Exploring the Rules: An Enemies-to-Lovers Sports Romance Standalone

by Mariah Dietz

  “He had to fire someone. Maybe she’s the replacement,” Cooper says.

  “He kisses all his employees?” Nessie asks.

  “Is it our place to judge?” Cooper asks. “We got a couple more hours to hang out and have some good food. It hardly seems fair we’re going to be pissed off about this when we got to stay here.” Leave it to Cooper to not only be reasonable and logical but also stick up for the manwhore.

  I scrub at the same spot on my jaw again, hating the fact the memory is stained there and burns more prominently, as she reaches for him before waving goodbye and blowing him kisses.

  “Hey,” Tyler says, crossing the rest of the distance to us. “You guys ready to go?”

  “We’ve been ready to go,” I say.

  Tyler’s blue gaze travels to me, humor shining like he knows I’m irked, which only annoys me more. “Sorry about that. I got a little carried away after meeting Opal.” He turns, waving at the woman again.

  She waves back, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something that will make me sound either jealous or snarky—neither of which I am.

  “Well, let’s get going, shall we?” He spreads his arms, walking toward the front doors of the hotel.

  Nessie rolls her eyes and shrugs, following after him.

  “Would you mind switching seats?” Cooper asks in a hushed tone.

  “No way.”

  “Come on. Please? I’ll owe you so big.”

  I shake my head. “Hard pass.”

  “Chloe,” he whines. “Come on. Do this, and I will try and get you a day at the Redwoods.”

  “Sit by Satan for a maybe? Terrible negotiating skills, Sutton.”

  He gives me an exhausted stare that plays on my emotions—a similar expression to the one Ricky bestowed on me so many times when he thought I was being difficult and uptight. “Fine. Fine. But you have to orchestrate it. I don’t want him thinking this was my idea.”

  Cooper’s brow knits, and he laughs. “Why would Tyler care?”

  It’s not intentional, but it twists that knife that got lodged in my back last night when they left me in the pool with him alone.

  I shake my head. “Never mind.”

  He wraps his arm around my shoulders and gives me a brief squeeze before hurrying to catch up with the other two.

  Our bags are already loaded into the back of the Tesla, and I don’t miss the look one of the valets shoots Tyler, likely because he was also expecting us three hours ago, and it’s led to confusion for them as well.

  Cooper walks around the car and gets into the seat behind Tyler, laughing at something Nessie said. I pull in a breath, reminding myself this leg is just shy of eight hours. I’ll finish my book, take a nap, start another book, and we’ll be there. Thank God for e-books.

  The valet opens the passenger door for me, and I square my shoulders as I slide onto the soft leather of the front seat, working to ignore Tyler, who turns to look at me. “Asked Coop for a favor?” he teases.

  “Are you ever humble?”

  “What’s that?”

  I fasten my seat belt, ignoring him as I open my book and hug myself as close to the door as possible.

  Three hours into the drive, and I’m considering potential rules for the rest of this trip, starting with I get to sit in the back seat because right now, as Cooper and Nessie sleep in the back and I reread the same page for the fourth time because Tyler keeps looking at me, I’m debating walking to Austin.

  “Why are you looking at me?” I ask, turning to face him.

  “Are you ever humble?” he returns my earlier question.

  I roll my eyes and take a deep breath through my nose to keep myself from yelling because although I’m known for having a lot of patience, Tyler manages to defy that fact and pushes me right to the brink of my sanity.

  “I’m tired,” he says. “I need you to talk to me. Keep me awake.”

  “Wake Cooper up.”

  “He’s tired.”

  I rub my fingers along my forehead. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Football?”

  I frown. “Seriously?”

  “Do you have something you’d rather talk about?”

  There are a thousand things I’d rather talk about, and considering he was naked and licking my face last night and accusing me of wanting him the night before and then kissed another girl’s lipstick off, it seems there’s a much larger issue we should be talking about—or possibly several—but I scoff and shake my head. “No. By all means, let’s discuss football.”

  “Brilliant. Do you like the game?”

  “How do you even play football? You're British. Aren’t you supposed to play soccer or cricket or something?”

  “I’m American.”

  “And British, and you grew up there.”

  “Did you Google me?”

  I sigh deeply, my attention moving to the window in an attempt to find my patience that he just successfully destroyed. “You told us. Remember?”

  He grins. “I was kidding.” He passes a slow-moving vehicle and then glances at me. “My uncle, on my mum’s side, lived with us for a while. He’s a big football fan. Taught me most of what I know.”

  I glance across the space at him, the same tattoo I’d seen when he was kissing the woman winking at me from the inside of his bicep. It’s only the edge of the tattoo, tickling my memories of last night as I work to recall what is tattood on his skin.

  “We moved to Miami when I was thirteen, and football was the quickest way to make friends. I joined a team, and I went from being the kid with the weird accent to the kid who could run really fast.”

  “Yeah, right. Even our dad swooned at your accent.”

  He looks at me briefly, and I’m pretty sure it’s the first time I’ve seen him surprised, his lips slowly fighting a smile that he quickly loses to. He moves, rubbing his hand over his bicep and sliding the sleeve up, revealing the hard planes of muscles. “Swooned, did he? You think thirteen-year-olds swoon when they hear someone they can’t understand?”

  It’s difficult for me to imagine anyone not swooning.

  I don’t tell him this, though, no need to add more wind to his sails.

  “So, my American side won out with football, but I prefer tea in the morning.”

  “I only watch football because Cooper plays.”

  “Not a fan?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. It just seems dangerous and slow and aggressive.”

  He laughs, tipping his head back slightly as he rights his sleeve and moves his hand back to the steering wheel. “You sound like my mum. She hates it. She’d prefer I played chess or water polo.”

  “Water polo is shockingly difficult. It might be the most underrated sport for difficulty.”

  He laughs.

  “I’m serious. We had to play once for PE, and it was intense. There are no fouls, and you can’t reach the bottom, and you’re supposed to swim while throwing a ball.” I shake my head. “Grossly underrated.”

  “Besides your brief water polo career, did you play sports?”

  “Very brief,” I point out. “I played soccer.”

  He nods. “I can see that. But not in college?”

  I shake my head. “Nope.”

  “More time to study?”

  I glance at him again. “Kids aren’t much nicer when someone passes out in the middle of a game.”

  His blue eyes meet mine, his brow furled. “What happened?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Good thing we have five hours, and I need you to keep talking.”

  “I was born with a hole in my heart, and we didn’t know about it. Atrial septal defect.”

  “Fucking hell,” he says, sympathy cutting his mouth into a frown that I itch to erase.

  “It’s fine. Totally fine,” I tell him. “They fixed it. I just stopped playing because it was hard for others to forget that moment. I was no longer Chloe. I was Chloe, the girl who passed out
and had to have emergency heart surgery. Everyone looked at me like I was about to keel over again and wouldn’t pass me the ball, and the coach wouldn’t make me run—”

  “Sounds totally fine,” he says, his gaze dropping to my neckline, likely looking for a scar.

  “I had a cardiac catheterization, so they were able to go in through a small incision on my leg.” I trace the tiny scar through my shorts. “But, seriously, it’s all better. They fixed it, and now I see a cardiologist every couple of years, and they tell me everything’s normal.” I rush to add the words, regretting having told him because though I’m technically better, the memory still makes me feel weak.

  He looks at me again but doesn’t say anything.

  “My vagina is also pierced.”

  His eyes open wide with shock, and the car weaves.

  “Kidding. Kidding. Completely kidding,” I say, shaking with laughter. “You were just way too serious, and I could tell you were starting to regret acting like a total asshat for the wrong reasons, so I needed to get your attention for a second.”

  Tyler shakes his head. “But it’s a big deal. Does Vanessa have it also?”

  “What, a clit ring?” I burst out laughing again, proud of myself for letting go and living in the moment.

  Tyler still isn’t amused.

  I shake my head. “Thankfully, no, her heart is hole-free. And it could have been a big deal, but I was lucky. I didn’t have a very large hole, and they were able to repair it easily. I spent one night in the hospital and two weeks at home and was given a clean bill of health. Not many can say that about a heart condition, so I prefer not to tell people about it so they don’t react the way you are.”

  “It doesn’t still impact your life?”

  I shake my head. “Not even a little. I can exercise, run, jump, go on haunted ghost tours…”

  He smiles. “You did that as an excuse to touch me, didn’t you?”

  I roll my eyes. “You have me all figured out.”

  “So, you’re saying you thought last night was hot?”

  “Not even a little.” I subconsciously wipe that same spot on my jaw again, my thoughts traveling to what Cooper had said. “Coop mentioned you had to fire someone last night.”

  His lips toy with a smirk. “It wasn’t nearly as satisfying as I’d hoped.”

  “It wasn’t Miles, was it?”

  I count the second time I’ve seen Tyler Banks surprised as he looks at me. “Miles? Miles the chauffeur?”

  “Pretty sure he’s more than a chauffeur, but yes.”

  “You’re more observant than I realized.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You realized I didn’t like that you knew his name, didn’t you?”

  This time, it’s my turn to be surprised. “Why would you care?”

  He stares at me a moment too long, considering he’s driving. “I didn’t fire Miles. I gave him a raise and an extra week of vacation.”

  My surprise quickly becomes shock. “You did?”

  “He took the time to know your name and remember it. Went and got you within seconds of my calling and delivered you safely. Then took the time to listen to you and offer suggestions for a ghost tour. He deserved it.”

  Certainly, it’s not meant to be personal, but it just sounds and feels incredibly personal when he keeps putting it in reference to me and staring at me like he is—like he wants to lean across the center console and demand I ask him to kiss me again.

  I don’t want that, I remind myself, adding the memory of him kissing that woman just hours before to finalize that realization and recalling dozens of other memories of him kissing girls that has my upper body shifting back closer to the door and farther from a very bad idea.

  11

  Tyler

  I sit in the swivel chair at the end of the conference table, a mess of spreadsheets in front of me as well as three laptops, nothing on them reflecting anything that makes sense.

  I scrub a hand over my face and stand, my muscles constricted and restless. Our next hotel isn’t until Santa Fe which, when we started to plot this trip, didn’t seem like that big of a feat, but after all of yesterday being spent in the car and still fighting to get the information I’d requested, that eleven hours to New Mexico is feeling like a life sentence.

  “Mr. Banks,” Anika answers on the second ring.

  “Anika, I need a hotel reservation for somewhere between Austin and Santa Fe. Four rooms, please.”

  “For tonight, I presume?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Your options are limited.”

  Tell me about it. “We’ll make it work.”

  “There’s a small city called Odessa, Texas. It’s going to be about five and a half hours from where you are.”

  I rub my eyes with my thumb and forefinger, wondering how the others will take this news. “Okay. Yeah. That works.”

  “I’ll email you a reservation. Anything else?”

  “N… Yes. Atrial septal defects. It’s a heart condition, a hole in the atrial septum. I want to speak with a specialist to ask some questions.” I read about the condition in detail last night, yet, I still want some assurance from a specialist.

  “When would you like me to set it up?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  “I’ll make an appointment for after you meet with Santa Fe.”

  “Thank you.”

  She hangs up, and I roll my shoulders before heading for the door, looking for Sid, the general manager here who has the attention span of a toddler.

  “Sid, where are the expenditures for the past three years?”

  “Aren’t those in there?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “Let me go find them.”

  He starts to turn. “I also need the variable expenses to calculate the contribution margin as well,” I tell him.

  As I open the conference room door, my phone rings. “Your ears burning?” I ask my Uncle Kip.

  He laughs. “What are you doing, kid?”

  “Currently, just trying not to gouge my eyes out from boredom.”

  He clicks his tongue with disapproval. “I taught you better than that. You know what I’ll tell you: find a hottie or a football.”

  I lean back in my chair, laughing at the sentiment he’s instilled in me for as long as I can remember. “Been there, done that.”

  “Rinse and repeat, kid. Rinse and repeat.”

  “I’m on a business trip.”

  “How in the hell did you get roped into that? Was it your mom? Need me to put in a good word for you? I can call her and remind her about that time she ran off to Colorado after graduation before she met your dad.”

  I cringe, not wanting to think about the implications of that story. “No. My choice.”

  “Your choice?”

  “I’m trying to show initiative.”

  “I’m sorry, I think I dialed the wrong number. I’m looking for my nephew. He’s a good-looking fucker, who’s been all over college sports news because of his new role with Brighton as a starting running back. They’re talking about how he’s going to change things up with his speed. They’re calling him The Flash.”

  “That was spring league,” I tell him. “It hardly counts.”

  “Oh, trust me. It counts. I’ve seen your mug on the TV a dozen times this week. Go put this on in whatever fucking hotel you’re in. Plaster it all over the lobby and in every guest room. You’ll have chicks lining up to suck you like a goddamn lollipop.”

  “Choke on me, you mean.”

  He cackles. “Better yet, tell me where you are. I’ll send the party to you.”

  “Can’t. I’m about to leave. We’re doing a road trip across the country.”

  “We?”

  “One of my teammates and a couple of friends.”

  “Ah, so you brought a mobile party.”

  Sid returns, opening the conference room door, holding a file and another laptop.

&nbs
p; “Sorry, Uncle Kip, but I’ve got to cut it short. I’ll give you a call when I hit Seattle.”

  “All right, kid. I’ll smell you later.”

  I hang up and turn my attention to Sid and the mess he’s trying to hand off to me, wrestling with facts and stats that all seem tangled in a web that appears to be growing larger and larger with every question.

  “Sid, let’s be frank here. Your budget isn’t adding up. You have dozens of expenses that don’t make sense. A pool renovation, new company cars, a fucking water feature that isn’t here. And apparently, the laptop to employee ratio is three to one. You’re bleeding money.”

  He blanches. “People don’t want luxury anymore.”

  I stare at him, waiting for him to continue. Several moments pass, and he drops my stare, a red stain creeping up his neck and reaching his face. At least he has some sense.

  “Explain.”

  “People want more privacy. They don’t want the traditional turndown service because they don’t want people in their space. And they don’t need the best concierge in town telling them where to find the best drink or steak in Austin because now they have Google.”

  “It’s not just turndown service and a good concierge,” I argue.

  “It’s not?” He raises his eyebrows. “Our cheapest room is three hundred and fifty dollars a night before tax, and people are starting to care less about the exclusivity perks and are choosing someplace more affordable with free breakfast and a warm cookie when you check in.”

  “Bullshit. People don’t care about a free breakfast or cookies. They care about image, which is why you see people stopping to post pictures to their social media account every damn second, and why every teenager has a thousand-dollar cell phone.”

  “But people want luxury on a budget.”

  “Three hundred and fifty dollars a night is a budget,” I tell him.

  He shakes his head. “Not anymore.”

  I stand up, ready to flip the table. Not because this location means anything—we could easily close it, cauterize the bleed and be no worse for the wear. No, this irritation stems from his complete lack of desire for this place to remain open. If he, as the general manager, has so little regard, I can’t expect more from his staff.