Wicked (Dangerous Liaisons Book 1)

by Ashlyn Mathews

  Round two isn’t better. Neither is three. In the end, the joke’s on me. My team lost on purpose.

  We walk out of the trampoline place as a large group. The kids run up to their parents, excitement in their voices as they point to me and Harper. The adults surround us. Do they recognize me? Is that the reason they have shit-eating grins on their faces?

  My ego takes more pummeling when they pull Harper into a group hug and thank her for spending time with their little snots. Hold up. Let me clarify. To me, the kids are little snots. Their parents are using different words. Precious. Wonderful. I want to gag.

  “So two weeks?” one of the parents ask after the kids went on and on about the water park and me paying because I’m the loser.

  Never once did those little snots mention conspiracy. No wonder Harper wears nothing but black. The company she keeps has hearts as black as night. Every one of them, except Elsa.

  She took a ball to the back of the head for me. A small hand slides into my big one. I glance down.

  “Hey, Elsa.”

  “It’s Esther.”

  “Hey, Elsa.”

  She smiles wide.

  “Hey, E,” I say.

  Her smile grows and, wait a sec, are those dimples?

  I smile back. Pink tinges her small cheeks.

  “Are you Harper’s boyfriend?”

  Shit, here we go again. I stomp down the urge to roll my eyes or answer, sending that ball into Harper’s court.

  “He is,” Harper says.

  “When?”

  This from Collin. No surprise there.

  “I asked her to be my girl on Friday.”

  “Like six days ago, Friday?”

  My brows slant low. “You got a problem with that, kid?”

  Harper clears her throat. “April’s dad is expecting her home soon. We should get going.”

  We, meaning she and April. I met them here.

  “Well, E, I should bounce. Thanks for having my back.”

  We fist bump. I stare at her fist. So tiny next to my mammoth one.

  “See you next week?” she asks expectantly.

  “Be there or be square.”

  “Huh?”

  “NVM? TTYL?” I offer.

  She giggles. “Never mind. Talk to you later. Gotcha. Cool. Bye, Ryker.”

  She follows her mom and older sister, AKA Red Riding Hood, to the car. Shaking my head, I walk Harper and April to Harper’s ride. These kids . . . Harper hits the key fob. April opens the car door and gets in the front passenger seat. I follow close on Harper’s heels to the driver’s side door like a dog in search of its owner’s approval and attention.

  “When can I see you again?” I cram my hands in my pants pockets and rock on my heels. Never have I asked a girl that question. It’s usually the other way around.

  “Next Wednesday. Skating rink.”

  No go. I lean in close, fully understanding how I can ease the heat in my groin at not seeing her again for a week.

  “Are you telling me your fridge is fully stocked?”

  She wears down her bottom lip. Taking her out for breakfast, lunch, and dinner isn’t in the deal anymore. She took that off the metaphorical table yesterday, in the parking lot of the skating rink. The only leverage I have is a stocked fridge.

  I yank out my cell from my back pocket. “What’s your number? You can text me a screen shot of your grocery list.”

  “Or I can scribble a few items on a piece of junk mail from my glove compartment.”

  “Harper.”

  “Fine, but don’t you”—she bends forward, her breath hot on my ear—“don’t you dare send me a dick pic or think it’s okay to text me you’re thirsty any time after midnight.”

  She rattles off her cell number. I punch them into my contacts.

  “Thirsty? Hmm, is that code for a booty call?” I rub my chin. Fuck’s sake, I can’t believe I said the B word.

  She stares at my beard. It’s a piece of me she avoids looking at for too long. I get it. My beard turns her on. I’m feeling the same about her hair. I try not to give the thick, long, heavenly onyx pieces much attention.

  “You know full well it is, Ryker Conway. You’re a bona fide douchebag.”

  And that right there gives me an excuse to send her dirty texts sans dick pic. I don’t send out a mug shot of my randy beast no matter how special the girl is.

  “Ouch.” I knead the spot over my heart and tuck my cell back in my pocket. “That stung.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic.”

  I bark laughter. No girl’s called me out for being over the top. They’re too concerned with getting me on top or below them for a banging good time.

  “Or a dick, right? Triple D at your service.” I edge back and mockingly bow.

  “I should go.” Slight smile from her. Small hand on the door handle. “Remember, nothing dirty. Otherwise, I’ll block you.”

  Holding back my grin, I bend at the waist again. “I wouldn’t want to see you starve, milady.”

  The words are out of my mouth, and I want to kick myself in the ass for acting like a cheesy dickwad. But you see, there’s this strange fluttering in my chest, and it grows when she shakes her head and laughs.

  “You’re something else. Bye, Ryker.”

  She gets in the car, and waving, she drives off.

  Watching her, I pull out my cell and make an important call.

  Harper’s right. I’m here on scholarships. But merit is separate from money. Contrary to what’s spoken about me on and off campus, I don’t randomly nail and bail. I’m selective. No way in hell will I let into my life a girl who can destroy what my parents worked hard for.

  “Ryker, how’s it going?”

  “I’m good, Ken. How’s the family?”

  “Swell. The youngest starts kindergarten in a week. The misses is in a tailspin, the baby not a baby anymore kind of thing.”

  I chuckle, never tiring of hearing about Ken’s three kids and the troubles they get into. Or the lengths his wife goes to to keep them out of trouble, especially their oldest, fifteen-year-old Kelly.

  “Hey, if your schedule’s open, I have a job for you. It’s short notice, so I’ll understand if you take a pass.” Ken’s a private investigator.

  “What is it?”

  “I need information on a person of interest.”

  “One of these days, your girl of interest will break your heart. Or she’ll come for you with a sharp object.”

  A girl’s already broken my heart, so no biggie there. As for a girl coming after me with a sharp object, does the jagged side of a key to handcuffs count?

  “I make my intentions clear.”

  One-night stand only. Or a no-strings relationship. If the sex is great. Or the season’s off to a bad start and I need to blow off some steam. Or my team is winning games like crazy and I’m in need of celebratory sex. Shit, I’ve got sex on the brain.

  “If you say so. These asks of yours are few and far between, sparing me the tough talk about safe sex and acting responsibly. That’s your daddy’s job.”

  “So you’re available?”

  “I can fit you in.”

  “Thanks, Ken. I want a complete check, including anyone in her social circle who died under bad circumstances or were sent to prison.”

  “Son, I’m concerned, and let me tell you the reasons. One, you’ve never asked for anything beyond whether your girl of interest is in a relationship you don’t know about. No one likes cheaters and liars. Two, the death and prison talk is getting me all kinds of uncomfortable. And three, are you sure you want to get involved with this girl? Your mom will have a shit fit. You’re her only child. Your dad will rip you a new asshole for bringing trouble into the family. Do you understand the directions I’m coming from, kid?”

  I do. It took my dad a long time to get the rich, the privileged, and the upper echelon of snobs to accept my mother into their social circle. If I disturb the peace, there will be hell to pay.

 
; Damn it, I should withdraw from the bet and walk away. I wasn’t prepared for Harper’s talk of karma, death, and prison. But I’m a glutton for punishment. I need to see how this thing I started with Harper plays out.

  “Thanks for the tough talk, Ken. Glad it wasn’t about sex and acting responsibly. You’re right. That’s my dad’s job.”

  Dad tried, but it was my mom who gave it to me straight about the birds and the bees.

  He sighs. “If your parents catch wind of this, I’m pleading the fifth. Her name?”

  “Harper Garrix. Girl’s name is Harper Garrix.”

  5

  Ryker

  The guys in the house want to try the diner on the outskirts of Prescott.

  I’m in. What else do I do on a Friday night? Twiddle my giant thumbs? Harper isn’t returning my texts. And Coach gave the team strict orders: stay away from tits and ass. There’ll be no hitting up bars, nightclubs, or campus parties tonight.

  “Shit, man, this is as sedate as it comes.”

  I agree with Jake, but for a low-profile place, Prescott Family Diner’s parking lot is packed. We enter through the double doors as one, five hulking football players with hearty appetites after practicing hard just hours earlier. Brett is MIA.

  The hostess, a woman I recognize as Elsa and Red Riding Hood’s mom, greets us. Her eyes light up when she sees me in the crowd of testosterone.

  “Ryker, right?”

  “Um, yes, ma’am.” I glance at her name tag. Pam.

  “Are you here to see Harper?”

  I put the pieces together rapid fire in my head. No wonder she didn’t return my texts.

  “To tell you the truth, I didn’t realize she was working or that she worked here.”

  Pam’s brows tug low. “Aren’t the two of you—”

  “The guys and I are famished. Would you mind showing us to our table?”

  If she’s put off by my rude behavior, she isn’t showing it. She walks us to a booth in the back and sets menus in front of us. “Your server will be with you boys soon.”

  I make a mental note to later apologize to Esther’s mom. No need to destroy my chances with Missy with word getting back to Harper that I’m a complete A-hole.

  “Hi, there. Name’s Harper. I’ll be your server . . .”

  Our eyes meet. I cock a brow. She glances away and centers her attention on Jake. Jake looks from me to Harper. All the guys do. I get why. Underlying tension thickens the air like a fog rolling in.

  “I’ll be your server tonight. Has everyone decided? Can I start everyone off with appetizers and drinks?”

  Harper squares her shoulders and slices through the tension with her smile. This girl deals with awkward situations on the fly, and I give her points for being a professional.

  “What’s your special?”

  Jackass Trevor testing the wait staff with his stupid question.

  “Fish and chips with a side of chowder. Or steak with gourmet purple fingerlings and rice pilaf.”

  I can go for both. “I’ll have both.”

  Her eyes widen into these beautiful orbs, and I can’t stop staring. In the light, dressed in black, she’s smoking hot.

  The long-sleeved buttoned-up shirt stretches across her chest and hugs her slim and toned arms. Her slacks call attention to the curves of her hips, the stretchy material outlining her shapely legs. My friends aren’t shy in checking her out either, openly running their greedy eyes up and down her lithe body.

  “Anything to drink?”

  “I’ll have a tall glass of you, babe,” I reply, smirking.

  My friends chortle.

  What I learn quick is to not provoke Harper. She leans in, and for my ear only, says, “One, you can’t afford me. Two, show some respect. Otherwise, I will whoop your ass, and it won’t be with a dodgeball. Got it?” she growls.

  I swallow. Nod.

  Ever the professional, she straightens, and smiling brightly, she finishes taking our orders. The guys watch her leave, hanging out of their seats, their eyes glued to her swaying hips. Man, those damn slacks of hers are tight.

  “Shit, man, what the fuck just happened? You two getting it on? ’Cause from what I’m seeing, hearing, and feeling, there is some serious heat. I’m talking pent-up sexual desires hanging in the air between you two,” Joey says in his country twang.

  The girls go nutso for his accent.

  “I met her last week. At our house party.”

  Harper returns with waters and our drinks. The table goes silent, but the conversation amps up again when she leaves.

  “So which is it, you two seeing one another or not?”

  “And if we’re not?” I ask Jake.

  He’s our quarterback. Charismatic. Natural leader. Digs the girls, and the coeds love him back. But you see, Jake is also on track to making it big, so he’s keeping his options open. Doesn’t want to commit for shit.

  “I’d ask her out, that’s what,” he says, confirming my suspicions.

  “She’s not your type, man.” The muscles along my wide shoulders tense with the thought of his big paws anywhere near Harper’s petite frame.

  “Long black hair. Big blue eyes. Thin. What is it about her I wouldn’t like, Conway?”

  Nothing. What he ticked off describes his ex-girlfriends.

  “She’s moody,” I reason.

  “She’s been all smiles. Tolerated your lame-ass attempt at flirting with her. Doesn’t cave to your BS. She’s very much my type.”

  I scoff. I don’t BS with the women. I make my intentions clear. Except with Harper. Damn it, I have a guaranteed spot in Hell.

  “You didn’t answer the question. Which is it, yes or no?”

  Harper heads our way with food. Another server follows close on her heels with a second tray. Yeah, the guys and I are famished.

  “Anything else I can get you?”

  “You can answer a question.” Jake pierces her with one of his winning smiles.

  I cut into my medium-rare steak. The steak bleeds, and blood stains my rice pilaf.

  “What we’d like to know is if there’s something going on with you and Ryker here.”

  Jake throws his thumb my direction. I stick a big piece of steak in my mouth, chew, and wait for Harper’s response. I couldn’t care less what she says. No matter her answer, there’s a dime a dozen just like her on campus.

  She slopes her head to the side, like she’s studying Jake under a microscope. Her high ponytail swings.

  “Ryker’s my boyfriend.”

  Jake chokes on his beer. Joey and Cameron take turns pounding on his back.

  “How long have you two been dating? He said you met at last week’s party.”

  She shrugs. “A week. Love at first sight.”

  “That’s not like Ryker. You know he’s known for nailing and bailing on the girls he sleeps with, right?”

  “He gave full disclosure.”

  I rack my brain for whether I did or not. The days blur together, my lack of sex affecting my thinking.

  “So you two are exclusive?”

  Man, Jake is persistent.

  “Isn’t that what it means when two people decide to be boyfriend-girlfriend?”

  “He didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  Aw, damn, here comes the full disclosure.

  “Any exclusive relationship Ryker’s in, he likes them to be open relationships.”

  Her eyes narrow. She looks from Jake to me. Shit, does she believe him? I wait. Her small shoulders rise and fall.

  “Then Ryker will have to decide how much and how often he’s willing to share me with other guys.”

  And . . . she walks away, oblivious to five guys gaping after her.

  Shock and awe.

  This girl doesn’t mince words or disappoint, giving as good as she’s getting, and I’m turned the fuck on.

  But I won’t consider the challenge she threw down. Decide how much and how often I’m willing to share her with other gu
ys? Uh-uh.

  If Harper is my girl in the true sense of the word and not this fake boyfriend-girlfriend shit we’re tossing around to placate our friends, no way in hell will I let another guy touch or come inside her so long as she’s mine.

  Ever.

  6

  Ryker

  The guys and I finish our meals in silence. How can anyone top what just went down?

  But something is happening from the front of the diner. Two guys dressed in suits, escorted in by two police officers, mosey toward the back where the kitchen is.

  In the corner of my eye, I see a small figure follow the men out the doors.

  “Hey, man, what’s with your girlfriend leaving with the coppers?”

  “No clue.”

  A clamoring starts in my chest. Is Harper in trouble? I rise out of my seat and drop a wad of twenties on the table.

  “I’ll be back. I need to check on my girl.”

  With my hands crammed in my pockets, I pull my shoulders to my core and march past a concerned Pam and out the double doors. The parking lot lights are bright. Harper is speaking to the men next to their patrol cars.

  “Harper? You okay, babe?”

  The men look me up and down. I take my hands out of my pockets and let my arms hang loose at my sides. In this situation, my hulking size and the scowl on my face masking my worry aren’t doing me any favors.

  “And you are?” Suspicion from the officer eyeing Harper with interest. The punk’s young. I’m putting him in his late twenties.

  “Ryker Conway,” I say in a neutral tone. Throwing attitude around these guys won’t earn me points either.

  “The offensive tackle for Prescott U? The one everyone’s predicting since last season to get picked up in the first round of the NFL Draft?”

  “Yeah, that’s me.” I rear up to my full height of six feet two inches, preening my position as one of the best blockers. And I’ll block this punk’s ass if he tries to make the moves on Harper.