"Nice, huh? I know what you're thinking," I tell her as I turn back. "It's like you won the lottery, right?"
She scoffs, and her hand comes up to sweep her hair behind her shoulder like she's aggravated. Then the woman breezes right past me and heads for my front door. I follow her, because her ass is bangin'. I'd follow that ass all over town.
"So I'm guessing you're Addison?" I ask as I fit my key to the lock.
"No shit, Sherlock," she replies caustically. "And I already know you're a disgusting pig."
"Whoa!" I say, actually jerking back from the venom in her insult. Satan could've warned me he was going to tell her the whole damn story. "That gold-digger got exactly what she wanted and didn't have any complaints while Zack and I were fucking her seven ways to Sunday."
"Eww," she says right away. "I wasn't referring to that, but yes, I’ll add that to the list of things that make you a disgusting pig."
I open the door and scratch my closely shaved head as I step into the foyer, trying to figure out why she's such a bitch just meeting me. Ah fuck, she probably read about that girl from a few months ago.
"Look, I didn't know that little slut was only sixteen. She snuck in the club with a fake ID, and her tits were twice as big as yours."
"Oh. My. God. What the hell has my father gotten me into? You...ugh...you're just plain nasty." She visibly shudders away from me like I'm a giant cockroach scuttling across the floor instead of one of the best, and yes, also one of the hottest, according to the latest issue of Cosmo, wide receivers in the National Football League.
"What the fuck? You just met me two seconds ago and you think you know me?" I ask incredulously.
"I know you're a narcissistic asshole. You think you're God's gift to women, don't you? No wonder you need a babysitter," she says as she storms past me into the house like she owns the place. "And have you ever heard of a trash can? Jeez! It looks like an episode of Hoarders in here."
I glance around the living room at the empty soda cans, food containers, napkins, and water bottles. "Tomorrow's my cleaning day," I lie. The only thing tomorrow is will be game day. "But now that you're here, I'll let you take care of all that shit. You probably cook, too, right? I mean I am paying you a boatload of money."
"I don't think an entire fleet of Navy battleships filled up with money would be enough to put up with you," she says. Her small, button nose scrunches up like she smells shit. It's ridiculous how that makes her even cuter. "Why couldn't you have been Zack Bradford?"
Low. Fucking. Blow.
Every woman wants Zack. The star quarterback. The player who everyone blames when we lose and everyone worships when we win. I know because in high school I was that person. Ohio State recruited me to be their quarterback, but my freshman year the team went to shit. They threw me in a game after our third replacement wide-receiver broke his arm and couldn't finish the game. I caught some balls, everyone cheered and gave props to Adam Westford, Ohio's quarterback, and the rest is history.
So now I play with the most popular quarterback in the league, Zack Bradford. We've been best friends since his rookie year, and there's no better wingman. In fact, I’m almost certain he's the reason half of the women I fuck screw me in the first place - to try and weasel their way in for a chance to meet Zack and suck his famous cock.
Now that I'm feeling really damn defensive, I turn the tables on this snobby bitch. "Sorry, sweetheart. Even though Zack's a manwhore he wouldn't give you the time of day."
Direct hit!
Her red pouty lips open on a gasp before her eyes narrow at me. I feel a teeny, tiny bit bad when I'm pretty sure they even glisten.
"Where's my room?" she asks through clenched teeth.
"Any fucking one you want but mine," I tell her before I fall onto my leather chair and point the remote at the TV.
I don't see the woman the rest of the night. I refuse to admit that I'm disappointed by that fact. Fuck her and her holier-than-thou attitude. Actually, that sounds like a great idea. What better way to fuck over Satan than by literally fucking his frigid daughter.
Chapter Three
Addison
I wake up in an unfamiliar room, one that's comfortable enough but just...different, and mostly empty. I groan out loud when I realize I'm sleeping in a bed in that asshole's house. It's a beautiful home, but it’s a wonder the place hasn't been condemned for all the trash lying around. Living with that man for six weeks will require some type of miracle.
On the bright side, if I catch him with any women I can single-handedly ruin his football career. Catch him like back in my dad's office when he was fucking a legal assistant. The idea of having that threat to hang over him gives me the push I need to get out of bed and take a shower.