“All right, that’s enough!” Amanda barked, slamming her mug down. Tina stared at her, wide-eyed, and Jackie finally gave Amanda her full attention. “Maybe I’m getting too involved with Scott. But that’s my problem, my business, and as much as I love you, I’m getting tired of being treated like your letter of the week at the advice column.”
Jackie looked genuinely wounded. “I was just…”
“Trying to help. I know.” Amanda forced her voice to lower. “I know I’m still not happy. And that scares me. But trust me, I’m doing the best I can. Maybe I’ll do something food related again, I don’t know. I know I need to do something. Something besides having wild monkey sex with Scott,” she said, causing Tina to grin. “But I don’t know what. And until then…”
Tina stood next to her, nudging her with her hip. “Until then—monkey away, crazy girl. Sorry, I shouldn’t have come on so strong. It’s just, I’ve been where you are. Nobody wants to see a friend being used.”
Used. Was that what Scott was doing?
Or, really, was that what she was doing?
Jackie nodded. “I’m glad you pushed back on me. I know I come on too hard. But you need to draw boundaries with him, too. Otherwise… Well, I’ll be here to pick up the pieces when he lets you down, but I swear I’m going to slash his tires and God help him if I run into him in a dark alley.”
Amanda smiled. “Point taken. If it comes to it, I imagine a very violent ‘I told you so’ in my future.”
There was a knock on the door. “Speak of the devil,” Jackie muttered darkly.
“I need to get going, anyway,” Tina said, giving her a warm hug. “Up for a little club work? Less rowdy this time, I promise. With the whole troupe.”
“I’m there,” Amanda said, and then she gave a hug to Jackie. “Thanks, guys.”
She opened the door. Scott was there, looking harried and tired, and happy to see her. Then he saw her friends and backed up a step, his smile a little hesitant. Tina smiled back. Jackie sent him a third-degree glare and walked past him, saying goodbye to Amanda only. When they’d left, he walked in, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.
“So your friends hate me, huh?”
“At least you’ve seen my friends,” Amanda said, then bit her lip. “I’m sorry. That was completely uncalled for.”
He blinked at her.
“They— My friends don’t necessarily think our fling is the healthiest thing for me,” she said, washing the dishes quickly.
He leaned against a counter, drying each dish and putting it away without error. He had been over for dinner a lot, she admitted. “What do you think? Is this… Are we unhealthy?”
She gripped the edge of the counter by the sink for a minute, closing her eyes. She was tired. The malaise, her general boredom and unhappiness with her new life of leisure had been creeping up on her. She hadn’t really brought it into focus until Jackie had commented on it tonight. She didn’t want to break up with Scott, although she might have to, sometime.
But please, not tonight.
“Maybe,” she answered honestly. “But, hey, we’ve got great sex.”
He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her neck. “That we do.”
“And not much else.”
He froze against her for a second, then continued kissing her shoulder. “I didn’t know you wanted something else.”
“I didn’t say I did,” she said, and recognized the petulant sound of her own voice. She sighed. “Do you?”
“I don’t know,” he said, and his honesty stung. “I do know that we like a lot of the same movies, the same books. We’ve got similar senses of humor.” He turned her to face him. “That’s more than sex.”
She leaned her forehead against his chest as reality struck her.
Damn it, that was why I wanted to be your girlfriend.
Because he’d be perfect for her. Her ex-husband had made sense to her on paper, but there had been no passion. Now, she had passion—and insanity.
What she really needed was some kind of happy medium, not a fling with a daredevil who didn’t want to commit, just to get into a club that she knew almost nothing about except rumors and what little she learned from Scott.
“Well, before we got all grim,” Scott said, stroking her cheek, “I did have a question to ask you.”
Not the question I want you to ask, she thought, depressingly. “Yes?”
He seemed nervous all of a sudden, and rubbed the back of his neck. She found herself unwillingly curious. “Well, I know I probably should have asked you earlier, but I was wondering…”
“Yes?” she repeated, without enthusiasm.
“Would you like to go to Spain with me?”
She blinked. “Spain?”
“You said you’d help me with my challenges,” he quipped, and his broken smile melted her, like it always did. “I’ve got this bull run to tackle.”
“I’ve always wanted to go to Europe,” she murmured. “I’ll admit, I hadn’t planned on jogging with two-ton bovines to do it, though.”
“A wild woman like you can handle it, no sweat,” he said with no tone of sarcasm. He grinned at her. Then he kissed her again, deeper, harder. “Come with me,” he whispered against her skin.
She thought about it. She had that little plane phobia thing. And the thought of running with the bulls terrified her. And she was falling in love with him—and this was only going to be more torturous when he became a Player, and all she had of him was casual sex and these senseless “adventures.”
He nudged her chin until her eyes met his. “Please.” There was genuine longing in his gaze—a real plea.
She swallowed. “Yeah. I’ll go.”
10
SCOTT WAS IRRITATED. It figured that the company would have a party when he was just finishing all his backlog. He’d just wrapped up the last report before his vacation, and he still needed to pack.
He glanced at his watch. At least the usual office parties had been scaled back from lavish sit-down dinners with rubbery chicken to uncomfortable cocktail parties with better hors d’oeuvres and a cash bar. The company had barely made quota, anyway—not exactly a huge reason to celebrate. Still, it was a nice restaurant, and there was a lot of mingling. You could see who was here to “work the room,” angling for a better job in the next reorganization, who was trying to solidify their position, and who was simply putting in an appearance out of bare courtesy.
Scott fell into the latter camp, big-time.
He glanced at his watch again. The minute hand still hadn’t moved. He could be with Amanda, eating her fantastic oven-fried chicken with mashed potatoes, looking at pictures of Spain and discussing what they’d see. And, of course, making love to her until he was practically blind and paralyzed from the sheer force of it.
So far, they’d had sex in every room of her apartment—and on almost every surface. The only place they hadn’t was the fire escape, frankly because he wasn’t quite that adventurous.
Not yet, anyway. Something about that woman seemed to bring out the worst in him…or the best, depending on how you looked at it.
“Scott,” his boss, Jake, said. “Glad to see you here.”
Scott smiled, shaking his hand. Finally. Now, he could make polite remarks and get the hell out of here.
“Saw you’d put in for vacation. Good to see you’re finally taking a break, but I don’t know if I can let you go that week. I expect we’ll be getting slammed with a lot of reports. The reorganization will probably have happened, and you know how crazy that makes everyone. So how about you shift that, say, to the following week?”
Scott shrugged. “Actually, I have to leave that week. I’ve already bought plane tickets.”
Jake blinked at him, smiling a little…until he realized Scott was serious. “Plane, huh? Where you going?”
“Spain.” He left it at that.
“Huh. Europe. Some kind of tour?”
“Something like that.” Actually, I’m
going to be chased by a couple of huge herbivores down some cobblestone streets. Better to keep that little fact to himself. It might sound cool, but it was also sort of stupid out of context.
Okay. Possibly a bit stupid in context.
“All right, fine, take the time off,” Jake said grudgingly.
“Spain? Did I hear that right?”
Jake turned to see Kayla and some strange guy next to her—probably Kayla’s new boyfriend, Scott thought. Funny, that didn’t really sting anymore. Kayla’s perfectly tweezed eyebrow went up in an aristocratic arch.
“Yup. Our boy’s going to Spain on a tour or something,” Jake replied.
Put that way, it sounded lame. Scott quickly tried to amend his boss’s statement. “I didn’t actually say…”
“I love Spain,” Kayla’s new guy said easily, as if he went there every weekend. He was tall and broad, built like a linebacker, but there was something shrewd about his face that suggested more than “dumb jock.” He studied Scott intently. “Where in Spain are you going? Madrid? Lots of good clubs there.”
“Like Scott goes clubbing,” Kayla said with a wry grin. “Come on, Matt. Let’s get going.”
“Um, not Madrid,” Scott said. “Pamplona.”
“Pamplona, huh? In July?” The guy laughed. “You’ll probably be able to see those nutcases run with the bulls. That’s about the right time.”
“You don’t say?” Scott suppressed the urge to punch the guy. With everything he’d been through in the club, he felt comfortable with the notion of mixing it up.
“Hey, if you run with the bulls, I want one of those red neckerchief things,” Jake joked, nudging Scott on the shoulder.
“I’ve got to run,” Scott said quickly. “I promised a friend I’d—”
“No, don’t rush off,” Kayla’s boyfriend—Matt?—said, as Jake excused himself and moved to the next knot of people. Kayla looked a bit surprised, as well. Why was her burly boyfriend sticking to him like lint? “Kayla’s mentioned you.”
“Well, we did used to date,” Scott said, to Kayla’s obvious discomfort. What, was the guy looking for a user rating or something? I’d give Kayla three stars as a girlfriend?
“She mentioned that you’ve been going through some changes lately,” Matt said. “Said you used to be really, you know, quiet and sort of shy, and now you seem to be keeping secrets, acting differently.”
“What is this? An intervention?” Scott asked, baffled. “Listen, I don’t even know who you are. You don’t work with us, do you?”
“I’m sorry. My name’s Matt. Matt Richardson.” He had a friendly smile, broad and harmless, the human equivalent of a puppy. “Nice to meet you. No, I don’t work with you, but I am interested in people. Anyway, she mentioned that you seemed like you were into something. She sounded concerned. I just wanted to find out what was going on.”
Kayla? Concerned about him? “Well, thanks, but I’m fine.”
Matt leaned closer, almost conspiratorial. “Kayla said your girlfriend came to the office, caused kind of a stir. And there’s been rumors about you being tired coming in—like you’ve been having some really late nights.” He paused a beat, his tone suggestive, coaxing. “Bunch of new friends, maybe.”
“I also told you I couldn’t believe it,” Kayla said sourly. “Honestly, Matt, this isn’t a story. Why are you being so pushy about this?”
Matt’s eyes glittered. “Mr. Ferrell—Scott—have you ever heard about The Player’s Club?”
Scott froze, then cleared his throat. “The what?”
“The Player’s Club,” Matt said, and his voice held a tinge of pure avarice. “It’s a group of guys in the city, very hush-hush. Rich, influential guys. They throw parties, but they also do crazy stuff. Skydiving, BASE jumping, white-water rafting.” He waited a beat. “Running with the bulls.”
“God, you’d have to be living under a rock not to know about those guys,” Kayla scoffed. “But…you don’t honestly think that Scott’s with those people, do you?”
Damn. Was this guy trying to join, or something? Or maybe he had been a member, and this was some sort of confidentiality test?
“I think that maybe he is with those guys,” Matt said, his eyes never leaving Scott’s face. “Well, Scott?”
Suddenly, something that Kayla said registered in Scott’s head.
Matt, this isn’t a story.
“You’re a reporter,” Scott said slowly.
Matt grinned. “Guilty as charged.”
“And you’re looking to write about these guys.”
Matt nodded.
“I’m telling you, there’s no way Scott’s…”
“Kayla’s right,” Scott said brusquely. “Even if there was a club like this—and I always thought they were some kind of urban legend, like the sewer alligator—I seriously doubt that they’d take someone like me. I’m pretty damned boring. Ask her.” He nodded at Kayla, who at least had the grace to look embarrassed.
“You’re lower profile—that’s what they like,” Matt protested. Now that he’d dropped the laid-back pretense, he was clearly hungry, like a shark scenting blood in the water. “At least, that’s what I hear they like. But they’ve been getting a little crazier. Rumor has it they were involved in trashing a nightclub and harassing a bunch of strippers.”
Scott frowned. That didn’t sound like Lincoln. George, he thought, annoyed. If George kept it up, they sure as hell wouldn’t be a “secret” society for long.
“They’re on the radar, and people love to read about them. If I could get a story, it’d be huge.”
“I can’t help you.”
“If you know anything, I’d make sure you stayed completely anonymous,” Matt said, his tone persuasive and as gentle as a wrecking ball. “You wouldn’t get in trouble.”
“I told you, I’m not a part of this club,” Scott said. “And I’ve got to go. My girlfriend’s expecting me.”
He started to turn and walk away. Matt took his arm, putting a business card in his hand. “If you change your mind, call me.”
Scott shrugged off the guy’s hand. A reporter. Jeez. Of all the stupid bad luck.
He headed for the door. There was a time when he’d feel thrilled that a reporter actually thought something in his life was interesting enough to write about. Man, he’d been pathetic. Now the last thing he needed was publicity. He wanted to make it into this club.
Of course, there was a chance that Amanda was only into him to get into the Club, as well. And because she thought he was one of these daredevil badasses.
Don’t they know who you really are?
He sighed. He was starting to wonder.
WHY DID I AGREE TO THIS?
It had to be two o’clock in the morning—at least, it was somewhere—though Amanda had no idea exactly where they were. It was dark outside the windows, as far as she could see. She sat in the middle seat, coach class, on a plane headed toward Madrid. She forced herself not to grip the armrests, instead trying to read the paperback romance she’d picked up at the airport. She’d read the same page, over and over, while almost everyone else was snoozing away, seats reclined as much as possible, with those little neck pillows and blankets. They looked blissfully oblivious to the fact that they were, what, forty thousand feet from the ground with nothing but air holding them up.
She forced herself to take a couple of deep breaths. This was bad. This was very, very bad.
Scott touched her arm, and she jumped. “What? What?”
He hushed her, smiling a warm, crooked smile that had her easing her choke hold on the poor, defenseless book. He took it out of her hands. “You could’ve told me you hated flying.”
“I was rather hoping I’d be drunk enough that it wouldn’t make a difference.”
“How’s that working for you?”
She tried for a smile, but got the feeling it just came out looking sickly. “Two tiny bottles of vodka, and the stewardess hasn’t been back since. Apparently it’s not quite d
oing the trick.”
Scott smiled sympathetically. “I used to hate flying, too.”
“Really?” She latched on to any sympathy she could get. “What did you do to cure yourself?”
“I tried going to classes,” he admitted in a low whisper, and she could have kissed him. Even if he were lying, which she guessed he was. “Meditation, guided visualization, you name it.”
“Then what?”
“Well, I guess I just figured that it wasn’t much worse than getting in a bus.” He shrugged. “I just sort of got over it.”
She sent him a wilting look. “That’s not really helping me, Scott.”
He smiled, then glanced around. “Looks like everybody’s asleep.”
“But us,” she grumbled.
He leaned close, his lips brushing against her earlobe, his breath tickling her ear. “You know, the key is distraction,” he murmured, scarcely audible. “You wouldn’t be afraid if you focused on something else.”
“You got any suggestions?” she shot back, with a touch of acidity.
He pressed a hot kiss against her neck, and she felt a thrill flutter in her stomach. “I’ve got a few ideas.”
“Hmm.” She turned and shivered as he nibbled her neck. “You know, you may be on to something.”
He returned to her ear. “Why don’t we try the restroom?”
“I’m fine,” she demurred, turning back to him. “Why don’t we just…”
Then she froze. Her eyes widened. He chuckled wickedly.
“Trust me,” he breathed, “in a few minutes, you won’t even know where you are.”
Good God. Couldn’t they get arrested? Or…deported, or something? And those restrooms were tiny. She couldn’t even imagine…
He reached under her blanket, his hand stroking between her thighs. She went damp.
“Okay,” she rasped. “I’ll, er, go first.”
She headed for the restroom. The flight attendants seemed congregated in the back of the plane, drinking coffee, talking in animated whispers. The first-class section was completely curtained off. Except for a random few people, everyone was asleep.
The Player's Club: Scott Page 12
