End Game (Bad Boy Football Romance) (Cocky Bastards & Motorcycles Book 6)

by Faye, Amy

  "Emma, I don't work here. You don't have to tell me." A grin spreads across his face as she tightens up. This isn't funny. "Go on, tell the lady."

  Emma goes up. Her voice sounds wrong as it comes out of her mouth. It sounds every bit as nervous as she feels, only worse. Because it sounds like she's going to throw up, and she feels… more or less the same, actually.

  "Could I get a cheeseburger, fries, and a soda?"

  The woman smiles and punches it into the machine before her eyes flick up to Craig, her smile unfaltering.

  "And for you?"

  Chapter Eighteen

  Watching Emma enjoying that cheeseburger was the most fun that Craig Weston has had with his clothes on in… oh, years. More fun than some times that his clothes weren't on, for that matter. Though, getting punched in the face was more fun, too.

  The fact of the matter, though, was that she looked as if she's just discovered fire. Nobody in the history of humanity has ever been as intensely pleased with themselves as Emma Owens eating a cheeseburger.

  It almost made him want a bite himself. Not that he wasn't happy with his own burger, of course. It probably tasted better. She'd probably die right there and go to heaven if she tried anything better than what was in her hands, though, so he kept it to himself.

  She ate with this look of supreme enjoyment. If she had started crying, it wouldn't have half been a surprise. So he watched her rather than eating, as he let his food get cold, because God damn if he was going to miss a minute of the pantomime going on across the table.

  As far as he could tell, she was totally unaware of what she was doing, except that it was delicious and she wasn't about to stop. That was the best part. Everything she did was so self-conscious.

  Yet, now, being conscientious was the furthest thing from her mind. As if she'd entirely forgotten that being reserved was a discrete concept.

  He knew it better than she did, he thought, but he couldn't wipe the smile off his own face, either. It was just too much fun watching her sit there, devouring the meal. Too much fun by quite a bit.

  She devoured another bite, and he watched her eyes practically rolling around in her head. She didn't eat too fast. It really wasn't unpleasant or impolite—but he was struck once again by how much she showed her emotions on her face.

  It might have been a good thing, after all, that they didn't stay at the other place. She might have cried right there at the table. Well… she might have anyways. She looked about ready to, before they'd left. Different kind of crying.

  She took a deep drink of her soda. The tell-tale sound of her cup being empty came loud and clear. Craig rose to his feet without asking if she wanted him to get her a refill, and held his hand out.

  "Coke, right?"

  Her eyes look up at him like she'd forgotten he was there. "Oh, yeah."

  She hands the cup over like there was some chance he might not give it back if she's not careful. He pops the lid off and hands that back to her before walking over to the soda machine and fills it up.

  God, that girl. She could drive a man to all sorts of excesses. Not just any man. Could drive him to all sorts of excesses.

  He couldn't think of anything he wouldn't give to see that look of sheer bliss on her face again. The thought brought a smile to his face only a moment before he thought of something that might bring that look to her face. He stopped dead for a minute.

  Jesus, that wasn't an appropriate time to think about anything in that direction. Just when he'd managed to get his damn mind off of it for a little while, too.

  He takes a deep breath. Nope. Not time to think about sex. Not time at all. There's more to life than sex. Hell, apparently he's been missing out on some inner facet of In-n-Out burger, for that matter. He's never had a burger taste as good as Emma's seems to.

  Craig slides himself into the seat opposite Emma and hands her drink back to her. It's small, like she is.

  "You enjoying your food?"

  He knows the answer, and he knows that if she gives anything other than the most glowing review he's ever heard, on any subject, she's lying.

  She doesn't lie.

  Hearing her talk about it makes him smile. It wasn't hard to notice the girl was getting to him. What was harder, on the other hand, was admitting it to himself. There was more going on in his life than listening to a girl talk about her food. Probably.

  But for some reason, that didn't seem to matter very much. Didn't much matter that in another week or so, he'd be having the first game of the season. Didn't much matter that it was getting harder and harder to sleep as the game approached.

  He'd never really felt pressure before. Not last year. Not in high school. But this time, something was different. Something was eating at him.

  Truth is, a lot is different. Just about everything. It might have been what was throwing him off, or it might be that he's just letting things get to him.

  But Craig Weston can't afford to be off. Not when everything is riding on his shoulders. Not when this season and next season are going to be what defines his chances at a real career in the NFL.

  He takes a minute chewing his food. It might not be like going straight to heaven, but it is damn good. He takes his time with the next bite as well.

  No time to be getting sidetracked by anyone or anything. He has to get his head straight, and he has to kick whatever's been throwing him for a loop. Once he's got his head on straight, the rest of the season is cake.

  It's just figuring out what the hell is screwing him up that has him worried. Because until he gets that taken care of, it's going to be a long couple of weeks. A long couple of weeks with problems he can't afford to have.

  He takes another bite. That's just going to be how it is, though. Doesn't matter that he would rather not be off his game. Doesn't matter that he wants to be thinking straight. You don't get to the position that he put himself in by luck.

  Everyone has bad days, and Craig's had plenty of them. Whatever's eating at him now, it's not going to be a problem. He can't afford to let it be a problem. He's already given up too much to get where he's at.

  He catches himself smiling at Emma again. He catches her smiling back at him, though she would deny it if he asked her about it.

  There's just something so nice about the way she seems to be enjoying that burger. This was a good idea. He should have tried it sooner. Maybe she'd stop thinking he was some kind of monster, if he had done it before.

  Then again, he thinks… let's not get crazy. She likes the food you got her. That doesn't mean she's not going to deck you, first chance you give her. Because Emma Owens isn't the kind of girl who gives up.

  Craig sits back a little in his chair. They've got a lot of differences, he and Emma. They came from different backgrounds. Anyone could see that, just looking at them. Looking at the way they stand, the clothes that they wear.

  But one thing that isn't so different between them is their determination. They're both going places. Both going places with real grim certainty. Watching her smile as she eats puts an unpleasant pit in Craig's stomach. The fact is, maybe they're not going the same places.

  It's too tempting to think of her as a friend. With the way that he's had to compete for just about everything so far in life, friends are a valuable commodity. Most people are allies, or assets, or teammates.

  Emma's useful. She's an asset. But that's not why he likes her, and it's not why he keeps trying to buy her food. Even buy her friendship, maybe.

  It can't last, though. She's bright. Real damn smart. He's a dope, only good at throwing a football and getting into girls' pants. She and him are on different trajectories, and they aren't going to stay friends forever.

  But until that day comes, it's not hard to like seeing her smile like that.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Emma Owens swallows her pride. It doesn't go down nearly as easy as that cheeseburger. She'll be having dreams about that burger for, ugh. The rest of her life. Dreams about a burger so good
that it'll make her mouth water for weeks on end.

  She slips back out of the convertible and closes the door behind her. Softly, now. The car needs to be treated with care. She's always known that. It was one of the first things her father taught her. To treat the car with care and respect.

  Otherwise, things can break. She doesn't want to break anything. So she's real gentle with it. Just enough force to close the door behind her, without causing any damage, without causing any trouble at all if she can avoid it.

  "Thank you," she says. She meant to sound more confident. More self-sure. She doesn't feel confident, though. Not one bit. She feels like everything's going sideways, and she's got nothing that she can do about it.

  "Don't mention it." Craig's got that winning smile he's always got. It's too endearing for a guy who can be such a slimeball. Like the light on an angler fish. You think it's cute and friendly, and then it's just… not.

  Then again, if the teeth were coming out any time, then… when? She'd been in his dorm room. She'd been quite a bit more willing than she would ever openly admit, to anyone, including herself.

  Yet, he hadn't made a move. Hadn't made any kind of move. He'd reacted all weird when he even touched her hand. Whatever the fuck was going on, she didn't know. And she didn't want to know.

  He had his own mysterious motives for things, and she wasn't going to question them. She sure as hell wasn't going to ask him about them.

  "Have a good night," he says. Emma knows she's reading into it too much when she hears more in his voice than just a farewell.

  "You too," she says. She shifts her bag onto her shoulder and starts the walk back to the sorority house. It's not far. A quarter mile or so. She used to walk twice that every day. More than that most days.

  It was a quarter mile out, from the Owens house to the liquor store. Half mile to the grocery, but at least it was in the same direction. Just a little one-way quarter mile? Please. For babies.

  It's later than she'd like when she gets back. The sun's already setting, even as the days haven't really gotten around to getting short quite yet. Nobody really asks where she's been. It's her business where she's been, and it's not like she goes out often.

  Besides, where would she have gone? Just about nowhere. No car. No chances at a car. And who would believe her if she told them? So instead it's just a round of 'hello's as she heads up the stairs.

  She answers everyone in turn. Good God, was she tired. There was a test tomorrow, but she was more prepared than she needed to be.

  It was going to be a cakewalk. Just like it always was. Normally, she might sit down for a while and have a look over her notes. Even after reading them nearly a dozen times in the past week, it was still always valuable to have them fresh in your mind the night before.

  But tonight? Too tired. Too exhausted from everything. Adventures, real adventures, were great. She would have them more often if she could, but adventures were few and far between for her.

  But as great as they were, as exciting and engaging and oh, God, that burger… well, they tired a girl out, and she had morning classes tomorrow, same as everyone else. No time to sit around and wait for herself to recover.

  She slips into bed. Her body still felt warm and heavy from all the food that she'd had. God damn was that good.

  She closes her eyes in the dark bedroom and starts letting her mind wander a little. That's always the first thing she does before bed. Just relax, and let herself think about… whatever came up.

  Tonight, though, she quickly realized what a big mistake she was making. A big mistake, indeed. Because now, all she could think of was that dorm room.

  The walls had been bare. The bed was made. It could have been about anyone's room, really. More than that, it could have been anyone's room that had moved in a week ago. There was no real character there.

  It made sense when she thought about it a little. He probably spent practically no time there, between class and practice and… 'extra-curriculars.' But still, it felt strange to see someone's private space, and see that they didn't leave any mark on it at all.

  But that's not what she's mostly thinking about. She's thinking about what might have happened if she hadn't left that door open. What might have happened if she'd walked in a little deeper, if he'd turned around after he grabbed that soda, and she was right there behind him.

  She could still almost smell the soft, masculine musk. Whatever deodorant he wore, it made him smell… like a man, she thought. No other way she could describe it.

  Even separated from it by twenty minutes and a five minute walk, it went right to her head as soon as she imagined it. And once it had spread out, filled up her head, the tingle spread to other places, across her body.

  What would he have done to her, if she had let him? If she had asked him to?

  She imagines what it must be like. He'd throw her down on the bed, and then his hands would be exploring across her body, every place that she couldn't explore herself… every little touch setting her body on fire…

  It was too hot in her room. Way too hot. She kicks her feet out from under the covers, but it doesn't help. Nothing will. She made a big mistake, she thinks. A big, big mistake.

  She should never have gone up for that Coke. She should never have gone into that building with him. And the biggest mistake of all, she should never have let him treat her.

  He didn't seem to take it to mean anything. He hadn't implied that she owed him anything at all. Not even the slightest implication.

  That didn't mean that it didn't mean anything. She knew she wasn't going to admit it, and she doubted that he would, but both of them knew deep down that it meant a heck of a lot. It just wasn't the sort of thing that either of them were going to talk about.

  Because talking about it meant having to decide whether or not they were going to do something about it. As much as she didn't want to admit it, Emma wouldn't have minded that one bit.

  Her stomach twisted up, her body burned in places that she didn't dare touch. Yearned for something that she didn't dare give to herself. It wasn't proper, she reminded herself. It wasn't proper, and she shouldn't have even been thinking about it.

  The fact that she shouldn't have been thinking it, though, did little to change the way that her cool fingertips danced across her skin, teasing herself with something more.

  That was allowed, she thought. Just touching herself, her stomach, her sides… it was teasing herself. It was tempting fate. But it was allowed, and she knew better than to think that she could deny herself that little bit.

  Because if she tried to deny herself that much, then it was going to mean that denying Craig was going to be all that much harder.

  Chapter Twenty

  Craig Weston sits down. It's not often that he has a chance to during practice, not for any longer than it takes for Coach to talk them through the next exercise. That's just the reality of being who he is.

  When every expectation is falling on you, you get the attention during training. But when you get the attention, the expectations fall, as well, and when that happens… well, rest time is a rare commodity.

  It's a commodity that Craig Weston has learned to appreciate, and to savor. The boys on the field get themselves set. They're looking solid, particularly on defense. He's got plenty of options for himself, as well.

  The boys can catch about anything he throws within five feet of them. They're fast on their feet. They're smart, and no matter what the play, they look like they can sell it.

  None of it matters if they can cut the head off the snake, though. If they get through the front line before Craig can get rid of the ball, then it's all a waste.

  Every team has a weakness. That's just a reality. No matter how good you get, there's always going to be some place where you're weaker than everywhere else.

  You can have a well-balanced team, but they're not going to have the raw talent that a guy like Craig Weston has. They're not going to have a defense that can stop him.
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  There's always going to be a weakness, that is, unless they're just better than you. If you can't see the weakness, it's because it's one you can't exploit—not because it isn't there.

  Craig Weston—and Coach, he knows—can see the weaknesses already. That's all you need to know for sure. Where the problems are coming from. And the problems for Weston and his squad are all right there in front of Craig, the first and last defense that let him make big plays, instead of hoping for little five-yard gains here and there.

  Worse than that, though, is the very real risk of getting himself hit. Most of the boys on the squad, they're used to it. It's their job to get hit, at least a little. Craig, though, doesn't have a job like that.

  It's his job to look at the field and see where opportunities open up. It's his job to make those opportunities into realities. It's his job to throw a football so it lands in the right pair of hands every time. It's his job to make judgments on the field about what's going to happen next.

  But the one thing that isn't his job, by any stretch of the imagination, is getting his ass knocked onto the ground, or having some fucker tackle him in his knees so that he's out for half a season.

  That's a risk they can't afford, and that's exactly where Craig's squad is weak. Doesn't that just beat all?

  The defensive line tears through the offensive line again. Not much time. Enough for him to make a toss. Every time they give it a try, it works.

  The defensive line tears right up the middle, and by the time they hit Craig, just hard enough to know who's boss, the ball's out of his hands.

  By then they've put so much force right up the middle that the half-back runs for twenty yards before the Safety catches him, and then only if he's on the ball.

  It's one way to keep them honest, and it will probably work. But eventually they're going to have to figure out that in spite of their star quarterback, in spite of all the hype surrounding him—hype he deserves—there's no passing game.