PLAYERS: The Complete Series (Springville Rockets (Sports Romance Books 1-3)

by Daphne Loveling

  “Careful, you’ll spill my coffee,” I frown, but I’m secretly pleased in spite of myself.

  “Put the cup down,” he orders, and takes it from me before I can respond. He leans me against the counter, the hard heat of his arousal pressing against me. I stifle a moan.

  “I should probably be leaving soon,” I pant. “They’ll be expecting me for lunch.”

  He pushes a hand under the tank top I threw on after my shower. I’m not wearing a bra, and he drags the pad of his thumb across my nipple, making me gasp. “Holcomb’s only an hour away,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need. “You told me so yourself.”

  I wish I had more will power where Jake is concerned. But God, he feels so good, and plus I know what he can do to my body. So my brain takes a hiatus and before I know it, he’s pulled my tank top over my head and my yoga pants are in a puddle on the floor.

  “Fuck,” he hisses as he dips first one finger, then two, into my soaking channel. “Jesus, you’re so wet for me.” He pushes down the waistband of his boxer briefs and they fall to his feet. Then he’s sliding the molten tip of his head against the slickness of my lips.

  “Jake…” I half moan, half whimper.

  “God, I love it when you’re not wearing panties,” he growls. He grabs me by the hips and turns me around, then bends me over the counter at the waist. My bare ass is exposed, and I feel so fucking horny, so ready.

  “Touch yourself,” he commands.

  I spread my legs further apart and slide my fingers over my wet, slippery lips, parting them slightly to expose my already-throbbing nub. My mouth opens voluntarily and my eyelids flutter with how good it feels, I need it so much.

  “Good,” he grunts. Behind me, he starts to slick his tip across the opening to my waiting channel. I draw in a breath and angle my ass back a little bit, wanting him to push inside me.

  I’m so turned on now that my breath is coming in hot, shallow rasps. I want to make myself come, now, I’m already so close, but I want him inside me when it happens. A desperate whimper sounds low and deep in my throat.

  Jake reaches around me, sliding a palm over one breast, and pinches one of my sensitive nipples. A jolt of pleasure rocks through me and I buck my hips toward my hand. “Don’t come,” Jake warns. “Not yet.” My fingers freeze; I want it so bad, but I do as he says and pull my hand away. The throbbing between my legs deepens, sharpens, almost painful now. I grab the counter with both hands and grip tightly as he guides his slick cock down between my lips, making me shudder, then back up to my entrance. He presses himself inside me, just the tip, and I bite my lip and whimper again, moving my hips toward him. Then he pushes inside to the hilt, filling me as my muscles clench around him.

  “Fast or slow?” he asks me.

  “Hard,” I grunt.

  “Jesus,” he groans, and slams into me. I cry out in pleasure. He withdraws and slams into me again, even harder. Instead of pulling out this time, he just grinds in, deeper, and I push back, wanting every millimeter of him inside me as deep as possible. I feel him move, the head of his cock hitting a spot that makes it feel like sparks are erupting inside me.

  Jake bends down and growls into my neck, biting me just hard enough to hurt. Then he fists one hand in my hair and grabs my hip with the other, his fingers digging into my skin. He pulls out and drives into me again, and again, and each time my pussy throbs harder. “God, Jake. Oh fuck, yes!” I cry, seconds away from coming, and he lets go of my hair and grabs my hand in his, drawing it down to my aching clit. He slides my fingers over my slick nub, his mouth inches from my ear as his hot breath burns my skin, and a white-hot flame explodes through me as I scream and hurtle over the edge. A second later, he follows me, and I can feel the jets of heat shooting deep inside me as he jerks and calls out my name.

  Panting, Jake lets go of my hand and brings his fingers to my jaw, turning my face toward his. He kisses me deeply, his tongue snaking around mine as his other arm goes around my waist, pulling me to him. He’s still inside me, and it feels like we’re joined together, almost like one pulsing, beating heart.

  Eventually, he slides out of me, then turns me around so I’m facing him, and continues to kiss me and stroke my face with the tips of his fingers.

  “You know,” he murmurs against my neck, “I could come with you to Holcomb.”

  We’re in the shower. I’m a sweaty mess after that scene in the kitchen, and besides, it’s too weird to think about going to my parents’ house smelling like Jake and sex.

  “You’d actually want to waste a Sunday hanging out with my parents and my sister?” I ask him.

  He shrugs, rivulets of water running down his muscled chest. “Why not? That way I get to spend the day with you. And you said your dad’s a Rockets fan, right? Think he’d like to meet me?”

  “I’m sure he would, but…”

  It’s true. Ever since I told my parents that Jake was volunteering with the foundation, my dad asks about him every time I talk to them on the phone. I’m sure my mom wouldn’t mind having another mouth to feed at lunch, considering she always makes enough for an army. And Kerri would completely freak out to meet the quarterback of a pro football team, especially one who looks like Jake. She’d have bragging rights with her friends for months.

  “So, what do you say?”

  His grin is so captivating I almost have to look away. I could stare at Jake for hours. And it’s only gotten worse the longer I know him.

  “I’d say you’re crazy if your idea of a fun Sunday is hanging out with someone’s parents.”

  I can’t believe I’m going to do this.

  22

  Jake

  Rinn calls her mom and tells her to set another place for lunch, and then she drives me to my place so I can change out of my tux and into something more casual. I have no idea how to dress to meet a girl’s parents, but I figure as long as I look clean I can’t screw it up too badly, so I grab a pair of dark jeans and a light green short-sleeve button down shirt and call it a day.

  At first, I suggest that we take the Camaro, but Rinn laughs and tells me the visit will feel much more low-key if we show up in her Toyota.

  “Mrs. Kramer across the street spies on everyone in the neighborhood,” she tells me. “If she sees me show up in a custom sports car with some strange guy, the entire block will be calling my parents within half an hour to find out what’s going on. Then you’ll spend the entire afternoon signing autographs.”

  At first I think she’s joking, but she assures me she’s not, so I give in and let her drive.

  We show up at her parents’ house a little before noon. As Rinn pulls into the driveway, I catch her stealing a quick glance at me like she’s trying to figure out what I think. It’s a nice place, kind of a medium sized Dutch colonial style house, a soft yellow color, with a couple of sensible late-model sedans in the driveway. Truth be told, I’m a little nervous to meet her family. It seems like a big deal somehow, like if they don’t like me I will have failed some sort of basic relationship test. And since this is a test I’ve never tried to pass before, I’m pretty much reduced to winging it.

  A woman who must be Rinn’s mom opens the front door and waves at us as we walk toward her.

  “You ready for this?” Rinn asks me under her breath.

  “Piece of cake,” I grin, and nudge her playfully with my elbow.

  “Hello, sweetheart!” Rinn’s mother calls to her, and I watch them exchange a warm hug.

  “Hi, Mom. How are you?”

  “Oh, just fine.” She looks over at me expectantly.

  “Mom, this is Jake Ryland,” Rinn says.

  “Well, my goodness,” she exclaims, her eyes widening. “This is quite a treat.”

  “The pleasure’s all mine, Mrs. Blake,” I reply, extending my hand.

  “Please, come in,” her mom murmurs, and we follow her inside. Smells of food cooking waft toward us as we walk into the entryway.

  “It smells delicious,” I say apprecia
tively. “It’s not very often I get a home-cooked meal. I really appreciate your hospitality, Mrs. Blake.”

  “Please, call me Grace,” she answers. “Rinn, go ahead and show Jake around. Jake, make yourself comfortable, and please let us know if you need anything. I’ll go upstairs and get Ted.”

  “Ted’s your dad, I assume,” I remark as we watch her mom head up the stairs.

  “Yeah. And my sister’s name is Kerri. I assume she’s here somewhere, too.”

  Rinn takes me on a quick tour of the downstairs, and then we go outside to the backyard. We’re standing under a large maple tree and Rinn’s showing me the remnants of a tire swing rope hanging from one of its branches when the sliding door opens and an adolescent girl with long, light brown hair comes bolting outside wearing an old T-shirt and a pair of cut-off shorts.

  “Rinnie!” she calls out, and comes running toward us. “Oh, wow!” Her eyes widen as they lock on me.

  “Hey, Kerri. This is Jake Ryland,” Rinn laughs.

  “Um, hi,” Kerri says, ducking her head and giving me a self-conscious smile. Her eyes dart to Rinn, an unspoken question in them.

  “Hey, Kerri. Nice to meet you,” I say easily.

  “Nice to meet you, too!” she says. She looks down at her clothes, reddening. “Um, I’m gonna go change for lunch.” Then she races off as quickly as she appeared.

  “Maybe I should have told everyone who I was bringing to lunch,” Rinn laughs. “I’m pretty sure Kerri’s mortified that you saw her like that.”

  “Like what?” I frown.

  “No makeup,” she ticks off on her fingers. “Ratty clothes. Hair not styled. She’s at that age where she’d rather die than be seen in public without spending two hours getting ready for the occasion.”

  “Wow,” I mutter. “Makes me glad I’m a dude.”

  Rinn laughs. “Come on. Let’s go in and I can finish showing you around.”

  When we get back inside, Rinn’s dad is coming down the stairs right behind her mom.

  “Well, Jake Ryland,” he calls out in an expansive voice. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I say, taking his hand. He’s got Rinn’s eyes, or rather Rinn’s got his, and dark hair that’s just starting to gray at the temples. “But really, the pleasure’s all mine. It’s great to meet Rinn’s family. She’s told me a lot about you.”

  “Where are you from originally, Jake?” Rinn’s mother asks.

  “Philadelphia,” I reply.

  “Do you get back to visit very often?”

  “Not as often as I’d like. But a couple of times a year,” I nod. “And my parents come to Springville from time to time. Usually for one of the big home games.”

  Rinn’s mom goes into the kitchen to finish making lunch, and Rinn follows her to see if she can help. Her dad leads me into the living room and starts asking me questions about the team. This is a conversation I’m comfortable having, and we slip into an easy banter and I forget to worry about making a good impression for a while.

  Lunch is homemade tuna casserole and fruit salad, which we eat sitting in their dining room just off the kitchen. Kerri emerges right before lunch, and just like Rinn predicted, she’s put on makeup, curled her hair in ringlets, and changed into nice jeans and a dark purple top. Rinn’s family is really nice, and it’s easy to be around them. They pepper me with questions about the team, about how I like living in Springville, and about my family back in Philly. After lunch, I help Rinn clear the table and load the dishwasher, and then she tells her parents she wants to show me the upstairs of the house.

  When we get to the end of the hallway upstairs, Rinn shows me into a small bedroom painted lavender. “This is my room,” she murmurs, leading me inside. It’s still decorated like a high school girl lives here, if the high school girl was living about a decade ago. Posters of Fallout Boy and Coldplay adorn the walls, their edges curling up and straining against the tape that holds them. On one side of the room is a desk and a bookcase filled with DVDs, books, and stuffed animals. On the other side, a twin bed is positioned next to the wall, a black and white duvet covering it.

  “That’s a pretty small bed,” I murmur, wrapping my arms around her from behind.

  “It only needed to be big enough for one person,” she says, and presses back against me.

  “This room ever see any action?” I ask.

  Rinn giggles. “Hardly. God, I don’t think I ever had a boy up here when I was a teenager. My parents would have had a fit.”

  “Wanna make out on it?” I grin. “We could inaugurate it. Christen it, sort of.”

  “Ew.” Rinn makes a face. “God, that’s too weird, with my parents just downstairs. What if my mom walked in?”

  “Suit yourself.” I sigh. I let her go, then wander over to the bookcase to take a closer look at a small framed photograph on one of the shelves. In it, two girls who look to be about fifteen are doubled over laughing on a blue couch. One of them is petite, with reddish-blond hair and blue eyes. The other is a younger version of Rinn.

  “That’s my friend Anna and me,” Rinn says. “We’re at her house.”

  I study the picture, and something pulls at me as I do. It’s funny to look at a photo of Rinn before I knew her. Her face is so familiar: the crinkle in her nose, the way her eyes light up when she laughs… But at the same time, it’s weird to think that she had this whole life, all these memories, that happened before I ever met her. A weird sense of longing fills me. I wish I had known her then. That I could have seen her as a little kid, as an adolescent, as she graduated from high school, that I could have been her first kiss, her first… well, everything.

  “You were cute,” I say, because there’s no way I can put into words what I’m really thinking. “Still are.”

  “Thank God I’d just gotten my braces off in that picture,” she laughs, “Or you wouldn’t be saying that.”

  Rinn’s mom calls up the stairs that she’s got lemon poundcake for dessert. The two of us head back downstairs and take plates of the sweet cake outside to eat on the back deck with her parents and her sister. We stay until late afternoon, then Rinn says we’d better be heading back. We say our goodbyes, and I tell Rinn’s dad that I’ll get him tickets to a Rockets game next time the family is in Springville.

  “Well, that went well,” Rinn announces as she pulls out of the driveway and points the car toward home.

  “Your family’s really nice.”

  “They liked you, too,” she says. “My dad especially, I think.” She glances over at me. “Thanks for coming.”

  “It was fun.”

  We ride in silence for a little while, both of us lost in our own thoughts. I mostly wonder whether she’ll come back to my place tonight, and whether this visit to her family means we’re a couple now.

  “I didn’t know anything about your family until today,” she eventually says. “All I knew was you’re from Philadelphia.”

  “Yeah.” I shift in my seat uncomfortably. I forgot about that part of the conversation. Rinn’s mom asked me about my parents, and whether I had siblings. When I told her I had a little brother who died when we were kids, she didn’t ask any more questions, and I was relieved when she changed the subject. But now I can feel that Rinn’s going to ask me more about it, and I don’t want her to, but I don’t know how to stop her.

  “So,” she says gently. “How did he die?”

  “Car accident,” I say abruptly. In spite of myself, I’m starting to get angry, and my anger’s directed at her even though I know that’s not fair.

  “What happened?”

  “He got hit. He died. That’s it.” I haven’t talked to anyone about this. Ever, really. My parents’ way of dealing with it was silent grief and resignation. Still is.

  “What was his name?”

  “Jamie.” By now, all the muscles in my upper body are tensing, and my brain is screaming shut up shut up shut up. I’m trying to think of something else to talk about, anythin
g to change the subject, but nothing’s coming.

  “That must have been really hard on you,” Rinn murmurs. Her voice is so soft, so sympathetic, it should be calming me down but it’s doing the exact opposite. “Were you very close?”

  “Look, Rinn, can you please just fucking drop it?” I finally explode. “Jesus, it’s none of your damn business. It’s in the fucking past. If I wanted you to know about it, I would have told you already.”

  Rinn flinches, and suddenly everything goes quiet in the car. It’s almost like I slapped her, it feels that dramatic. She doesn’t say a word. I try to open my mouth, to say I’m sorry, but I can’t, I can’t make myself talk about it any more, don’t want to have to explain why it hurts to talk about Jamie. So instead, we just sit in deafening silence as the road takes us back to Springville.

  When we get to the city limits, Rinn doesn’t even ask, she just takes the exit for my house. A few minutes later, she pulls into the semicircular driveway and stops the car.

  “Bye,” she says tonelessly.

  Now would be the time for me to say I’m sorry. At least I could say that much.

  But I don’t.

  “Bye,” I say, and open the door.

  23

  Marinda

  On Monday, the foundation offices are abuzz with how well the charity event went this weekend. About half of the employees of Give A Wish were there in one capacity or another, and so I have to suffer through seemingly endless recaps of how great Jake was as emcee and how much more interesting the event was because we had such a high-profile celebrity there.

  “I just figured he would be a dumb jock,” my colleague Hazel is saying. “But he was really good. He didn’t seem like he was just phoning it in, you know?”

  We’re standing in the break room and I’m pouring myself my third cup of coffee for the day. I hardly slept last night, angry and hurt after Jake’s outburst in my car on the way home. After how well the visit with my parents had gone, to have let him into my life only to be reminded so brutally that Jake doesn’t consider me part of his was more painful than I could have possibly imagined.