pretend to be my girlfriend, and the woman won't go near my dick with a ten foot pole. I actually had to sneak over here so she wouldn’t find out."

  "Addison? Where'd you find her?" I ask.

  "She's Satan's fucking daughter," he mutters.

  I belly laugh so hard I almost fall off my stool. I'd shared with Jake my nickname for our new attorney, Devon James, hired by Jerry after he fired our own attorneys for us, and he'd taken to using the moniker “Satan” too. The fact that Jake was now stuck with Satan's frigid bitch daughter for the next several weeks while he's forbidden from fucking any other women was comical.

  "It's not funny. My dick might fall off before I get someone to suck it or ride it again. What about you? You look pretty damn grumpy to be getting any ass from that sexy, little blonde you hired."

  I really don't like hearing Jake call Natalie sexy, even if she is, and I'm not going to correct his wrong assumption that I've paid her. He didn't need to know I've started having feelings for her of all damn things.

  "So are you fucking her or not, because either way you know I'd really like to hit that."

  "I'm Zack motherfucking Bradford, of course I'm fucking her. And no, I'm not going to share."

  Just the idea of him laying a finger on her has my blood pressure rising.

  "You were going to let me fuck Lacy, so why can't I bang this chick with you?"

  "She's not a fucking slut and I'm not going to turn her into one just because you're horny."

  "Shit, you don't have to be a bastard about it. I'm just trying to get a little relief. You know my game's off whenever I go too long without blowing my load," he whines.

  "Use your hand," I tell him, trying to calm myself down from the rage caused by just the mention of him with Natalie. But hell, I knew what he was referring to. Without getting a few releases during the week I feel all angry and tense during games. Looks like I'll be putting my hand to use, too. I know I could try pursuing Natalie, but I've been there, done that. I have a little dignity left and I'm not going to beg her to see me.

  "This fucking sucks," Jake complains. I concur.

  Not only am I pissed that Natalie’s blown me off, but without any new publicity of the two of us, I'm screwed. Not knowing what else to do, I'll just have to lay low and hope for the best. Maybe I can try again to convince Lacy to pretend we're back together. Yeah I'm sure her and her new man will go for that.

  …

  Natalie

  "How are you doing, Nat?" Rachel asks when she interrupts my moping Monday afternoon.

  "I'm great," I reply with as much peppiness as I can muster.

  "Liar, but that's okay. I'm still going to give you this uplifting Oreo shake," she says, sitting the tall cup with a plastic spoon sticking out on top of my desk. Right next to the football signed by Zack Bradford after his touchdown. I've entered it into the auction but can't part with it just yet.

  "Thanks," I tell her.

  "You want to talk about it?" she asks, taki
ng the seat in front of my desk. The same one that a super sexy quarterback just occupied a few days ago.

  I sigh, needing someone to talk to.

  "I miss him," I admit before burying my head in my folded arms. "Isn't that stupid?"

  I can't stop thinking about being wrapped in his strong arms, kissing his pouty lips, or seeing that cocky grin on his gorgeous face. After spending the whole day with him Saturday I grew even more attached to his playful personality. He made me laugh and feel carefree. With him I was truly happy for the first time in my life.

  "Of course you miss him, you'd be stupid if you didn't," Rachel replies. "Although, I have to say that you're stupid because it looked like you're the one that ended things, correct?"

  I raise my head and nod in the affirmative. "How could I let things go that far and expose myself to someone as perfect as him?"

  "Yesterday it sounded like he eluded to the idea that the two of you had already…"

  "We did," I admit, grabbing my shake and shoveling a heaping spoon full of Oreos and vanilla ice cream into my mouth.

  Rachel remains silent, waiting for me to tell her more, so eventually I do. "Friday night in his car, and then Saturday morning when he came to pick me up."

  "Come on, you know you've got to give me more than that, you little hussy."

  "Fine,” I grumble. “Friday night I straddled him in the front seat of his car. And you know how I told you that Wednesday night he'd figured out I was the cheerleader he kissed in college?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "So yeah, he asked if I still had my uniform. Saturday morning I opened the door wearing it and he quickly found out that I wasn't wearing anything underneath my skirt."

  "So you had sex with Zack Bradford, not once but twice, and you didn't get to see him naked on either occasion?"

  I nod and spoon another mouthful of cookie shake into my mouth.

  "I amend my earlier statement. You're not stupid, you're a fucking idiot."

  I suck in a breath and nearly choke on my ice cream after her rarely heard curse. "Rachel!"

  "Natalie, I know you're insecure about the surgical scars, but at some point you're going to have to expose yourself to a man. Unless you plan on getting reconstruction surgery? Or a few cats? Take up knitting, maybe?"

  "I know that, but whoever that man is, he's definitely not going to be the Sexiest Man Alive," I reply.

  "Why not?" she asks.

  "I can't take his…rejection, or worse…him being revolted."

  "Nat, maybe you're underestimating him. You could just tell him in advance, and see how he reacts. He may surprise you."

  I shake my head in disagreement. There is absolutely no way I can expose myself to him that way. Look what happened when he found out about the photo of us I have hanging on my wall. Baring my scars, makes me a hundred times more vulnerable that the picture, and he sure as hell didn't waste any time throwing that back in my face to hurt me.

  "But you miss him?"

  I nod.

  "Why don't you call him? Try dating him a little longer?" she asks

  "I'm not calling him, and he hasn't called me, so we're done. I'm sure he's already moved on." That thought makes my scarred chest feel like it's being crushed.

  "You'll see him at the photoshoot in a few weeks, right?"

  "Ugh. Unfortunately."

  "Maybe you'll be ready to give in by then."

  It would be nice to see him again. Without a shirt…Shit, no it wouldn't. It'll only make it worse. "I'm sending you in my place," I tell Rachel.

  "Yes! I will gladly help photograph half-naked football players."

  "I need a hobby, something to keep me busy and my mind off of him."

  "Me, too. That son of a bitch Cain Brooks still hasn't called or texted me. I know! How about we head to the gym tonight and burn off the calories from these shakes with Zumba! They'll be tons of hot guys there, too..."

  "Okay, I could use some exercise," I agree. Famous. Last. Words.

  ...

  "I'm going to kill you…for making me…do this," I warn Rachel as sweat pours down my face and my thighs burn from overuse now, or underuse every other day. I don't know, they just hurt.

  "You'll feel so much better afterwards, though," she replies cheerfully. I want to slap her.

  "All right, ladies. One more time from the beginning!" the peppy instructor says, and I want to choke that bitch.

  Somehow I make it through and insist Rachel and I reward ourselves with a dip in the gym's hot tub before showering and leaving. On the way out the door I get blindsided by my best friend.

  "Dr. Andrews!" Rachel exclaims when we step outside and pass a young, brown-haired man. "How are you?" she asks.

  The man looks too young to be a doctor, that’s for sure. And the way she hugs him makes me think she's flirting with him. Then the tables turned.

  "Oh, sorry. Let me introduce you two. Dr. Andrews, this is my best friend Natalie Adair. Natalie, this is my friend from high school and now my optometrist, Dr. Andrews."

  The nice, conservative looking man holds out his hand for me to shake. "Nice to meet you Natalie," he says, bright blue eyes sparkling with a wide, perfect smile on his face. Not the least bit cocky like another man's smile I know.

  "You too," I reply politely.

  "If I remember correctly, you're a Wildcats fan, right, Doctor?" Rachel asks, and the first of the warning bells start going off.

  "Rachel, I've told you before, please just call me Blake. And yes, of course I'm a Wildcats fan. I live in Charlotte, right?"

  Blake is a cute name for a cute guy. He's buff, evidence that unlike me, today is not his first time at the gym in months. He's probably about six feet tall, and is dressed in black nylon shorts and an Avengers t-shirt. He's pretty adorable but nowhere near as sizzling hot as another man I recently met…Damn it! I have got to stop thinking about him.

  "Well, something came up and I can't make the game Sunday with Natalie. You wouldn't want to go in my place would you?" Rachel, the manipulator, asks, making my jaw drop. She could've warned me, or better yet, asked me first.

  "Are you kidding? That would be awesome!" Blake exclaims.

  "Great!" Rachel carries on the conversation like my eyes aren't shooting daggers at her at the moment. "Natalie is a breast cancer survivor and she's been selected for the special halftime program for breast cancer awareness month."

  My face catches on fire as the man turns to me and his eyebrows shoot to the sky. That's it. I'm going to have to kick my friend's ass.

  "Wow. That's incredible, Natalie," the good doctor replies. "You're so young, and… I can't even imagine how difficult that must’ve been for you. Glad you were able to beat it."

  I look at Rachel and the evil woman actually winks at me after throwing me under the bus with a man I don't know. To top it off, I look like shit standing here with no makeup on and my wet hair in a ponytail after my shower. What a great first impression I must be making.

  "Thanks," I finally reply, unable to form any words, other than threats on my best friend's life.

  "Maybe we should all exchange numbers, so we can coordinate for Sunday," the traitor suggests, practically bouncing up and down in place on the sidewalk.

  "Sure, of course," Blake agrees, pulling out his cell phone.

  And so it begins, the most embarrassing ambush of all time.

  Chapter Ten

  Zack

  I can't believe I'm actually here. After debating it all week, and talking myself out of it multiple times, it's Friday night and I'm now sitting in the parking lot outside of Natalie's apartment. My hesitation to get out of the car turns out to save my ego and what's left of my dignity.

  Night is just setting in, but even with the darkness I can clearly make out Natalie coming down the stairs with another fucking man. It feels like I've been kicked in the nuts and the gut at the same time.

  I watch as they approach an SUV of some sort. When he opens the passenger door and holds it for her
, I go from pissed to an angry maniac.

  Friends my ass! He sure as hell doesn't look like just her "friend." She blew me off for someone else? What the fuck?

  This is maybe the worst moment of my life, well, other than Jerry's meeting. It's even worse than finding Lacy with another guy at the club. At least I'd given Lacy a reason to hate me and leave me. I'd gone out of my way to try and impress Natalie, the only damn woman I've ever tried to impress, and she couldn't care less!

  I need to fight or fuck. Hit someone or get off.

  Goddamn Jerry! If it wasn't for him I never would've asked out the stubborn woman I'm currently a mess over. Now I'm shit out of luck, unable to find a woman to screw on the off chance it'd get back to Satan. Fucking Satan! I hate that bastard, too. Then an evil idea suddenly comes to me.

  I crank the car and head for the highway, deciding to pay a visit to my buddy Jake. My decision firms up as I drive, and I'm relieved to find his car is in the driveway outside of his house. Next to his vehicle is a girly looking red convertible.

  Perfect.

  I ring the doorbell and wait, listening to the yelling on the other side. I can't exactly tell what's being said, just that it's definitely antagonistic.

  "What's up?" Jake asks when he pulls the door open, gripping it like he’s mad enough to yank it off the hinges.

  "Not a damn thing. You busy?" I ask.

  "Fuck no. Unless you consider getting yelled out by a batshit crazy cunt about changing the roll of toilet paper busy," he yells, I assume for the woman, Addison, to hear him. Here's hoping she's a Zack Bradford fan.

  "I heard that, you asshole!" comes bellowing from within the house.

  Jake sighs and holds the door open. "Come in and meet the bitch. She's so fucking sweet it hurts," he says sarcastically.

  I walk through the foyer into the living room expecting to find Satan's slimy, bitchy, mini-me, not a hot ass, pin-up beauty. With her jet black hair, fair skin, and pouty red lips, she looks like a wet dream from the set of a nineteen forties movie. She's even wearing a tight, curve-hugging, white dress like she just walked off a set.