Playing Dirty (A Bad Boy Sports Romance)

by Avery Wilde

“Maybe. I doubt it, though. I think the Playboy Prince might’ve put me off trying to have fun with any guys for quite some time.”

  “Don’t let it bother you that much. He might be a royal family member, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t also a royal jerk who isn’t worth thinking about. Most one night stand kinda guys are. That’s why you love ‘em and leave ‘em,” she said. “Besides, this’ll make a cool story for your future grandkids—how you rejected a royal and left him high and dry out on the street.”

  I giggled. “Yeah, I suppose.”

  “Anyway, there’s a chance that he might be your boss soon, right?” Sarah said. “Awkward…”

  “He’d be my boss’s son,” I said. “But how much time do you think he spends amongst the servants?”

  Sarah nodded. “Probably not much. So you’re really still going to England?”

  “Yep. I haven’t heard back from the Palace regarding the second round of applications yet, but that’ll take a couple more weeks, and it will give me time to do some sightseeing in London. And if I don’t get that particular job, there’s always others. Why?”

  “I was hoping you’d change your mind. I’m gonna miss you.”

  I smiled; the feeling was mutual. “You won’t even notice I’m gone. You’ve always got other stuff to do.”

  As if to prove the point, a strikingly handsome man clad in only a pair of shorts wandered into the lounge, nodding a good morning to us before entering the bathroom and closing the door.

  “Does he have a name?” I asked with a grin.

  Sarah shrugged. “No idea. So when do you leave for England?”

  “First thing in the morning on Monday.”

  “We’ll have lunch at Clancy’s before then. One more time to say goodbye.”

  “I’d like that,” I said, still smiling.

  Sarah stood up. “Okay. I’m gonna take a shower.”

  “But your guy’s still in the bathroom.”

  She looked at me with an expression of puzzlement. “In many ways, you and I are very different people.”

  She winked and continued on to the bathroom, and I grinned and retreated to my bedroom to start the packing process. I was going to be in the UK for a long time, so I needed to take as much stuff as I could cram into my suitcases, and as I surveyed the contents of my top bedside table drawer a moment later, my eyes lingered on an unopened box of condoms that Sarah had bought for me a few months ago in a previous hint at me needing to ‘get good and laid’.

  I pushed them to the back of the drawer, not even considering taking them with me for a second. If the opportunity arose, then condoms were readily available in England, and I doubted the opportunity would arise anyway. I was going there to work and check out all the amazing art, not to pick up men, and besides, after last night’s failed hookup attempt, I was quite sure I wouldn’t be deciding to pick up any other random men in bars for a long time. My love life could damn well wait till after my gap year was up.

  I sighed as Drew’s face inadvertently popped into my head again, and I wondered if I’d see much of him at Richmond Palace if I ended up getting the maid job there. Hopefully not. The palace had over seven hundred rooms and four hundred staff members, so the chances of me running into him were slim. On top of that, members of the royal family were always going off on overseas trips, or spending their time at other royal residences, so I’d probably never even encounter Drew at all.

  At least that’s what I was praying for…

  Chapter 2

  Andrew

  “Another drink, your Highness?”

  “Yes, thank you,” I said, smiling up at the pretty stewardess. She blushed and returned my smile as she topped up my glass.

  During a schooling that had taken me to the best educational establishments that Europe had to offer, politeness had seldom, if ever, been emphasized. And politeness to the ‘help’ had been somewhat frowned upon—given your station in life, people would always be doing stuff for you, and if you say thank you to all of them then you’ll be saying it all the time. I’d always been grateful, therefore, that my mother—better known to the world as Queen Constance—had been scrupulous in teaching me manners. The Queen always said her ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous’ and ensured that her children did the same.

  The stewardess kept smiling as she finished topping up my glass. She really was extraordinarily pretty, with vivacious blue eyes, a delightful smile, and an ass that had made the long flight a much more pleasant experience for me as I watched it wiggle up and down the plane. I was a member of the mile-high club with frequent flyer miles, and in the ordinary scheme of things I would have been working my magic on the gorgeous stewardess (Kathy—I’d taken the time to ask her name). I was relatively sure she’d been flirting with me, as women tended to do, and it was a private plane, so by the end of the flight we would’ve both been thoroughly satisfied.

  But I hadn’t even tried, which was damn well surprising. What was more surprising was that I hadn’t even wanted to. That was almost inexplicable—I always wanted to; a fact to which previous stewardesses could attest. Was it something about Kathy? I watched her slink away again. No, definitely not something about Kathy. I found her attractive, sexy and powerfully desirable, but I just didn’t desire her right now.

  Not even a little bit.

  Earlier in the flight I’d fallen asleep for a while and dreamed of a girl. That wasn’t so unusual; given the number of girls there were and had been in my life, it was inevitable that some of them would creep into my dreams, and my subconscious could sometimes get pleasantly creative in putting them together. But this wasn’t any old girl. This dream had been about one particular girl, and it was a girl I hadn’t even ‘been’ with—one I’d enjoyed a drink with in a New York bar when I’d tried to go incognito for the night and have some regular fun that didn’t involve stuffy royal duties and so-called elite members of society.

  Keira. That was her name.

  I was used to having girls drop their panties for me in a heartbeat, and I’d have had hers in my pocket that night if I hadn’t been such an ass and let her go. I’d been watching her from the second I stepped into that bar, unable to believe that such a gorgeous minx was so close to me. I ran into a myriad of hot girls in my day-to-day life, and believe me, they wanted me just as much as I wanted them. Usually more. But none of them were in the same league as this girl. She was incredible. Her caramel skin glowed, her dark wavy hair cascaded down her back like a shimmering waterfall, her brown eyes were warm and intelligent, and she had the sexiest body I’d ever seen. Even under the conservative dress she wore, there was no mistaking the perfect curves underneath. She was a goddess, whether she knew it or not, and I couldn’t even remember the last time a woman had grabbed my attention like this.

  Right by the bollocks.

  The evening hadn’t ended as I’d hoped, but I’d thoroughly enjoyed Keira’s company, and there were precious few girls whom I could say that about and mean it. She’d been witty, charming and made good conversation that actually kept me interested for over two hours, whereas most people bored the pants off me within five minutes. Best of all, she hadn’t seemed to know who I was at all. So many women only went for me because of who I was, and while that wasn’t something most men would complain about—after all, what red-blooded man would complain about having hot women throw themselves at him—it still got to me sometimes. Who was real, and who was just after my status? It was impossible to tell half the time, and it’d been nice having a night with a woman who saw me as nothing more than an equal to her.

  Still, it was strange that she should stick in my mind so much. Strange that she should numb me to the obvious attributes of the lovely stewardess Kathy. Strange that I now found myself missing her. How could you miss someone you barely even knew? Sure, Keira and I had had an amazing chat for those couple of hours in the bar, but that didn’t mean we knew each other very well at all. After all, she hadn’t even known my real name.

  Fo
r the record, I had intended to reveal my true identity to Keira once I’d got her back to my hotel room, and prior to sleeping with her. I was a playboy, a lothario, a cad, perhaps even a womanizer, and I wasn’t necessarily proud of these labels, nor would I have denied them. But, for all my reputation, I never lied to the women I was with. My encounter with Keira was actually a pretty typical one—total honesty, aside from not telling her my real name. In fact, I’d found that total honesty was a far better pickup line than actual lines. I always made my intentions clear, I never lied to get a girl into bed, and I never led girls to believe that it was something more than it was. I also never lied about my name…for long.

  That was the one caveat; my identity did present a problem, and unless I was introduced as Prince Andrew, I always lied about my name initially. I fancied that this was part of a larger honesty. If I said who I really was, then the girl was almost certainly going to sleep with me based on my status alone. The name itself made things unequal. I had a reputation and women wanted to know if I lived up to it. It was quite something to have slept with Prince Andrew, and a woman’s ability to make good decisions took a hit once she found out who she was with. So I lied whenever I went incognito to have a good time, and I became Drew Ellis for a while, and if Drew Ellis could get the girl back to my hotel room, purely on force of personality and good looks, then I would reveal the truth—because then the girl had already made the decision of her own accord. If Drew Ellis got shot down, then I never revealed the truth to try and turn the situation around.

  Frankly, I felt that I’d done the right thing by using Drew Ellis, and it grated at me that Keira would forever think that I’d lied to her and egregiously offended her in doing so. I felt bad about that, but there was nothing that I could do about it now—I’d most likely never see the girl again, because I’d been bloody stupid enough to let her walk away.

  To be fair, she hadn’t exactly walked. She’d run away like her ass was on fire; like she couldn’t stand being near me for a second longer. She’d even somehow managed to look sexy while dashing off in her heels like a drunken giraffe.

  And there was that pang again…why did I miss her so much?

  “We’ll be landing in a few minutes, your Highness.” Kathy’s voice nudged me out of the introspection into which I’d slipped.

  “Thank you, Kathy,” I said with a smile. She looked a little disappointed that I hadn’t cracked onto her, but that was too bad for her. She’d have to remain disappointed, because it wasn’t going to happen, not while the lovely Keira was still on my mind.

  ***

  There were many official homes belonging to our family, inherited from the ancestral Arlingtons and occupied by all of them throughout the years. The most familiar to the public was Wellington Castle, but the one in which I’d always felt most at home was Richmond Palace. Though its name might be slightly less well known, it remained a dominating and impressive presence, and to me it was simply the site of many good childhood memories. We’d spent a lot of time here when my father was still alive—he’d died of a heart attack when I was only twelve—so this was the place with which I most associated family life. Despite there being the sad memories of my father’s passing, coming back here was still a good feeling due to all those other wonderful memories we’d made.

  This exact moment, however, wasn’t going to make a particularly good memory. I’d just stepped inside, and I was in for a lecture.

  “It’s not that I don’t appreciate your right to have ‘a bit of fun’,” my mother said. She could pronounce inverted commas with cut-glass precision. “But at some point you have to settle down and learn to be more restrained in your activities. We don’t need another George IV. And I’m not going to live forever.”

  “I don’t even want to think about that,” I said.

  She gave me a look of severe remonstration. “Please don’t use my inevitable demise as a way to excuse your tom-catting it around with any girl without the sense enough to say no to you.”

  “Sorry.”

  I was often taken aback by how well my mother knew me. It could be hard having a mother who was also the Queen; they could seem like two different people, and it was hard to believe that the figure who stood in crown and regalia on state occasions as if carved in stone even knew what ‘tom-catting it around’ might mean.

  “When you were younger,” she continued, “we made allowances. We let you fool around. For example, we let you get all those silly tattoos, because they can easily be covered up. We didn’t want you to grow up without having a childhood and an adolescence like everyone else. The monarchy is changing and it’s important that a future king enjoy the experiences that other people enjoy.”

  “And I appreciate that.”

  “I’ve noticed,” she said icily, her glance shooting daggers at a newspaper front page that featured a photo of me outside a New York bar surrounded by young women; the same bar where I’d met Keira. “The problem is that you’re not other people. Because of who you are and the family which you were born into, you’re able to enjoy those experiences to excess. You don’t have to go to work in the morning, you don’t worry about your mortgage, and life is easy for you. For the moment people tolerate you—especially all the female people— because you’re living out their fantasy and they don’t blame you for it. But the time will come when they hate you for it. The more of your responsibilities that you shirk, the more you take advantage of the privilege into which you were born, the quicker that day will come.”

  “Isn’t that all the more reason for me to enjoy it now?” I said, a smile playing on my lips.

  “No. You might think that a Prince’s job is to wait to become King but there are duties required of royalty. It is a full-time job.”

  “I did four charity events in New York,” I countered.

  “And only gave half a speech at one because you’d made a date with the coat check girl.”

  “That’s not true!” I protested. The girl had been a waitress, and you could hardly call what we’d done a ‘date’, unless getting a blowjob in a private bathroom counted as a date. That was before I met Keira, and I found myself thinking about her all over again; her plump pink lips, her sparkling eyes, her animated words over her future art career. Strange how I could divide my world, and my behavior, into pre-Keira and post-Keira despite our meeting only being brief and cut short by my ‘Drew Ellis’ lie.

  “Be that as it may,” my mother continued. “From now on, your first thought needs to be to your responsibilities.” She gave a little smile that cracked the surface of the monarch to reveal the mother beneath. “Duty before booty.”

  “Please don’t ever say ‘booty’ again,” I said, cringing as every child cringes when a parent tries to get down with the kids.

  “Did I not use it correctly?” she asked innocently. “How ‘ill’ of me. Have you said hello to your brother yet?”

  I shook my head.

  “Go fetch him. I want to talk to you both.”

  Traditionally, the relationship between royal siblings is a frosty one. There was always the unspoken but implied favoritism towards the first born, and in the case of me and my brother Michael, the situation was exacerbated by our personalities. I was destined to be King, a future that I wasn’t wholly happy about. Michael would’ve dearly loved to be King, but his birthright entitled him to be nothing but a standby—in case of tragedy we need you, otherwise just shut up and stay back there.

  Second-born in a royal family was a profoundly hateful thing to be. It was made no better by the fact that Michael was, by any conventional measure, far more suitable to the task than me. He was controlled, sober and serious, and he always performed all that was required of him. His personality and dedication to his duty and station made him far more suitable for the life of service that a King must live, and of course, infinitely less popular with the public. He was no ‘fun’, whereas I was photographed in all kinds of ‘fun’ situations by the paparazzi every weekend. That
had always seemed unfair to Michael, and because of it, he retained a distaste for the British public that was hardly regal, and certainly not kingly.

  I located him in the library, and he looked up as I entered.

  “You’re back.”

  Although Michael was two years my junior, I always felt like a naughty schoolboy being called before the headmaster when talking with my younger brother.

  “Just got in.”

  “I see that you enjoyed yourself in America.”

  Another person might have asked ‘Did you have fun in America?’, but not Michael.

  “Yeah. It was good.”

  “Your face on the front pages of the tabloids suggests that it was slightly better than good.”

  I shrugged. “Sorry.”

  “I’m not altogether sure that you are.”

  I couldn’t escape the feeling that by enjoying my life, I had somehow let my brother down. In fact, I often felt that by existing I had let my brother down. I decided to try a different tack.

  “You know, if you cut loose a little, it could be you on the front page surrounded by pretty girls.”

  Michael pulled an affronted face—it was an expression to which his features were ideally suited. “You actually think I’m jealous of your deplorable escapades?”

  I considered the question. “Well…yeah.”

  He snorted. “I’m not.”

  “I would be if I were you.”

  “Well, I’m not. At this point we could find a better future king by throwing a dart at a phonebook and picking whoever it landed on.”

  I chuckled. Despite being a very serious and often petulant person, my brother could be funny on occasion, whether he meant to be or not.

  “Perhaps if you knew more of the details, little bro,” I replied with an exaggerated wink.

  At this point I would’ve been willing to admit that I was deliberately riling Michael up. I knew he was at least a little jealous of my carefree lifestyle and attitude towards life, whether he would admit it or not. And by the same token and whether I would admit it or not, I was a little jealous of how easily studious adherence to duty came to my younger sibling. Somewhere between the two of us, there was a perfect monarch—one who was liked by his people, conscientious of his duties and happy in who he was. As things were, there were two people: a well-liked dilettante and a disliked but dedicated fusspot, and neither of us was altogether happy with who he was.