Scored

by Valentine, Marquita

  The main difference is I have more control over satisfaction and smiles in the bedroom. I can guaran-damn-tee that they’ll come back for more.

  Except with Paige. With her, I actually have to try, have to learn new plays that keep me from scoring but will lead to a win by the end. Or at least, I hope so.

  Coach strides in the locker room, the assistant coaches following close behind. He’s got his game face on. He wants to win this badly. Miami was his old team. The one he cut his teeth on when he first got started.

  “We’re not going to let you down, Coach,” I say, and my teammates start to chime in.

  “We’re going to spank Miami so hard they’ll cry.”

  “They will know the Renegades hit them hard.”

  As one, we stand up, getting more pumped with each passing moment, and bring it in for a last-minute huddle and prayer.

  My thoughts shift to Paige and the long game I’m playing with her.

  Shit, I know I’ll win.

  I’m Dallas Drake. All-American tight end. Got the lightest hands and the biggest dick in the NFL. I know how to use them to my advantage.

  It’s simply a matter of time before Paige is the beneficiary.

  * * *

  We managed to eke out a win with a two-point conversion. Press interviews didn’t last too long, but each second seemed like a fucking eternity. Usually, I enjoy the questions, the good-natured ribbing, and the chance to brag about the team.

  But tonight, thoughts of Paige were overriding the awesome feeling of winning against a team like Miami. I think I even blanked on a couple of the questions tossed my way.

  Good thing Aiden was there to make sure everyone knew it was all about him. By good thing, I mean what a fucking asshole… yet at the same time, I was grateful.

  I tap the remote on my sun visor and the gates part. Paige’s sedan is parked in my driveway, and my heart speeds up to levels that are reserved for sex and games.

  I park my Escalade in the garage and almost run inside to find her watching Sports Center as they talk about highlights from tonight’s game.

  As soon as her baby blues find me, she jumps up from the sofa and smiles. “Congrats on beating Florida.”

  “Miami.”

  “Which is in Florida.” She giggles a little and winks at me. “I was kidding. I totally know who the Whales are now.”

  “Dolphins.”

  She frowns. “Who are they?” she asks, then snorts at the look of incredulity on my face. “Kidding again.”

  A grin kicks up the corners of my mouth before I take a step back to admire her outfit—the Renegades jersey I sent to her and a pair of black leggings. Better than jeans and easier to remove… if she’s interested.

  I know I am. The only thing that would make this moment better is if she’d been wearing my sweatshirt.

  She spins around, looking at me over her shoulder. “I love that it has your name on the back.”

  “I’d tattoo my name on your ass if I could,” I admit, starting to wonder if she didn’t wear my sweatshirt on purpose so I wouldn’t get the wrong message. Or any message for that matter.

  “Such a romantic thing to say.” She turns back to face me, her smile falling. “You don’t look happy to see me wearing your name on my back.”

  “I wanted to see you wearing my sweatshirt.”

  Her eyes round. “Please tell me you mean my sweatshirt because you picked it out and not because it’s really yours.”

  “The second one.”

  She groans audibly. “I might have given it to Nolan in exchange for time off from work.”

  “So you’re not not wearing it to prove a point?” I rub the back of my neck, wishing I’d kept my damn mouth shut.

  “No. Oh, no.” She plops down on the sofa. “I didn’t realize it was yours or I wouldn’t have given it to him.”

  Paige looks so sad that I believe her. “I have more.”

  “Go get one right now and I’ll put it on.” She rips the jersey off, which leaves her sitting on my sofa with only a black lacy bra holding up small, perfect tits. “I don’t want to ruin your night with my thoughtlessness.”

  “Pretty sure you’ve made up for it.”

  She blushes. “I didn’t… I wasn’t… I brought Mexican food.” She hides her lace-covered tits with the jersey and stands up. “If you’ll get the sweatshirt, I’ll get everything set up. I read that players are super hungry and amped up after a game—win or lose.”

  I cross the distance between us, keeping my gaze on her face. “Amped up?”

  Biting her lip, she nods. “Very excited and over-stimulated.”

  My jaw works because I am both of those things. “Did you read what players like to do in order to relax?” Eat, have sex, and sleep. Then repeat.

  “Some of the blogs and pages were very descriptive of what each player likes to do after games,” she says softly.

  My entire body aches with the need to touch her, but I can’t, not until I know where this is going. If I need to put myself in the friend zone, I’ll… fuck that, I’m playing to win tonight.

  “What did it say about me?”

  The tip of her tongue touches her top lip, and my cock goes from semi to full-on rock solid. “That you like to eat, fu—have sex, and sleep.”

  “Did that bother you?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know, but I’m still here.”

  I nod, my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides. “What do you need from me?”

  “To, ah… be reassured that this isn’t a onetime thing.” Her pretty eyes bounce from my face to my shoulder, then back to my face again. “I still can’t do casual sex, Dallas.”

  “I’m good for a hell of a lot more than one time, bright eyes.”

  “More than one night, then.”

  “I’m good for every night you can take me.” I allow myself to touch her cheek, to feel the satiny skin that defies reality with its softness. Her lashes flutter as her lips part. “I want to date you exclusively.”

  Her eyes open wide. “Just me?”

  I nod once. “I can be a good guy. Keep it locked up tight just for you.”

  “Can you keep us secret… private?” She nibbles on her bottom lip. “I don’t want to be part of Drake’s Dolls. People say such vicious things about them, and I wouldn’t be able to handle it. And I don’t want my family dragged into the spotlight either. That would be the worst.”

  A rush of emotion floods me. Even as turned on as I am right now, I can’t help but admire her way of looking at things. How protective she is of her family. And of herself. She’s not willing to sell out for fame or fortune. The thing is that I didn’t create Drake’s Dolls—the media and the women who called themselves that did.

  But I’ve never discouraged it either.

  “How about this? We’ll date in secret until you’re comfortable enough to go public. I’ll play by your rules.”

  “That would mean I’d eventually have to tell my sister about us,” she says with a shudder.

  “I can handle Finley.”

  “At least one of us can.”

  “I haven’t kissed my girlfriend hello yet,” I say to distract her.

  “Oh.” She tips up her chin. “By all means, don’t let me stop you.”

  Smiling, I kiss her as her arms go around me. “Hi, beautiful.”

  “Hey.”

  “Want to have a sleepover with me?” I ask, teasing her jaw with my mouth.

  On a sigh, she says, “I didn’t bring any pajamas.”

  “We’ll match,” I remind her.

  I work my way down her throat, pausing where her pulse is beating wildly. “I can stay.”

  “The entire night in my bed. With me inside you.” I bite the side of her neck.

  “Oh, God.” She tilts her head to one side to give me better access. “I can’t think when you’re doing that.”

  “Want me to stop?” I pull away slightly, but she grabs the back of my neck and tries to force me ba
ck to where I was before. “I need to know what I’m in for tonight, bright eyes. I need to know what plays to make or if I’ll be riding pine.”

  “I want to ride you,” she says after a beat. “Is that clear enough?”

  She still has the jersey between us, like a barrier, but I don’t give a damn because I know that by the end of the night, I’ll have Paige in my bed, naked and wet.

  “Very clear.” I press a kiss against her skin and force myself to put some distance between us. “Let’s go eat. I need fuel for later.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Paige

  Dallas doesn’t bring up our sleepover again. Instead, he brings me an ultra-soft Renegades t-shirt to wear and feeds me in between bites for himself while he shares insider stories about the night’s game.

  “I almost got ejected for getting in the ref’s face,” he admits, not an ounce of shame on his face. “Wasn’t my finest moment, but that call was bullshit. Coach made me sit down.”

  “He made you sit down?” I can’t imagine anyone forcing Dallas to do anything.

  “Incentive helps.” He cocks his head to one side, looking for all the world like a mischievous little boy who has gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “He said he’d make me come in to watch film on Tuesday. Couldn’t let that happen.”

  “Because of me?”

  “You’re the best incentive I can think of.” He tips back a bottle of beer, and I watch his throat work as he swallows. Why is that so sexy for a man to do?

  “That’s really sweet of you to say.”

  He winks. “I know.”

  Oh, Lord. My cocky man is back. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “I can think of a few things.”

  “Only a few?”

  He feeds me the last tortilla chip. “A dozen things.”

  I chew while he starts to clean up the empty plates and containers. He groans a little when he reaches across the island.

  Quickly swallowing, I ask, “Are you okay?”

  “Mostly. Got nailed by a linebacker. Didn’t even see him coming.” He slices his gaze my way, his biceps bulging as he cleans. “Did you happen to catch his number?”

  My cheeks start to burn. “I think I was watching Dance Moms at the time. I flipped back and forth between commercials.”

  “How much of my game did you watch?”

  “The best parts?”

  His lips twitch. “Would that be the beginning and the end?”

  “Don’t you think they’re the best parts?”

  He slides in close, nipping at my ear with his teeth. I gasp. “The middle is pretty interesting. The middle is what gets us to the end. Some might say that if we were to skip the middle, then the end would never happen. No one would score, baby, and that would be a damn shame.”

  “Life’s not all about scoring.”

  “It is if that’s what you’re good at doing.” He nuzzles my hair. “How do you smell so good after eating what we did?”

  “It’s the shampoo.”

  “You should leave some here or tell me the brand so I can order it. Tell me your favorite bath stuff, too. Whatever girlie shit you like.”

  I hold up a hand. “Hold your horses, mister. I’m not moving in with you.”

  He laughs. “Who said anything about moving in with me? This is only our fourth date, Paige.”

  It’s all I can do not to strangle him. I don’t think my hands would fit around his neck anyhow. “You’re the one who said to tell you what toiletries I liked.”

  “And?”

  “And that’s something you’d do when um… you’re moving in,” I finish lamely. What am I arguing about? Dallas didn’t say he had a drawer for me, or for my clothes to be delivered and hung in his closet.

  “Or that’s something you do when you want to make sure your woman has what she needs once you’ve taken care of her.” He leans against his sub-zero fridge, smirking a little. “I’d suggest you leave a toothbrush, but I’m afraid you’d take that to mean I wanted to knock you up.”

  “Moving in and getting me pregnant. No marriage in there?” I wait for him to answer, thinking I’ve backed him into a corner. A weird corner of my own making.

  “Yeah, I want to get married. Have kids. Live in a nice neighborhood like this one and have BBQs. Walk my kids to school. Fuck my hot wife every night and make dinner sometimes.”

  “That’s…” I swallow, envisioning him doing all of that with me. “Certainly a plan.”

  “You don’t have one?” He gazes at me skeptically.

  “I have one, but I’m not ready to implement it,” I admit. “Getting burned by lying, cheating boyfriends tends to do that to a person.”

  He crosses the distance between us, cupping my face in his hand. “I won’t lie or cheat on you, Paige. That’s not my style. You got me?”

  “Yes, I got you.”

  He kisses the tip of my nose. “You’re such a worrier. Let me help with that. Get you all nice and relaxed.”

  “Like you?” I ask as he slides his hands down my neck and to my shoulders, where he promptly starts to knead them. “You really do have magic hands.”

  “All for you… and the NFL.”

  I giggle, then smash my lips together.

  “That was a little much, even for me,” he says.

  “No. It was just right.” Still laughing, I shake my head and then moan in pure pleasure as he hits a rather sore spot on my shoulder. “Shouldn’t I be doing this for you? I’m not the one who was tackled by an entire NFL team in order to get my ball.”

  “You don’t have any balls.” He kisses the top of my head. “And the only one who will be tackling you is me.”

  He sounds so serious that it’s hard to remember this is probably only a game to him. “That’s mighty proprietary of you.”

  “If you mean I’m marking my territory, I won’t deny it.” He smiles predatorily. “In fact, I’ve been thinking of all the places I want to mark you.”

  Before I can say another word, he scoops me up in his arms, in a move worthy of any historical romance I’ve ever read, and moves to his room.

  “Is our sleepover starting now?”

  “Yeah.” His voice is husky. “You call the shots, bright eyes. Say stop and I stop. Got it?”

  “I don’t want to stop, Dallas.”

  The corner of his mouth lifts. “I know.”

  I want to swoon over this moment. Over how it feels to be carried so securely in his arms, how massive his body is, and how incredibly overwhelmed with desire I am.

  As he jogs up the stairs, he holds me tighter against him, like he’s trying to protect me. He’s both defense and offense—something I learned when I read up on his position as tight end, I remind myself. His job has always been to protect, to make a safe path, so it would naturally spill over into his personal life. Just like with his bet to help his teammate and his need to tell me about it so I didn’t get the wrong idea.

  “If you’re going to ask me about other women, I—”

  “I don’t care, Dallas.”

  He arches a brow.

  “That much, but how fair is it of me to hold you to a chaste standard that I would be mortified and outraged if you attempted to do that to me?”

  “Baby, in my head, those other guys don’t exist.”

  “What a coincidence—I pretend those other guys don’t exist either.” I snort/giggle because that’s even cheesier than the line Dallas gave me earlier.

  He kicks open his door. “While it doesn’t matter to you, it does to me. I haven’t had any woman, not related to me, spend the night in this house. No one has slept in that bed but me. Or ate in my kitchen. Pretended to watch football on my flat screen either.”

  “That’s so swee—wait a minute.” I narrow my eyes at him. “When did you buy this house?”

  His ears turn red. “Three months ago.”

  “Are you saying that you haven’t had time to have anyone over to do all those things?”

&
nbsp; “I’m saying that regardless of the time frame, you’re the only one here and for as long as you’ll have me, it will stay that way.” He tips up his chin, almost daring me to disagree with him.

  To my eternal shock, I don’t want to disagree, not even when I dig deep and try to find a reason to be annoyed or turned off. It’s simply not happening with Dallas. “I’m sorry for ruining your moment.”

  “That’s okay. I’d rather clear the air now than afterward.”

  “I won’t regret this,” I insist, feeling brave. Silly, but completely brave for a woman like me. There are so many things that can go wrong. So many ways our relationship can end up in the public eye. So many ways I can get burned to a crisp while he doesn’t suffer at all.

  Men never suffer.

  Not my exes.

  Certainly not my father, or even Finley or Bond’s… God, why am I thinking about this now?

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, still standing at the entrance to his room and holding me like I weigh less than air.

  “Aren’t I too heavy for you?”

  “My pinky finger can bench more than what you weigh.”

  I doubt that very much, but I’m going to go with it. “Nothing’s wrong. I get all quiet when I’m excited or nervous.”

  “No, you don’t. You giggle, make cute little weird noises with your tongue, and use lots of hand gestures.”

  “Cute little weird noises?”

  “That’s what they sound like to me.”

  And that’s what I get for lying. “Fine. I was having deep thoughts about my past and since no good can come from that, I’ll focus on the hot guy who is trying to carry me to bed so we can have the best nude sleepover in the history of nude sleepovers.”

  “There’s my Paige.” Satisfied with my answer, he walks the rest of the way inside. I get a glimpse of light grey walls, dark hardwood floors and a massive dresser on one side.

  He turns. “What do you think of the bed?”

  I sit up a little, only to find the biggest bed I’ve ever seen in my life in the middle of the longest wall in the room. “Is that a California king?”