Playing Dirty (A Bad Boy Sports Romance)

by Avery Wilde

  By the time I arrived back at Richmond Palace, I had a definite task in mind. During the ride back, and indeed during most of the day, the whole tone of the trip had made my mind turn inevitably to Keira. Now that I came to examine that thought, I wasn’t quite sure why I should regard it as inevitable. You’d have to go by a long and tenuous route to draw a direct line between Keira and a school for blind children in West London, and yet my subconscious had apparently drawn that line, as everything I’d done and seen during the day reminded me of her. I’d been visiting a school—Keira had presumably gone to school. I’d sung with a choir—choir sounded a bit like Keira. I’d played football—football was a game Americans referred to as soccer and didn’t generally like, and Keira was American.

  See? The links were there as plain as the nose on my face.

  It was as if the universe was trying to tell me something, and who was I to mess with the universe? It was much bigger than me. I also considered it notable that the teacher who’d shown me around today was absolutely gorgeous, and I hadn’t even thought about that except to think one thing: Keira was better.

  Way bloody better.

  The girl was firmly in my head, and as far as I could see, there were two possible reasons, each denoting a clear course of action. Firstly: in New York I’d planned to sleep with her and had been denied by pure bad luck. When a girl turned me down, then that was one thing; from that I could move on, but this was grossly unfair, and on both of us, too—Keira had been denied a night with me, which seemed totally unfair on her. That would explain my constant obsession with her and suggested an obvious course of action…

  Sleep with her.

  Get her out of my system by getting myself into hers. One night of passion and all this daydreaming would be behind me, and I could get back to other girls.

  There were two problems with this first possibility. Firstly, it was a load of bullshit. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to sleep with Keira, but that wasn’t where my mind kept taking me. I wasn’t imagining her in bed, riding my cock or writhing under me as I fucked her senseless…instead I was imagining us chatting over a drink, going for long walks, and all that other crap that I’d never previously had any time for. I could pretend that all I wanted was a roll in the hay—and Richmond Palace’s stable block presented ample opportunity for that—but it just wasn’t the case.

  Secondly, I didn’t want her out of my system. I treasured every wasted moment spent thinking about her. Far from wanting to get back to other girls, I found that I’d rather dream a conversation with an imaginary Keira than have raucous, animal sex with an actual woman. A few years ago, I’d had minor surgery, adjacent to my groin and the doctor had told me to abstain from sexual activity for two weeks. Within days, I’d practically been humping the furniture in frustration. But now…I felt barely anything. I was frustrated about how things were between me and Keira, but that frustration wasn’t sexual.

  Okay, maybe it was a little bit sexual…but still, my point held.

  So if the idea that I was obsessed with Keira because I still wanted to sleep with her didn’t hold water, then that left only option number two.

  I had feelings for her.

  There were people who had an almost allergic reaction to using the ‘L’ word, but I took that to a whole other level—I could seldom bring myself to even use the ‘F’ word. Feelings. Feelings were for other people, people who had given up on ever having sex again; pussies and pathetic daydreamers. I’d divided the women of the world into those I wanted to have sex with, those I didn’t want to have sex with, and those with whom I’d already had sex (and I seldom went back over old ground). My ‘feelings’ never went beyond that.

  Whether or not I had any sort of feelings for Keira, I was largely unable to say for the simple reason that I’d never had them, or anything like them, for any other woman, and so I had no idea what it actually felt like. For all I knew, I’d picked up some rare disease in New York, for which the symptoms included sweaty palms, dry throat, butterflies in the stomach, constant day-dreaming and of course, acting like a total bloody prat. What the hell had made me think I could treat Keira in the way I had to make her respond with anything other than contempt? If I had ‘feelings’, then clearly they weren’t contagious, or if they were then they could be cured by someone practically waving his morning wood at you.

  Again, why the hell had I done that to her?

  With no other options left and a whole bunch of sappy, romantic literature confirming my symptoms, I had to confess that, in all likelihood, I had feelings for Keira. But why her? We barely knew each other from a bar of soap. I guess it was just because. Because she was Keira Valencia. Because she was special. And what made her special? The fact that she was Keira Valencia.

  Jesus, I sounded like the ultimate pussy right now, and I sounded completely illogical as well.

  So the question now became: what the hell was I going to do about it? By my ridiculous behavior, I’d made things supremely difficult for myself, and if she never forgave me, then all I could do was applaud her good judgement. But I had one hope; the hope that the feeling was mutual. Perhaps I was being wildly optimistic, perhaps it was all in my head, but I felt sure that I’d felt some spark between us, some tug, something that drew us together in a way I couldn’t put into words. Love forgives all.

  Dammit. Now I’d gone and used the ‘L’ word as well, which was utterly ridiculous. I didn’t love her…love at first sight was a bullshit invention of fairytales that little kids grew up believing in before being slapped in the face by the cold, hard hand of reality and adulthood.

  As the sun set, the car drew up outside Richmond Palace, and I came to a decision. “Just take me round the servants’ entrance, would you, Perkins?” I asked the driver.

  “Of course, your Highness.”

  “Thank you.”

  Though he was too well-trained to ask, Perkins was bound to wonder why, but I had no head-space to worry about that. Right now my primary concern was getting to speak to Keira without anyone noticing. I certainly didn’t need anyone in my family thinking that I was sleeping with the staff, and that would certainly be the conclusion to which they would jump. And, however close-lipped the servants were when dealing with the press, they were terrible gossips amongst themselves, and any meeting between me and Keira was sure to make its way back to the Queen somehow.

  Fortunately, it was now late enough in the day that the house was operating on its skeleton overnight staff. Most of the maids, footmen, grooms, under-butlers and so on had either retired to their rooms in the house’s upper floors, and those who lived off-site had headed home for the night. It was therefore quiet when I sneaked in, trying not to look too sneaky since Perkins was still watching. I didn’t venture into the servants’ corridors often, but as a child I’d spent a great deal of time down here, playing hide and seek with Michael and our cousins. It was a great place to play hide and seek. The memories flooded back now as I sought to get my bearings. I missed those days; things had been so much simpler then. Royal or not, a child is a child, and all that mattered back then was having fun. Perhaps I’d tried to cling to that credo too long into adulthood. My determination to have fun hadn’t changed, while my definition of ‘fun’ had changed radically—if all I wanted to do was play hide and seek, then my behavior would probably not represent such a problem, and I wouldn’t be plastered all over the gossip columns every five seconds.

  Once I’d worked out where I was and which doors were which, I proceeded along the corridor. I wasn’t sure if Keira lived in or out—her early morning start argued live-in, but the fact that she was new staff suggested out—and either way she would be hard to find. She might have already gone home if she lived out, and if she lived in then she was most likely up in her room, and there was no chance of me seeing her there without being seen by a score of others. In fact, now that I stopped to think about it, I had to admit that the chances of finding her down here were extremely slim, and this had
been a pretty dumb idea.

  I seemed to be having a lot of pretty dumb ideas since meeting Keira…another symptom of the ‘feelings’ no doubt.

  But just as I was about to give up and leave this quest for another day, a noise caught my attention. It was the sound of someone crying.

  I might be single-minded and selfish, but when I heard someone crying, my instinct was to comfort. I followed the sound to a door which stood ajar at the far end of the corridor. Gently, I pressed it open, unsure as to how I should announce my presence.

  Given that I’d decided to do what I could to help, regardless of who the afflicted party turned out to be, I felt for a moment that I was being rewarded as I saw that the crying sound was issuing from the same woman who’d occupied my thoughts for the better part of the day. I was so pleased to see Keira that, without realizing that I was doing it, I found myself smiling, an expression that was clearly inappropriate to the situation. Keira sat on a sofa in the day staff changing room, head in hands, gently sobbing. She was half dressed, as if she had begun to get changed and then not had the energy to continue as she was overtaken by grief.

  I had no idea how many women I’d been with, and yet I felt as if I’d never witnessed such an intimate moment before. It was a raw scene—the sort of thing that no one would knowingly share—and I realized that the longer I eavesdropped upon it, the less thoughtful and the more creepy my presence became. Just loud enough to be heard but hopefully not loud enough to startle, I cleared my throat.

  Keira jumped a little and turned, her tear-reddened eyes wide.

  “Oh,” she said, a small and desperately pathetic sound. She gathered her clothes about her, making sure she was decent if not presentable. “I’m sorry, your Highness, I didn’t hear you…”

  I held up my hands, dismissing her apologies. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. What’s wrong? Can I help?”

  Keira shook her head, swallowing back tears and forcing a false smile. “No. But thank you for asking.”

  I edged further into the room, not wanting her to feel trapped or pressured but not willing to leave her when she was so clearly upset.

  “You can tell me—what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine. Every girl needs a good cry from time to time. That’s why we watch weepy movies. It’s how we roll.”

  I looked around the room. “Are you watching a weepy movie? Because it doesn’t seem like it. And people don’t cry for no reason.”

  “I’m sure they do.”

  “They don’t.”

  “Then I guess I must be the exception.”

  I sat down beside Keira, careful to leave a respectful distance between us. “Look…” I stopped to select my words. “I’m an ass. In so many ways. And a prick. And I think you said ‘bastard’ yesterday—that too. And a whole bunch of other words. But I’m also here. And for all that I may be an ass…”

  “And a prick.”

  “And a bastard, yes. I care.”

  Keira met my gaze, her eyes still damp and her light makeup streaked. “Care about what?”

  “Believe it or not, I care about all kinds of things. But right now I care most about you. And I can understand why that would be hard to believe given the way I’ve behaved, and if I’m honest I can’t really explain it because we hardly know each other. But there it is. I do care about you, and if something’s wrong then I’d like to help if I can.”

  It seemed that she was searching my face for some sign of insincerity, trying to gauge if I was genuine or if this was just a line I used. I tried to look honest, which wasn’t easy as I considered that I’d been born with a thoroughly untrustworthy face. But it seemed to satisfy Keira, to a point at least.

  “I just haven’t had a great day, that’s all.”

  “I did try to be better behaved this morning,” I said.

  Keira rolled her eyes. “Number one: having enough self-control to not parade your penis around shouldn’t be an effort, that should be a given. Number two: not everything is about you.”

  I grinned at that. “Sorry.”

  “Although I suppose this is a little about you,” she admitted.

  “Oh, good,” I replied. “I mean…not ‘good’ per se. But if it’s about me then maybe I can fix it.”

  Keira looked at me with an expression that was tough to read. “There’s a quality to you that’s either naivety or idiocy. I can’t tell which. It’s irritating but occasionally quite sweet.”

  “That’s my jam.”

  Keira laughed and shook her head. “Members of the British royal family really shouldn’t say ‘that’s my jam’.”

  I nodded. “Word.”

  “Or that.”

  “I know, I was just trying to make you laugh again.”

  Keira smiled. “I appreciate it.”

  “So you were telling me how this was partially my fault.”

  She sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me.”

  Keira shook her head again, retreating back within herself. “No, I really don’t want to complain. I brought it all on myself, really.”

  “I doubt that’s true, but I have an idea,” I said. “How about we talk about some other things for a while, and maybe then you’ll feel comfortable enough to tell me? And I’ll start by telling you the dumbest thing I ever did. How does that sound?”

  I saw a hint of a smile turn her lips up. “I guess we could try that.”

  “Okay, good. But you have to promise you won’t go to the tabloids about this particular scandal. Let’s just say I’d be very embarrassed if the story ever went public.”

  “So I should turn off the recording device in my pocket, and all the secret cameras I’ve got on you right now?”

  I smiled, glad to see she was already feeling comfortable enough to at least make silly jokes, just like she had on the first night we met. “Very funny. Anyway, when I was about nine, I developed a crush on one of the maids. This was when we were staying at Wellington Castle for a while.”

  Keira’s eyes sparkled with humor. “Why did I know this would be about a woman?”

  “Shh. I’m not finished,” I said with another grin. “She was one of the live-in staff members, and one day I followed her around and figured out which room was hers.”

  “Oh no…”

  “And I remembered seeing some movie where the main male character stole his crush’s underwear. I can’t remember why, but I thought ‘oh yes, that seems like a great idea,’ and I managed to get into her room—can’t even remember how—and I stole a rather slinky silk camisole and a pair of knickers from her dresser.”

  “Well, that’s creepy, but not that bad,” Keira said. “You were only nine.”

  “That’s not the end of the story, regrettably.”

  “Oh, god…well, go on, then,” she said, settling back on the sofa and looking far more relaxed now. “I feel like I need a box of popcorn while I listen to this saga.”

  “Okay, so after I stole the things, I decided that the only thing to do with my stolen goods was to hide them somewhere on the grounds so no one would find it in my room. So I ran out onto the grounds and headed beyond the stables and over to the grove of trees that’s nearby. I don’t know why, I suppose I was going to hide them in a hole in a tree or something. But it suddenly started bucketing down, as it tends to do in England, and I thought, ‘I don’t want her lovely silk cami and knickers to get all wet and ruined. What was I thinking, bringing them out here?’ So I stripped down and put them on underneath my clothes to protect them from the rain. She was a very small woman, probably about four foot ten and maybe ninety pounds, so they actually weren’t too loose on me despite my age.”

  Keira nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  “I figured I’d return to the castle and find somewhere else to stash them. But it was really pissing down with rain now, and by the time I got inside, my mother and some of the staff were deeply concerned that I might catch pneumonia or something, so they insisted on immediatel
y taking off my clothes so I could dry off and get into dry, warmer clothes.”

  “Oh no...”

  “Of course I pitched a fit, saying they couldn’t undress me, but my mother insisted, and as soon as my clothes came off…there it was. A pink silk camisole under my clothes, with a matching thong worn over my boxers. And the maid who it belonged to? She was right there. She saw everything.”

  She clapped a hand to her mouth. “No…really?”

  I nodded, still grinning. “Pretty stupid of me, huh?”

  “Yeah, although knowing you, I was actually expecting something much worse.”

  “You flatter me too much,” I said, playfully jostling her. “Anyway, enough about me. The other day, you mentioned that this is a gap year for you? Tell me more about that.”

  She nodded. “I wanted to see some of the art in Europe, and I figured this is a good way of doing it. There really are a lot of amazing museums here.”

  “Yes, there are,” I said with a nod. “So how’d you settle on applying for this specific job?”

  “Cleaning doesn’t exactly take too much experience, so I figured it’s an easy enough job to do, and the palace maids are paid better than any other cleaning jobs in the country.”

  “Indeed. Although to be fair, it’s not that easy. I probably wouldn’t have the first clue how to turn on a vacuum cleaner,” I said with a self-deprecating smile. “Unlike some people here, who know very well how to use one early in the morning when I’m hungover as hell...”

  She arched an eyebrow and smiled, and my heart soared. Christ, I’d finally managed to get her to crack a real smile.