Bad Boy’s Revenge(51)

My stomach flipped. He didn’t mean the words, but I hadn’t heard anyone promise something so lovely since before my heart was crushed and broken by Wyatt.

“Let me kiss you,” he whispered. “Earn that nickname so it doesn’t just mean how dark and tasty your skin is.”

This was out of control.

Way beyond where anything was meant to go.

I intended to storm the field. Yell. Berate. Punish.

Not part my lips and tilt my head.

“One kiss,” I said. “And then you do as I say.”

“You hold the leash, just tug on it a little and I’ll come…”

This man was absolute trouble.

And I knew it.

So why did I nod?

Jack gripped me close, pushing his body into mine and pinning me against the cool concrete. The wall became the only thing grounding me to the world besides his strength and the fierce grip of his hands.

His rippling muscle pressed against me, and I felt petite and fragile within the shadow of his bulk. I gasped, but that gave him the opportunity to capture my kiss and take it for his own.

My mind paralyzed. My heart would crack my ribcage.

And my body?

My body exploded into shivers. Every tremble, every stolen shudder raked over my form and twisted within my core. Within seconds I panted, feasting against the dragging nibble of his lips. Heat and sin and every naughty and terribly dangerous feeling I ever hid from Jack Carson flooded through me.

Kissing him wasn’t just a mistake…it was a complete surrender to a man who pocketed panties and broke hearts. He treated passion like it was another game to play and girls were a literal score.

And I wanted more than a kiss.

His tongue swirled over mine.

His hands grasped my hips.

And a hardness pressed into my leg—raging, fierce, and demanding.

He didn’t get to take those girls home last night, and every ounce of his sexual frustration pent up inside him. It turned him into a wicked beast. I was glad he didn’t have his fun with them.

Not because I worried about his reputation.

Not because of the impending disaster from his accident and the league.

Because that meant he kissed me instead.

This was bad. I meant to pull away, but my fingers only grasped his tighter.

I was good at my job, but I didn’t have the talent to lie and pretend like I hadn’t felt that chemistry he demanded.

Our kiss broke as my breath escaped in a timid gasp. Jack teased with a knowing, terrible glance.

Jack pulled away, trading a kiss for his smile. “Go out with me tomorrow night.”

“Out?”

“Easiest way to prove we’re a couple is if we are seen together.” He retreated, tensed and loaded, as though he faced an entire charging defensive line instead of wild-eyed me. “You and me. Out on the town. I’ll take you to a club.”

“I—” I didn’t dance. I couldn’t talk now either, which meant I couldn’t call him back as he returned to the field. “We can’t just do your normal hangout. You have to prove you’ve changed.”

He hesitated, thinking it over, his eyes brightening as he accepted the challenge.

“Okay. Then tomorrow, you’re gonna have the night of your life. Fancy food. Music. Fun.” He met my gaze, and I wished I had the ability to catch my breath after his kiss. “Be ready. You’ll love the Jack Carson experience.”

Yeah. I probably would.

And that was exactly what I feared.





Chapter Four - Jack



I didn’t think a fake relationship would be hard. Pick Leah up at seven. Let the media see me playing the gentleman. Make sure she didn’t storm out on me during dinner.

Except I forgot the most important thing.

Jesus fuck, this woman was absolutely gorgeous.

Leah had hips that shimmied, curves that bumped, tits that plumped, and eyes that would scold a man for ogling the most beautiful creature in the world.

She gave me the address to her apartment, and I offered to pick her up. Originally, I meant to take her out and let the public know I was spoken for. After I took her home, I’d planned to meet up with Bryon and the guys. They had a bead on a new bar stocked with craft beers and co-eds.

Not anymore. Bryon and his sluts be damned. One look at Leah and the only thing I wanted was her.

With me at dinner.

Coming home with me.

Sleeping in my bed.

Waking inside of her.

Worst part was, I knew it’d never fucking happen.

I thought I’d be cute and buy her a single red rose. The flower crushed in my fist when she opened the door, and I was just lucky my jaw hadn’t unhinged like some teenage idiot.

“Jack.” She clutched a little purse, matching the black dress clinging to her perfectly mocha skin. A crimson sash draped over her arms, a shimmering silk that hugged where I longed to touch. “You’re late.”

And we’d be late for dinner too if my cock didn’t settle the fuck down. I hardened immediately, studying her curves. Everything—her exotic complexion, her delicate ebony curls, the tips of her French tipped toenails—was meant to turn my cock into cement. Great. Even my most faithful partner-in-crime was punishing me for agreeing to this fake relationship.

I just wanted to use her as a momentary distraction to the league. Leah thought otherwise. I had nearly split when she dropped the ground rules. No partying. No girls. Nothing fun. I would have taken my chances with the league had it not been for her kiss.

A kiss that nearly had me come right there in the tunnel.

Hell if I could focus on the rest of practice. And I was pretty sure I’d fucked up the speech Leah forwarded to me, some sort of remark on how sorry I was for my behavior and the car crash or something. It was all bullshit anyway. What happened off the field should have been my business. And yet, here I was. Spending thousands of dollars on a publicist to make me appear like a man who wouldn’t rip off her crimson sash, lift that little black dress, and plow my way to a better reputation.

“Ready to go?” I found my tongue somewhere in my dried mouth. Apparently Leah found my head somewhere up my own ass.

“If you aren’t going to take this seriously, I won’t help you.”

She didn’t invite me in. The door slammed behind her and she walked to the elevator without me.

How did I piss her off? I just got to her apartment.

“What the hell did I do now?” I asked.

Leah shook her head. The dress was low cut and everything else good and holy in this world shimmied too. “You didn’t even try.”

“Try what?”

“The apology?” She whipped around, and her hair caressed her cheek. I tried to focus on her scowl, but, God…even mad she was beautiful. “I spent an hour crafting you five sentences to express your remorse for what happened, and you couldn’t even make it sound genuine?”

What did I do wrong? “I read what you gave me.”

“Exactly. You read it like a PR person gave you a statement.”

“Do you want me to take acting classes now? I’m a football player, not Chris Pratt.”

“Yeah, as if I could get that lucky.”

“Fine…” I shrugged. “I’ll do better next time.”

That pissed her off more. “Jack, there better not be a next time. That was your last public apology. No one will listen to you next time.”

Touché.

The elevator delivered us to the lobby. She brushed a cautious hand over her dress, like she didn’t trust that the skirt wouldn’t ride up and show a scandalous amount of leg. I was praying it would.

“Why are we so formal?” she asked.

I was a jock, but even I appreciated a good meal. “I’m taking you to Le Meilleur.”

She stiffened, staring at me with widening eyes. “That’s the best restaurant in the city.”

I smirked, offering her my elbow as we walked to my car. “Now that sounded genuine.”

I helped her into the Porsche, hating the brand new car because it wasn’t my classic Camaro. Leah liked it. She stared at the interior, the navigation system, the luxury. She was probably a girl who didn’t mind a little class.

Well, there was nothing classier than getting fucked in the back seat of a sports car that cost more than her yearly salary, but Leah didn’t seem the type. That didn’t stop me from imagining it. Wanting it. I adjusted my trousers as my dick swelled thinking about her skirt riding up and my cock sliding in.

Let’s see her write a spin piece on the best sex of her goddamned life.

The restaurant needed reservations a month ahead of time. I called two hours before we arrived, and a private table waited for the Rivets’ star near the dance floor. It was a perfectly romantic location for a man taking his longterm girlfriend on a date. Low lights, expensive food, and insufferable waiters. Every girl’s dream before slipping into bed with me.

But Leah didn’t seem the bed slipping type.

She folded her napkin neatly in her lap, sipped her wine, and looked positively humbled that I would bring her somewhere nice.

“Thinking you were getting a strip club breakfast buffet?” I asked.

She took a deep breath, meeting my gaze with those big, mocha eyes, as rich as the chocolate complexion of her skin. She turned my cock to stone, and she didn’t have a fucking clue.

“I didn’t know what to expect.” At least she was honest. Her voice shifted, taking on that professional, impersonal tone. “I’ve posted on social media about tonight. I have boxed seats for a baseball game and an event with one of the Rivets’ charities we can attend. But, for now? We should probably take a selfie together a little later, to pass around a picture of you that doesn’t include three drunken women and a totaled car.”