The Perfect Game: A Complete Sports Romance Series (3-Book Box Set)

by Samantha Christy

  I point to my phone. “Looks like you’re about to find out.”

  He reads silently, scrolling down the page to get to the full story. “Shit. He’s going to prison?”

  “Not if I pay off his debts.”

  Sawyer puts down the phone and narrows his eyes at me. “So this isn’t about Juilliard after all, is it? Why is it up to you to pay off his debts? Especially when the article says he stole money from you.”

  “He didn’t steal money, Sawyer. He was duped. He thought he was investing it into a sure thing. He had the papers and the statistics. Everything seemed legit. He had no idea this was a Ponzi scheme. It was some higher-ups in the police department where he worked that got him into it. Now they have all his money, all my money, and all the money of a dozen other people in some off-shore account where it can’t be traced or touched. And Denver took the fall for everything because he can’t prove the others were involved.”

  “Damn. That’s some tough luck. How much does he have to pay back?”

  “Almost as much as you’re paying me.”

  He picks at the tablecloth. “So, nothing will be left for Juilliard?”

  I shrug. “There’s always student loans.”

  “Fuck.”

  “It’s fine. I’m not sure I want to go there anyway. I don’t even like New York all that much. There is a good grad school back in Missouri that I’ve been considering.”

  “Missouri?” A look of disgust crosses his face. “But you have to be here. At least through October.”

  “I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. I’ve been accepted at both places.”

  “You’ve been accepted at the school in Missouri? But you have to turn them down. You can’t leave until the season is over.”

  I sigh. “I know. I’ll turn them down. I guess I just miss Denver. We’ve always been close. I don’t want you thinking bad things about him. He’s a great guy who was just too naïve to be a cop.”

  “What do you care what I think of him?”

  “Because he’s the most important person in my life.”

  “I thought that was Bass,” he says.

  “Bass is right up there. But Denver is family.”

  “How much older is he?”

  “About three minutes,” I say.

  “You’re twins?”

  I nod. “And I love him more than anything. We have a bond nobody seems to understand.”

  “I don’t have any brothers or sisters,” he says. “But that’s a good thing.”

  I can’t imagine growing up without a sibling. “Why is that a good thing?”

  He shakes his head. “It just is. Now why don’t you eat your dinner and tell me about your family.”

  I finish a slice of pizza in silence, contemplating what to tell him. He obviously has secrets of his own. Then again, my only secret was just plastered across the internet. He knows the worst thing about me, or about my brother anyway. What could it hurt to tell him about my family?

  “My mom was a district court judge and my dad was a CFO for a mid-sized construction company. They both died in a car accident four years ago.”

  “I’m sorry. My parents are both dead, too.”

  “But at least I have Denver. You don’t have any siblings. That must have been really hard on you.”

  “My mom dying was hard on me,” he says. “My dad, not so much.”

  “Didn’t get along with him?” I ask.

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “Well, my family was very close. It was devastating. I was a freshman at Juilliard and Denver was still trying to figure out what to do after high school. He was working odd jobs to afford his own apartment. My parents were taking their first ever vacation without us. A celebration of their freedom, I guess. They went skiing, of course. But they never made it to the ski lodge. Their rental car skidded off the road in the snow. They weren’t found for days. I like to pretend they died instantly, but I heard some of the doctors talking and they said they were trapped in the car and probably died of exposure, not injuries. I don’t imagine they died at the same time and it must have been horrible for one of them to watch the other go.”

  “Maybe they both died in their sleep,” he says. “In the movies, everyone falls asleep in the cold and then they just don’t wake up. Maybe they fell asleep together, in each other’s arms.”

  My lips curve up in a half-smile. Maybe Sawyer Mills does have a romantic bone in his body after all. “I hope that’s what happened. But knowing how much my dad loved my mom, I can’t imagine he would have let them fall asleep. He would have done anything to keep her alive. Anything.”

  “Yeah, my dad loved my mom a lot, too. Maybe too much.”

  “How can you love someone too much?” I ask.

  He shrugs and picks at his pizza. “So, your parents must have left you pretty well off if you could keep going to school at such a prestigious place.”

  “They did. They were good like that. And luckily, I’d paid off all my tuition before I let Denver invest the rest.”

  “How much did he lose?”

  “Of mine? A few hundred thousand. Even more of his own.”

  “He invested his own money?”

  “Yeah, you’d think that would prove he wasn’t a criminal, but the prosecution didn’t buy it. They said he was willing to risk his own money to make so much more.”

  “What is he doing now? To get by?”

  “He’s taking whatever jobs he can get. But few people will hire someone with a felony record. So he usually ends up working jobs under the table, which only last for days or weeks at a time and don’t pay that well.”

  “That sucks. How old is he?” Then his head falls back and he looks at the ceiling. “Oh, shit. You said that night we first met that you were almost twenty-three. That means he was too. And it also means I missed your birthday, doesn’t it?”

  “It was Thursday.”

  “Thursday? Why didn’t you say anything?”

  I lean in so nobody can overhear. “Because I’m not your girlfriend and you have no obligation to take me out for my birthday, that’s why.”

  He shakes his head. “Still, you should have said something.” He lifts his glass. “To the birthday girl. Now let’s drink to you and then I’m going to give you a birthday kiss. And this one’s going to be just like the one at the club last week. Do you remember that?”

  Remember it? I relive that kiss over and over in my dreams. I relive that kiss and more. In my dreams he’s in my bed. In my dreams, he brings me to orgasm every which way possible. In my dreams he’s the man I never knew I wanted but would do anything to have. And they just seem so damn real.

  “No,” I lie. “But I imagine you’ll show me.”

  I take a long drink, eyeing him from over the rim of my glass, seducing him with my eyes for the many onlookers. My panties become damp with the anticipation of what his lips are about to do to me. My mind knows this is all a game, but my body doesn’t seem to care.

  He puts down our drinks, places a hand behind my neck, and pulls me to him. His eyes lock with mine until our lips meet. His tongue begs for entrance into my mouth and I taste the strong flavor of his wheat beer. One of his hands works the nape of my neck, the other falls to my lap and caresses my thigh. I’m lost in his kiss. In his touch. If this is acting, I’m afraid to know what his real kisses would feel like.

  I immediately pull back when I realize his kisses are just like that first one he gave me the day we met. Or at least I think they are. That whole night is a bit fuzzy.

  “What is it?” he asks.

  “The night we met, when you kissed me in the alley, was that a real kiss, or were you just pretending, like now?”

  “I wasn’t pretending. I didn’t know then that I was going to ask you for this arrangement. Why?”

  I try not to smile when I think that maybe he isn’t acting after all. No way could a man be this good a kisser if he’s kissing someone he doesn’t want to be kissi
ng. He wants me. He wants me just like I want him.

  The problem is – neither of us wants to admit it. Or maybe the problem is neither of us feels we can.

  “Just wondering,” I say.

  “Well, if you’re done wondering, can we get on with the show?”

  This time, I’m the one who reaches out and pulls him to me. I might as well have some fun as long as I’m stuck in this situation. I’m going to see how far I can take this and how long he can resist before he admits to having real feelings for his fake girlfriend.

  “Next time, don’t start eating until your date comes back to the table,” I whisper into his mouth, right before my lips reach his.

  He tries to reply, but my tongue enters his mouth and I devour him like I’ve never done before. My body screams to be closer to his, but sitting next to him makes it impossible, so I just put my hands on his arms and feel the muscles of his biceps.

  A slow growl emerges from his throat, letting me know he’s getting into this more than he’d like me to think he is. It’s hard to smile and kiss at the same time, but I pull it off. I pull it off until someone clears their throat behind us.

  We stop kissing and look up to see the owner standing cross-armed and staring at us like a couple of adolescents who got caught making out in the back seat of a car.

  Sawyer laughs. “Sorry, Henry. I just can’t help myself around her.” He pulls out his wallet and throws a fifty on the table. “We’re leaving anyway. Our work here is done.” He winks at me and stands up, waiting for me to follow.

  I don’t fail to notice, however, that his pants have a bulge in the front that wasn’t there before. He grabs my hand and leads me outside. He pretends he doesn’t want us photographed, but I know he does so I try my best to look presentable as we push through the crowd.

  When we get in the cab, he says, “I wonder how long it will take those pictures to show up.”

  My phone pings with a text from Bass. I look at it and laugh. “Not long,” I say, showing Sawyer the picture Bass texted me of us kissing just minutes ago.

  “Sweet!” he says.

  “How did he get it so quickly?” I muse aloud.

  “He subscribes to a website that sends him alerts any time something is posted about me.”

  My jaw drops. “Why would he do that?”

  “Because he wants to protect you,” he says. “He threatened to kick my ass if I put you in harm’s way.”

  “Are you putting me in harm’s way?” I ask.

  “I’ll do my best not to. But after today, you’ll have to be more careful about everything you do. Reporters will want to know everything about you. Right down to every scar and every tattoo.”

  “I don’t have any tattoos.”

  “I know you don’t,” he says, knowingly.

  “How could you know? I’ve never told you.”

  He looks out his window. “Uh, I just meant you’re not the kind of girl who gets a tattoo. I can tell.”

  I remember what he told me earlier about his ritual. “But you’re the kind of guy who gets them.” I nod to his ribs. “Show me.”

  He looks at the driver who seems to be ignoring us. Then he untucks his shirt and lifts up the side. I turn on my phone’s flashlight to get a good look. At first glance, it’s a butterfly, but it’s one of those pictures that, depending on how you look at it, can be two different things. It can also be a skull. It’s the oddest thing I’ve ever seen. Yet I feel like I’ve seen it before.

  “Wow,” I say, tracing it with my finger. “It’s horrible and beautiful at the same time.”

  He huffs out a breath.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Nobody has ever said that about it.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “No. It’s fine. It’s exactly what I meant when I got it.”

  “Horrible and beautiful?” I ask, confused.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you copy this from someone or something? I feel like I’ve seen it before.”

  He pulls his shirt down, looking uncomfortable. “It’s not an original. I picked it off the wall of the tattoo parlor when I was eighteen. Maybe a lot of guys have the same one.”

  “Considering I haven’t been with a lot of guys, that’s most definitely not where I’ve seen it before.”

  He shrugs. “Maybe you saw it in a movie.”

  “I suppose. So, why did you get it?”

  The cab stops in front of my building. “Here we are,” Sawyer says, leaning over me to open the door.

  I get out but he doesn’t follow.

  “Oh, no,” I say, sticking my head back in. “You’re walking me up, Tom Sawyer.”

  “I am?”

  “You’d better believe it. You’re walking me up now and after every date we have.”

  “But it’s not a date,” he says. He waves his arms at our surroundings. “And there’s no one here to see us so what does it matter?”

  I point to myself. “I’m here to see. And as long as we’re doing this, I’m going to make sure you treat me properly. So get your ass out of the car and be a goddamn gentleman.”

  He laughs as he exits the cab. “Geesh, you’ve got quite a mouth for a lady.”

  “Based on that kiss at the restaurant, you should know.”

  “That I should,” he says with a wink. “And that I do.”

  We walk up the front steps. “Five four nine seven,” I say.

  “What?”

  “That’s the code to get in,” I tell him. “Because from now on, I’ll be expecting you to come to my door.”

  He shakes his head and smiles. Then he pulls out his phone and types the code into his notes. “Is this part of my training? I told you before, there’s no point.”

  We climb the two flights of stairs to my apartment and then I stop at my door. “Oh, there’ll be a point. Someday in the future, there’ll be a point. And when I see you one day with the woman who becomes your real girlfriend, I’ll be able to take all the credit.”

  “You’re wasting your breath,” he says. “But I’ll play along because you never can tell who might be watching.”

  “You’ll thank me later,” I say, putting my key in the door. “Goodnight, Sawyer.”

  He leans in and gives me a peck on the cheek. “Goodnight, Aspen.”

  I close the door behind me wondering why he kissed me just now. Nobody was watching. But that little kiss was all it takes to remind me of the bigger ones earlier. The ones that got me worked up. The ones that got him worked up. The ones that produced the bulge in his pants that I can’t stop thinking about.

  I walk back to my bedroom and open the bottom drawer of my night stand. If I can’t have a real boyfriend, I might as well make good use of my battery-operated one.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sawyer

  The awesome crack of the ball hitting the sweet spot on my bat tells me I’m probably getting to second base on this one. I tear down the first-base line and the coach signals me to keep going. I can see the left fielder running to the far corner to get the ball and I know it’ll be close. He picks up the ball and winds up for the throw. It’s a race to see if I can beat it. The ball is in the air and the second-baseman shifts left so I know I need to go right. I know he has to tag me, so just as he catches the ball and tries to sweep it over me, I dive for the base, catching the outer edge of it with my fingertips just as the umpire calls me safe.

  I stand up and brush off my jersey. “Maybe next time,” I say to Devin Kirk, the Rays’ second-baseman.

  “Don’t get cocky, Mills,” he quips.

  He’s only half kidding. Devin was drafted by the Hawks the same year I was, but he ended up being traded to Tampa a year later.

  Caden comes up to the plate. He’s got two strikes on him when I take a big lead. The pitch is wild and I take off for third. But the catcher must have stopped it, because it ends up in the third-baseman’s glove.

  Shit. I’m in a goddamn pickle. I turn around and head back for s
econd, but the ball beats me there. I stop and pivot around and head back the other way. I’m fast, but I’m not faster than a thrown baseball. All I can hope for at this point is a mistake by one of the fielders. Otherwise, I’m toast.

  I go back and forth, each time the fielders close in on me a little more until Devin Kirk finally tags me out with a smug smirk on his face.

  The stadium erupts in displeasure as I make my way back to the dugout. I can’t remember the last time I got caught in a pickle. I’m usually smarter than that. I’m usually faster than that. I look up to where Aspen and Bass are sitting – I can’t make them out, but I know they’re up there.

  I throw my batting helmet into the corner of the dugout, hearing it crack as it hits the hard concrete.

  Brady pats me on the back. He knows how much I hate to get caught on the steal. “Good try,” he says.

  I shake my head and look back into the stands. “She’s a jinx,” I say.

  “Who’s a jinx?”

  “Aspen.”

  “You have to be kidding.”

  I look at him sternly. “I’m not kidding, Taylor. This is the fourth game she’s been to and I’ve done something to fuck up in all four games.”

  He laughs. “Nobody’s perfect, Mills. And you fuck up plenty when she’s not here.”

  “I’m telling you, it’s her.”

  He studies me. “Maybe it’s not her. Maybe it’s you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. Maybe you’re nervous about her being here.”

  I look at him like he’s crazy. “I don’t get nervous,” I say.

  He shrugs. “If you say so.”

  “I do.”

  He backs away and holds his hands up in surrender as I sit down on the end of the bench.

  “You bringing the new girl tonight?” Spencer asks.

  I nod.

  “What’s her name again? Boulder? Vail?”

  “Very funny,” I say. “It’s Aspen, you jackass.”

  ~ ~ ~

  I put in the code to get into her building and walk up to the third floor. When she answers the door, I’m stunned. She has on a floor-length icy-blue dress that hugs her tightly in all the right places. I don’t remember her buying this one when we went shopping.