Players of Marycliff University Box Set, Books 1–3

by Jerica MacMillan

  Leaning back, Lance crossed his own arms, staring her down, his chin tipped in challenge. “By my count it’s four.”

  Abby’s eyes widened, and she looked around, spluttering. “You count bullying me into having pie with you as a date?”

  Lance shrugged, faking unaffectedness, but his heart rate sped up. He wasn’t quite sure if it was residual anger at her constant questioning of his motives or arousal at what seemed to be some kind of foreplay for them. Judging by the tightness in his jeans and the lingering frustration that had him clenching his jaw, it was a little of both. “I invited you, you said yes, and I paid. Sounds pretty date-like to me.” He enjoyed sparring with her. It made him want to kiss her again. And again. And every time he’d kissed her before, she’d definitely kissed him back.

  “But you didn’t … we didn’t …” Now she just looked mystified.

  Sensing victory, Lance leaned forward again and lowered his voice, fastening his eyes on hers as he filled in her blanks. “We didn’t … what? Kiss? We could have, but you ran away before I got the chance.”

  Their waiter, with his knack for showing up at tense moments, came back with Lance’s card. He hadn’t even noticed when he took it away.

  After signing the slip and replacing his card in his wallet, Lance stood. Still looking uncertain, Abby clutched the strap of her purse in one hand and stood. Resting his hand on the small of her back, he guided her out of the restaurant, the silence stretched tight between them. Feeling bold, he ran his hand down her arm and twined his fingers with her as they walked from the restaurant to the elevator for the parking garage.

  Lance’s brain kept replaying their conversation. She didn’t count the pie as a date? Then what was it? Maybe it wasn’t the conventional dinner and a movie, but nothing about them was conventional anyway. She wasn’t a jersey chaser, he wasn’t a star athlete anymore. Sure, he could still go to parties with his buddy and get the chicks who always went for football players. They didn’t care that he’d graduated. Hell, they probably didn’t even know he’d graduated. His upbringing that he treat women with respect dictated that he take a girl out to dinner before sleeping with her.

  But Abby … she didn’t play by those rules.

  For one thing, she wasn’t a jersey chaser. And given that the only women who weren’t related to him that he’d spent any time with in the last few years were football groupies, that made her a breath of fresh air.

  For another, she called him out if she didn’t think he was acting right. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get away with anything with her, and that made him respect her. If he was going to spend time with a girl, he wanted it to be someone he respected. Someone he liked, and not just for her looks.

  Not that he didn’t like the way Abby looked. He definitely did, with her plump, kissable lips and her pretty, expressive face. And he liked her snark and her attitude and that she didn’t just give in to whatever he wanted immediately, simpering and tittering and flashing her tits. Hell, she’d worn a T-shirt on half their dates so far. Of course the first one had been his shirt, but she hadn’t tried to do anything to make it skin tight, stretching it out and making it unwearable.

  This chick drove him crazy. In the worst and best ways.

  Once inside the elevator, his frustration reaching a boiling point, he pulled her against him. Him paying for dinner wasn’t enough to make this a date? She needed a kiss to make it official? Then she’d get a kiss, and there’d be no doubt that he’d taken her on a date tonight. Cradling her head in one hand and pulling her hips tight against his with the other, he dropped his mouth to hers, spearing his tongue past her lips in a demand that she respond in kind. Pressing up on her toes, she answered with her tongue, sliding it against his with the same unrestrained fury. They broke apart when the elevator stopped, both their chests rising and falling rapidly as she stared at him, her face a mixture of shock and arousal. He couldn’t repress a smirk at the flush of her cheeks, proud of himself for being the cause of it. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, he dropped a kiss on her adorable nose and led her by the hand toward the car, neither of them saying a word.

  Once they had left the parking garage and were driving in the warm summer night, Lance reached over and rested his hand on Abby’s thigh, hoping that after their kiss that she’d allow him this. When she not only allowed it, but placed her hand on top of his, he smiled, happy and feeling victorious as he caressed her leg through the fabric of her shorts.

  After getting back on the freeway, he finally broke the silence. “Why do you care so much about my dating history?”

  All trace of her previous reticence gone, she gave him a straightforward answer. “I don’t know. It just makes me curious. Why me? Why now? Why do you keep wanting to see me?”

  While his frustration rose up at her questions—questions he thought he’d already answered—he fought to keep his voice calm. If he wanted to keep seeing her—which he definitely did—he needed to be patient and answer her questions. Again. Otherwise, she’d toss him aside without a second glance. He’d thought she’d done that already. But desperation and fear had led her to call him for help. She obviously trusted him, at least a little. He needed to maintain and build on that trust or he’d lose her again after tonight.

  Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, he addressed her questions one at a time. “Why you? I like you. You’re fun to talk to, you don’t put up with any bullshit from me, and you give as good as you get.” In a lower rumble he added, “And I really like kissing you and touching you.”

  There went that blush again. He almost didn’t catch it, but they passed under a streetlight at just the right time.

  “Why now? I met you now. I hadn’t met you before, so I couldn’t have dated you any sooner.”

  Abby snorted. “That’s not what I meant, Lance.”

  He let out the grin he’d been holding back since her blush. “I know what you meant, but that’s the answer. I haven’t met another girl who I wanted to keep dating. I met you now, and I want to keep seeing you. That’s why now.” Abby stared straight ahead out the window, not giving away any of her thoughts. This girl could be as hard to read as a sphinx. He’d been saying all this assuming they were on the same page. But her silence had him second guessing himself. He didn’t like that feeling at all. “Is that okay?”

  “Is what okay?” Still no tells.

  “I want to keep seeing you.” He paused, then asked the question directly. That seemed to be the best way to get an answer when she was hedging like this. “Can I keep seeing you?”

  Abby didn’t speak for so long, he was certain the answer would be no. And who could blame her? He’d been honest about the time limits on his stay in Spokane. She’d already been abandoned by her father and then her brother. She didn’t need one more guy leaving when it was convenient for him. The fact that it wasn’t convenient for him or at all what he wanted didn’t really matter in her equation.

  Just as he opened his mouth to tell her never mind, he understood that she didn’t want to see him again, she nodded. “Yeah.” She said the word barely above a whisper, and he almost didn’t hear it.

  But he did.

  Elation filled him, and he took the exit for the rest stop just outside of town, needing to kiss her again right now. That kind of agreement required a kiss for sure. If dates required kisses, starting an ongoing relationship of any variety definitely merited at least that much. Abby watched him, confusion written on her face as he parked the car. When she opened her mouth, he knew she was going to ask what he was doing. So he answered her before she could verbalize the question, pressing the buckle on his seatbelt at the same time he reached for her, hooking a hand behind her neck and bringing her mouth to his.

  With fumbling fingers, he released her seatbelt as well, breaking the kiss long enough to toss the offending restraint away, making a loud thwack against the interior panel of his car. Normally he’d cringe at the sound, but right now all he cared about was tastin
g Abby again. With his hands on her hips, he yanked her closer, his mouth finding hers and never wanting to leave.

  Abby clutched his shirt, pulling him closer as well, and a thrill raced down his spine, his blood singing with excitement, with victory, with lust. He ran his tongue along her lower lip, then slid inside her mouth, tasting her. She let her tongue dance with his, matching his intensity with her own. Emboldened by her response, he slid his hand to her back, finding the hem of her top and slipping underneath. Her skin was hot and smooth under his palm. He wanted to kiss her there, slide his lips and tongue up the strong columns of muscle on either side of her spine. But that would have to wait for later. For now, he ran his hand up her back, relishing the feel of her skin, stopping when he reached her bra and settling his hand at the small of her back.

  He needed to back off, calm things down, or he’d be tempted to rip her clothes off right now, in the car, under the blinding lights of the rest stop.

  Abby didn’t deserve to be fucked in a car at a rest stop. Not their first time together. She deserved to be worshiped. And he couldn’t do that right here, right now.

  Withdrawing his tongue, he turned their kiss into something softer and sweeter. He kissed her lips once, intending to break the kiss completely, but unable to resist kissing them one more time, before resting his forehead against hers. His heart beat loud in his ears, and his breath came in rasping pants. But he wasn’t the only one affected. That pretty flush had spread across her cheeks again, and she was breathing as hard as he was.

  “Do you want me to take you home?” he forced himself to ask.

  She pulled back, her eyes searching his eyes, her brows pulling together. He worried she was trying to give him whatever answer she thought he wanted, but when she shook her head and said, “No. I don’t want to go home yet,” her words had the spare honesty he’d come to expect from her.

  He let out a breath in relief. “Good.” He kissed her once more—he had to. Now that he had her permission, he needed as many of her kisses as he could get. Sliding back into his own seat, he buckled his seatbelt and waited for Abby to fumble with hers before heading back to the freeway.

  No more words were said. They were unnecessary. All the important ones had been shared—at least for now—and the only thing that mattered was getting her to his room. Alone. Where he could spend as much time with her as she would let him.

  He drove with his right hand on her leg, in the spot that he’d claimed what felt like ages ago. How far they’d come since that lunch. It had been less than a week ago, but after all that had happened today, all that they’d shared, he almost felt like a different person.

  Maybe he was a different person. Maybe Abby was making him a different—better—person already.

  If so, he didn’t have any objections. Especially if that meant more of her kisses, more of her snark, more of her.

  Annoyed with the fabric blocking access to her skin, he bunched up her shorts enough to slide his fingers underneath. When she looked at him, eyebrows raised, he smiled at her. And she smiled back, her hand circling his wrist, her slim fingers caressing his forearm as he drove.

  He let out a contented sigh. He could get used to this.

  “So where are we going?” Abby’s soft voice broke the silence as he signaled for the upcoming exit.

  Lance glanced at her. When he’d decided to take her to his place, he was sure she’d be on board. But now? Now he suddenly wasn’t so sure. “It’s almost ten. Since you don’t want to go to your place I thought we could go to mine.” Should he have asked first? But where else would they go? Other than bars and clubs—which he didn’t think she’d be interested in, and he definitely wasn’t in the mood for that tonight—there weren’t many available options.

  “Don’t you have roommates?” Her voice held a note of wary curiosity.

  “Yeah.” He followed the curve of the exit down to the stoplight. “Chris and Matt.”

  She shifted, almost pulling her leg out from under his hand, but he tightened his fingers a fraction because he didn’t want her to do that. She relaxed back into him. “So, are we going to be hanging out with them, too?”

  “Uh …” She wanted to hang out with his roommates? What the fuck? “If you want to, I guess. I thought we’d just hang out in my room, though.”

  “Just hang out in your room.” Abby’s voice was flat. “And do what exactly?”

  There was the snark he’d missed for most of today. With a grin, he squeezed her leg again, this time in reassurance. “Relax, Abby. You said you didn’t want to go home, and I just want to spend time with you. No expectations, no strings.” He’d let her set the pace, just happy that she nodded and patted his hand before he had to take it back to navigate the streets of Spokane.

  “Alright. No strings. Just hanging out. I can handle that.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The prospect of “hanging out” in Lance’s room while his roommates were home made Abby nervous. What exactly did “hanging out” entail? Would they watch a movie and snuggle? She bit back a snort. Somehow she didn’t think that was what he intended at all. Lance had said no expectations, and she believed him, but she knew he wanted to do more kissing, at the very least. She wanted that too. His kisses …

  She couldn’t even describe how good they made her feel. Hot and sexy and wanted and … seen. Like she mattered. He didn’t want her to fix him or help him or take care of him or anything. He just wanted her around for herself.

  It was such a rare thing in her world—Megan had been the only exception to that—that she still didn’t quite trust it, despite the fact that he’d done nothing to make her think he wanted anything else from her.

  When they pulled up to the house, all the lights were off, and there were no cars in the driveway. Abby let out a breath of relief that she wouldn’t face the awkward prospect of meeting Lance’s roommates on the way to his room.

  She followed him up the cracked concrete walkway and waited while he unlocked the front door and flicked on the living room light, holding the door for her to precede him. The living room looked more or less the same as she remembered it. A few books and papers sat on the coffee table, topped by an empty white plate and glass still half full of water.

  Throwing her an apologetic look, Lance scooped up the empty dishes and took them to the kitchen. He nodded his head at his bedroom once he was back in the room, and Abby followed him to the doorway. She stood there, her nerves flaring to life again when faced with his room, his bed dominating the space.

  Lance seemed to sense that she needed time to adjust to the idea of being here, and went about what Abby assumed was his normal coming home ritual. His keys hit the top of the dresser with a soft thunk, followed by his wallet. He slipped out of his shoes and left them next to the dresser, then unbuttoned his shirt, pulling the tails out of his slacks as he got to the last few buttons. Taking it off, he wadded it up and tossed it in the direction of his closet, leaving him in his white undershirt and slacks.

  Abby quirked a brow at him, a smile tugging at her lips. “Hampers are overrated, huh?”

  With that offhand quip, she once again become the focus of his attention. Her heart rate kicked up another notch, adrenaline and arousal flooding her system. Being the focus of his attention was still equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.

  A matching smile bloomed on his face. “Something like that.” He shrugged, sinking onto the edge of his bed. “You’ve already seen my room, why bother to hide that I throw my dirty clothes on the floor?” He reached down and pulled off his socks, tossing them after his shirt. “Are you thirsty or anything? I know we have beer and water, and there might be a soda if someone else hasn’t already taken it.”

  “Sure. Water would be nice.” She’d barely taken care of herself while taking care of her mom, and even though she’d had a glass of water with dinner, she was still so thirsty.

  Standing, Lance beckoned her all the way into the room. “Make yourself comfortable. I�
�ll be right back.”

  Abby stepped inside and watched Lance disappear before eyeing the bed and stepping slowly toward it. Given that it was the only place to make herself comfortable, her options were to stand awkwardly in the middle of the room for a while longer or just sit down. Shaking her head at herself—what did she think was going to happen if they spent time hanging out in his room? They’d sit on the floor? And that would be better how exactly?—she sat on the bed and placed her bag on the floor next to the nightstand. Her flip flops joined her bag seconds later, and she stretched her legs, flexing her feet and sighing at the release of tension.

  A small stack of books stood on the nightstand. Abby picked up the first one and read the title—a nonfiction book about marketing. Underneath it lay another book Abby wasn’t familiar with—some kind of action adventure novel from the blurb on the back. On the bottom was Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut. “Someone has eclectic taste,” she muttered to herself.

  “Yes, someone does.”

  Abby jumped, almost falling off the bed. “Holy crap! You scared me. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  Lance nudged his books out of the way and set a glass of water on the little table. “You were talking to yourself, and you criticize my taste in books?”

  “No! I wasn’t—I mean, I was just noticing—”

  Lance cut off Abby’s stammering protests with a kiss. The feel of his lips on her erased whatever she’d been trying to say. “I was teasing, Abby,” he whispered against her lips. “I do have eclectic tastes. It’s okay.” Pulling back, he smiled at her. “I’ve been wearing these clothes all day. Do you mind if I change into something more comfortable? You can borrow something too if you want.”

  “Yeah, sure. Whatever you want to do is fine.” Lance’s wicked smile brought a blush to her cheeks—would she ever stop blushing around him? It was becoming annoying.

  With a low chuckle that let her know he enjoyed her responses to him, he turned and rummaged in his dresser drawer, coming out with a faded gray T-shirt and a pair of navy blue boxers that he held out to her. “They’re clean, I promise.”