GOING ALL IN
Cassandra Carr
Isabo Kelly
Stacey Agdern
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Hedging His Bet by Cassandra Carr copyright © 2013 Cassandra Carr
Casting the Die by Isabo Kelly copyright © 2013 Katrina Tipton
Playing Her Game by Stacey Agdern copyright © 2013 Stacey Agdern
Published by T&D Publishing at Smashwords. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the authors or T&D Publishing.
Contact Information:
Isabo Kelly - [email protected]
Book Cover Image of Scott Nova COPYRIGHT Regal Rebel Photography
Trademark Acknowledgments
The authors acknowledge the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Crown Royal, The Crown Royal Company
Coke, The Coca-Cola Company
NHL, National Hockey League
Elmhurst Hospital, Elmhurst Memorial Healthcare
Table of Contents
Hedging His Bet
Casting the Die
Playing Her Game
Author Biographies
Blurbs
Hedging His Bet
by Cassandra Carr
To Isabo and Stacey, who never gave up on these stories
Chapter One
“No me jodas! Don’t fuck with me today,” Annalise Alonso muttered under her breath as yet another guest stepped into her path. Cursing the fates for sticking her on this job at a Vegas Night fundraiser put on by the New York Empires hockey team, she balanced slim crystal champagne flutes on a small round tray in front of her as she wove her way around the room. This was at least her tenth trip through the crowd, and she was praying her manager George would move her to another task soon.
Her leg hurt, as it usually did when she was on her feet, but Annalise never complained. She was grateful for the work. At least she’d be able to buy groceries and maybe pay some of the electric bill with her salary from tonight. With his temper getting the best of him yet again, her younger brother Hector hadn’t been able to hold down a job lately, and her salary from Creative Catering was all they had to rely on.
Annalise heard a screech and stopped to see what was going on. A woman was just getting to her feet after having taken a tumble down the stairs, and people had stopped to watch the commotion as if it were a train wreck. Shaking her head, Annalise turned away, just as a hulk of a man rose from the dealer’s seat at one of the blackjack tables. As he knocked into the edge of the tray with his elbow, she threw her hand around the front of the glasses, but it was too late. Like beautiful dominoes they fell forward, onto her arm and all over him and then, when she jerked back, several fell toward her, soaking her white tuxedo shirt.
She watched in horror as the flutes crashed to the floor, sending champagne and tiny shards of crystal flying several feet around the two of them. The man made a desperate attempt to catch a couple of the glasses as they tumbled over, but once he had one in each hand he didn’t seem to know what else to do. His tuxedo shirt, which undoubtedly wasn’t a ten-dollar purchase from the thrift store like hers, along with his also-sodden jacket dripped the expensive bubbly steadily onto the floor.
Cursing again, Annalise grabbed a stack of beverage napkins from another waiter who’d come over to help and tried to mop some of the fizzy mess off the man. She only succeeded in making things worse though, as bits of white from the napkins clung to the wet suit coat framing his saturated shirt. Then her face flamed as her knuckles brushed his groin on one of her strokes. He looked down at her—way down, with dark eyes full of regret and embarrassment.
She dropped the wad of damp napkins on her tray. “I’m so sorry!”
“Not your fault. I wasn’t watching where I was going,” the man explained, his voice deep and rumbling.
George lumbered over, motioning to another staff member, who ran to get a mop. “We apologize, sir. Annalise was clearly not paying attention. If you send me the dry cleaning bill I will make sure you’re reimbursed for the cost.” He glared at Annalise, and she realized he’d be taking it out of her paycheck. She closed her eyes, as her hopes of actually being able to pay a bill vanished.
“Not necessary.”
“The girl caused the accident and she’ll pay for it,” George answered. And then continued so softly Annalise almost didn’t hear him, “Along with all of these broken glasses.”
The man glanced at Annalise again, and his gaze moved from her flaming red face down. Annalise’s eyes followed the movement and she realized her shirt had become transparent, along with her dollar-store white bra. Her nipples, which had hardened into points, were easily visible given her Puerto Rican coloring. She blushed harder. Forcing herself to raise her gaze, she saw that Mr. Tall, Dark and Built’s gorgeous brown eyes had transformed, his pupils blown with heat. He touched a hand to his shaved head and blew out a breath.
“Excuse me,” she said, and stepped around both of them. Fleeing to the relative safety of the kitchen area, she grabbed an apron someone had tossed on a prep table and wrapped it around her sopping wet torso. From there she ran for the bathroom, no longer caring who was cleaning up the mess or what George would say about her leaving him there to deal with the man.
Due to her heritage she definitely wasn’t anyone’s idea of thin, and her too-large breasts were just one of many banes of her existence. It was difficult at best to find bras that fit, especially with her nonexistent clothing budget, and many times she ended up with the kind of cheap, ill-fitting bra she was wearing today. Untying the apron, Annalise surveyed the damage in the mirror. Then burst into tears.
*****
Marcus Mitchell felt like he’d jumped into a pool in his tux. He wasn’t a fan of dressing up, but the team had wanted the players to wear formal attire to their annual Vegas Night. Since he hadn’t thought he’d be getting sprayed with champagne, he didn’t have other clothes on him and wondered if they’d let him go home early.
Probably not.
After assuring the asshole he assumed was the catering manager that the hot little number he’d bumped into would most definitely not be paying for his dry cleaning bill, he excused himself, heading to the men’s room to see what he could do with his clothes.
As he rounded the corner by the restrooms he spied the woman—Annalise, the manager had called her—hightailing it to the women’s room. Marcus watched as her round, curvy ass and hips swayed inside pants not made for a woman’s body. And she definitely had a woman’s body, from the top of her straight, black hair to the small feet encased in a pair of black sneakers that looked odd with the rest of the outfit. He couldn’t forget how her nipples had beaded from the cold champagne or the discernible outline of her sizeable tits as she’d unwillingly starred in her own wet t-shirt contest. His dick had hardened as soon as he’d gotten a gander at the dusky nipples, which were a few shades darker than the olive of her skin.
She was definitely of Hispanic heritage, given her coloring. At first he’d thought maybe she shared the same Native American blood he’d gotten from his mom’s family, but when he’d looked at her again it was obvious from her round, light brown eyes, full lips and button nose she wasn’t Native American. When he’d stood to his full height she’d only come up to his pecs, so he guessed she was only a little over five feet tall, but her chest was not in proportion to the rest of her, a fact he thanked God for. He loved
tits—small ones, big ones—he wasn’t picky.
He removed his jacket and then peeled off the drenched shirt. The undershirt he had on would have to do for now, but after blotting off the tuxedo jacket he decided he’d better put that back on. With all the alcohol flowing out there he didn’t need any more attention from the puck bunnies than he was already getting. Being one of the few bachelors left on the team, as well as one of the most highly-paid players, meant he got more than his fair share of feminine attention. Lately he’d found himself wishing they’d all just leave him alone. Marcus much preferred a quiet evening spent at home to the craziness that was the Manhattan club scene.
As he headed back into the banquet room, he hoped Annalise wouldn’t catch too much hell for this. It wasn’t her fault. He went directly to the bar and got a draft, downing almost a third of it in one long pull. He didn’t drink a lot, and he definitely wanted to keep control over himself, given the…quality of many of the female attendees, but he needed to calm down. Flashes of Annalise’s breasts kept playing in his mind on a loop, like some sort of personal porno, and his cock refused to listen to reason.
Marcus caught glimpses of Annalise as she continued working. It looked as if she was still wearing the now-damp tuxedo shirt. Didn’t they have spare uniforms around? A flare of something hot—jealousy or possessiveness—reared up in his chest as he thought about his teammates and the other men at the event checking out her rack.
He tried to catch her to tell her he’d take care of his tux himself. She shouldn’t be held responsible for something that wasn’t her fault. When he couldn’t get a hold of her, he then tried her manager, but the man insisted Annalise make amends. Frustrated, Marcus slunk over to the bar and got himself a cola. Then an idea popped into his head.
“Hey, buddy, do you know Annalise?”
The bartender looked up. “Yeah, sure. We work together sometimes.”
Marcus put on his best hangdog expression. “We had a collision tonight and my tux got wet. Your manager is blaming her and wanting her to pay for my dry cleaning. I told the guy it was as much my fault as hers, but he’s insisting.”
“Typical. The guy’s a total bastard, if you hadn’t noticed. I wouldn’t even bother with this job if I didn’t have student loan debt up the wazoo.”
“Yeah, I caught onto his personality pretty quickly. I just feel bad. Is there any way you’d be able to get me some contact information for Annalise so I can call her and make sure she doesn’t pay for my mistake? I’ve been trying to get her alone away from her boss tonight, but he’s always hanging around.”
The man reached for a glass and began drying it, his eyebrows drawn down. “I shouldn’t do this…”
“Come on, man. Even if I never give that guy a receipt, which I wouldn’t do in a million years, he’s gonna dock her pay. You know I’m right.”
The bartender glanced in Annalise’s direction. “Yeah, and that’s the last thing she needs.” Marcus wondered where the cryptic comment came from but said nothing, lest he spook the guy. “Okay, lemme go look it up on the clipboard in the back.”
Marcus reached a hand out. “I appreciate this, man. By the way, my name is Marcus Mitchell.”
“I know who you are.” He grinned and Marcus relaxed a little. “But swear to me you won’t hurt her. A lot of people say you’re one of the nice guys, but she doesn’t need someone who’s just looking for an excuse to go after a quick lay. If you’re just gonna dick her around then I’m not gonna help you out.”
“Seriously, I just wanna make sure she’s okay.”
The bartender assessed him for a moment before nodding. He left and Marcus turned toward the crowd. Without the buffer of the gambling tables between him and the puck bunnies it was a little harder to shake them off, but he managed. He had no interest in a one-night stand. When he’d been younger, sure. But now he was thirty-three and those days were long over.
He hadn’t been lying when he’d said his intentions toward Annalise were honorable, he just hadn’t been telling the whole truth. If he had a chance to get to know her better, he had a feeling he’d like her. Call it gut instinct, but Marcus’s gut had never done him wrong. The bartender came back, slipping him a small piece of paper. Marcus tucked it in his pocket, tipped the guy fifty bucks, and went to see what his teammates were doing.
Chapter Two
By the time she got home and was finally able to remove her prosthesis her leg was killing her. The damn thing rubbed against her all the time and hurt like hell. She wished she had one that fit better, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and she certainly wasn’t far above begging. Hector was nowhere to be found. Big surprise there. At least she’d been able to grab some leftover canapés so she’d have a meal tonight. The food was the biggest benefit of working for a caterer.
Annalise sat down on her ratty couch with the to-go box perched on a TV tray next to her and assessed the damage from the prosthesis. Angry red lines ran from the point where the prosthesis fit onto her leg to halfway up her thigh. She ran her fingers lightly over them and winced. Good thing she wasn’t working again until Tuesday—it would give her a couple of days to get the soreness and inflammation down before she had to do it all again. But she was scheduled Friday and Saturday night next weekend, and though she was looking forward to the money, she definitely wasn’t relishing the inherent aches.
When Annalise rose the next morning Hector still wasn’t around, and she sighed. She hoped he wasn’t getting into a bad crowd again. He’d been in and out of jail for the past couple of years, all for stupid stuff like trespassing and vandalism. But as she well knew, that’s how the trouble started. You did some petty stuff and before you knew it found yourself driving the getaway car in an armed robbery, like her friend Flora, who was currently serving three to five years. For about the millionth time she thanked God that her own life had taken a different turn. Poor she may be, but at least she had her morals.
Annalise was just heading to the market to buy a few groceries and pay the blasted electric bill when her phone rang. She walked to it as quickly as she was able and made it just in time to avoid the answering machine picking up.
“Hello?”
“Annalise?”
“Yes.”
“This is Marcus Mitchell—from last night.” Annalise had no idea what he was talking about, and apparently he sensed that in her silence, because he continued. “I was the guy you collided with.”
“Oh!” Her hand flew up to cover her mouth. “I’m so sorry—”
Marcus cut her off. “Don’t worry about it. Actually, that’s why I’m calling. I know that manager dude said he was going to make you pay for my dry cleaning bill and I wanted to tell you I’m not going to give him a receipt for it. So if he tries to make you pay for some phony bill, don’t do it.”
“I don’t have much of a choice,” she mumbled.
“Well, then, I’ll give you my number and you can tell me how much he docked you and I’ll reimburse you.”
“Look…”
“Don’t argue with me. I’m not letting you pay for something that wasn’t even your fault.”
“Um, well, thank you.” Annalise wasn’t used to people going out of their way to help her and couldn’t help but feel a little pathetic.
“Do you have some paper? I’ll give you my cell number.”
A cell phone. Man, what she would give to have a cell phone. Then she could actually call home and check up on Hector while she was working and he’d have a way to get a hold of her when he got in trouble. But that was a pipe dream. She was lucky she’d kept enough ahead of the phone company to keep her landline.
Reaching over to the pad she kept on the counter in a vain effort to encourage Hector to write her a note when he left the house, she wrote down the number Marcus rattled off.
“I want you to promise you’ll call me if your boss tries to cheat you. Promise me, Annalise.” His tone brooked no argument and she agreed. “Good. Now just one more thing. Can
I take you out for dinner sometime?” Annalise pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it. He wanted to go out—like on a date? She realized she’d been staring so long that Marcus was repeating “Hello?” over the phone and she quickly put it back to her ear.
“Dinner?” Annalise smacked herself on the head. She sounded like a total idiot.
“Yeah. You know, that large meal typically consumed around sundown?”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “I know what it is. I guess I’m just surprised.”
“What? You thought Neanderthals like me didn’t eat dinner?”
“I’m sure you eat dinner, I just have no idea why you’d want to eat it with me.” Annalise was wishing for a hole to open up under her, but it didn’t happen. How much less cool could she be acting right now?
“I want to take you out because you’re a beautiful girl and I’d like to get to know you better.”
“Okay, but—”
“No buts. You said okay and that’s all I heard. So when are you free?”
Annalise bit her lip. “Um, tomorrow night? Or is that too soon? I mean, I know you guys are busy—”
“Tomorrow night is perfect. Should I pick you up?”
Glancing around her crappy apartment in a sudden panic, she said, “No, no. Don’t pick me up. I’ll meet you.”
“How about we go to Butter?”
“Butter?”
“Yeah.” Marcus chuckled and the rich sound echoed over the phone. “It’s a cool restaurant in Manhattan. Very ‘in’ right now.”
“Okay, I can do that…”
Going All In Page 1
