Consider Me (Playing For Keeps Book 1)

CARTER

“YOU GOT your ass handed to you.”

“By a girl.”

“By a tiny girl.”

“Three times in a row.”

“How does that feel, Carter?”

I shove my hand in a face. I’m not sure whose, because every single one of my friends’ faces has been in mine in the last thirty seconds, after I watched Olivia’s ass disappear behind the bathroom door. “Shut up. No, I didn’t. I feel fine. I didn’t—she didn’t—fuck.” I hold my palms up, half shrug, half surrender. “Okay, but is it technically losing if—”

“Yes.”

I frown. “Okay, well you didn’t all have to say it at once.” I look at Cara. She’s checking out her pointed red fingernails. “You knew.”

Blue eyes flip to mine. “Knew what, fuckboy?”

“That she was gonna win.”

“Yeah, I knew. Of course I knew. She was my beer pong partner for four years. Girl can do a mean keg stand too.” She gives me a patronizing pat on my chest. “No kiss for you.”

“I’m gonna kiss the fuck outta her in the back row at the movies.”

Cara guffaws. “You think I trust you to be alone with my bestie in the dark? No, I don’t think so. Em and I are coming with you.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes we are.” She gestures at Adam and Garrett. “You boys wanna come too?”

Garrett groans. “I had to take my sisters to see it over Christmas.”

“Perfect, so you’re in. And—”

“Nobody’s coming,” I growl. “You trust me.” If I say it like I believe it, maybe Cara will believe it too.

Cara laughs. It’s one of those dramatic condescending ones, the kind that keeps going and going. She slaps at her thigh and wipes beneath her eyes. “Carter, I love you, but the last thing I do is trust you with my best friend.”

I sweep my arms out. “Well, what the fuck? Why not?” I wouldn’t trust me, either, if I’m being honest. It’s not that I have bad intentions, it’s just that I kinda…don’t really know what they are, at least not past spending time with her.

“I don’t want to say something mean.”

“Just say it, Care. I’m a big boy.”

She heaves a sigh. “If manwhore were a word in the dictionary, you’d proudly pose for the photo. If Olivia goes out with you, kisses you, what have you, it’s because she has feelings for you and she wants to explore them. You do all those things for fun with people you don’t know, people who mean nothing to you. I’m not saying you’re wrong; if that’s what you want to do, you go ahead and do you. I’m just saying that as long as you’re on two totally different pages, if you plan on doing the same thing you’ve been doing all this time, chances are she’s going to end up getting hurt.”

“And if I’m not? If I’m not planning on…on…” Christ, I can’t even finish the sentence. The thought alone of anything more than a casual fuck makes my skin crawl, my throat tight.

What if I fuck it up? What if I’m terrible at it? What if I hurt her?

“Why does he look like that?”

“I don’t know. He looks kinda like a sad, lost puppy.”

“Looks more like constipation to me.”

Adam slings an arm over my shoulders, pulling me closer. “Leave my guy alone. He’s got a crush, that’s all.”

A crush? My throat squeezes again. “Psssh. No I don’t.” Do I?

“You do, Carter. That’s why you haven’t left the bar with a single woman lately.”

“Maybe I needed a break. I’ve been tired.”

“That’s why you bought Olivia cinnamon buns and cheesecake and talked her into getting her face painted with you last week. That’s why you stood there with your arms around her during the tree lighting, just because she shivered, and that’s why you invited her to a party at your house, even though you never have meaningless hookups at your house. Because Olivia means something to you, and you, my friend, have a crush.”

Well, fuck me sideways. He might be right.

What the hell do you do with a crush?

You follow her into the bathroom, that’s what you do with a crush.

Well, I didn’t follow her in. She’s already inside, and I’m waiting out here to surprise her.

The door opens and Olivia slips out, head down.

“He’s just a man,” she’s busy mumbling to herself. “An insanely beautiful and irritating man.”

Oh, I like where this is going. My hands wrap around her waist—just one, actually; the other claps over her mouth to stifle her scream—and I walk her back into the bathroom, hitting the lock behind us.

“Jesus Christ, Carter.” She swats my shoulder when I release her, then swipes her soft brown curls off her face. “Why are you always sneaking up on me?”

“If you’d look where you were going—”

“Don’t blame this on me!”

“Blame implies guilt for something done wrong, and I don’t think there’s anything wrong about us being here right now. Now back to what you were saying about that insanely beautiful man.”

I should start keeping track of how often she rolls those eyes or plants her fists on her curvy hips. They draw attention to all the right areas but all the wrong—so wrong—ideas.

Her eyes are the warmest shade of brown with tiny flecks of gold, like smooth, melted chocolate, and when she peers up at me from beneath those thick, dark lashes, all I can picture is the way she’d look below me, our eyes locked while I bring her right to the edge before inevitably throwing us both over.

And those hips—fuck me, those hips. Wide and full, leading up to a teensy waist and down to a stellar, round ass. All I want to do is grab hold of those hips, burn my fingerprints right into them as I pin her to the mattress and drive inside of her, watching her fight to breathe as my name leaves her lips.

“I also said irritating,” she finally retorts, that air of confidence back. “Or did your selective hearing kick in? And hey.” She claps in my face then gestures at her own. “I’m up here, Beckett.”

“Just admiring your dress.” I’ve done it at least a hundred times tonight. It’s a deep, forest green that clings to every dip, leaving little to the imagination, except whether or not she blushes all over. I hope one day I get to find out.

“Is that why you trapped me in the bathroom?”

“Nah, I trapped you because there’s no way you would’ve willingly let me come in here with you if I’d asked.” Leaning back against the sink, I incline my head toward the edge of the bathtub. “Now sit your ass down so we can talk.”

She sits, but she sure as hell drags her ass about it, and I smile at her bare feet, her sparkly gold toenails. She ditched her heels about three seconds into the first round of beer pong and I have a feeling they won’t be making it back on.

“Don’t like being too high off the ground, huh?”

Her nose scrunches in the most adorable way when she giggles. “I hate heels, period. I was trying to be classy, but the truth is I’ve spent most of my Christmas break in sweats, and I kinda wish I’d worn them tonight. So, I decided to lose the heels.”

“I have some sweats if you want to change. I can take you upstairs and show you where they are.”

“How kind of you. And I assume they’re in your bedroom?”

“Yep. They’d be big on you, so I’d need to help you dress to make sure we cinch them just right, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“We wouldn’t want them to accidentally fall off.”

“Oh God no. That would be a disaster. I’d just be standing there in my panties.”

I run a hand across my jaw and lift a shoulder. “And then I’d need to wrap you in my body, carry you right back up to my bedroom so nobody could see you. Honestly, it’s giving me the heebie-jeebies just thinking about it. We should probably stay in the bedroom where we’re safe.” I stand, offering her my hand and heaving a drawn-out sigh. “C’mon, Ol. Let’s go.”

A wide grin blooms, brightening every bit of her face, the sharp angle of her cheekbones, the slope of her nose, the bow of her top lip, and when she smacks my hand away, I chuckle and sink down beside her.

Olivia watches the way I spread my hand out right next to hers, and when my pinky slides against hers, she doesn’t move away. Instead, she licks her lips. “Garrett bet on us kissing.”

“Yeah, I know. I didn’t take the bet.”

Her gaze shines with mirth. “You, Mr. Confident, didn’t bet on yourself getting a midnight kiss? Why not?”

“Because I don’t bet against myself, but I don’t like to lose either. I can’t get a good read on you. At first, you did the opposite of everything I expected you to do. You turned me down, told me to go fuck myself, slammed the door in my face, and the last thing you wanted to do was spend any time with me at all. But now I’m getting better at figuring you out, like some of the stuff I think you’re feeling, and you smile at me more and laugh a lot, but that means I see your confusion as well as you do. You don’t know what you’re going to do until you do it, so I have no fucking clue anymore.”

“And what am I confused about?”

I shrug. “Me. Maybe you’re wondering which version of me is the real one, and whether it’s okay to like that version.”

Olivia’s grip on the edge of the tub tightens as she stares at her toes. “Hmm.”

I nudge her shoulder with mine. “Did I hit the nail on the head or am I way off about what’s going on here between us?”

She blinks at me. “You don’t like me, Carter.”

“I think I do, yeah.”

Her wide eyes move between mine, searching, and when she laughs, it’s the exhausted, frustrated kind. “You can’t even say the words.”

I swallow the tightness in my throat that feels a little bit like fear and try again. “I like you, Olivia.”

Something in her expression jars me. It’s tender but guarded, lost but begging to be found. She wants answers, but she’s not sure she’ll buy them. “How do you know you like me?”

“Besides the fact that my chest got tight whenever Garrett was touching you?”

She cocks her head. “You were jealous?”

“I’ve never really been jealous before so I can’t say for sure, but I briefly thought about decapitating my right-winger, so, yeah, I think I was.”

Warm eyes hold mine for a quiet beat of silence. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I would never knowingly put you in that position. You must realize the irony of the situation though, no? You saw another man with his hands on me once. Twice we’ve been at a bar together where you’ve expressed interest, and twice you’ve ended up with another woman’s hands on you.” She holds up a hand, stopping me before I can argue with her. “It just happens, I know. But it happens because that’s the narrative you’ve created for yourself, Carter. I mean, how many women have you slept with since we met?”

“None,” I answer truthfully and without hesitation.

A snort of disbelief. “Bullshit.”

“What reason would I have to lie?”

“To get me into bed.” The duh hangs heavy in the air between us.

“I’ve never needed to lie to get a woman into bed before.” I realize how it sounds as soon as it’s out of my mouth, but by then Olivia is already on her feet and halfway to the door. My fingers circle her wrist, stopping her. “Stop. Stay, please.” I run an aggravated hand through my hair. “Look, I don’t know how to talk about this kind of stuff, which is hard for me, because I don’t filter my words before they leave my mouth, but if you give me a minute, I’ll get there.”

I wait for her to sit back down, and then try again.

“What I mean is I’ve never needed to lie about how many women I’ve been with. It’s never been a secret because of the way I’ve lived my life. Women know what to expect with me. And you know, clearly, because I’m pretty sure that’s the reason you’ve been dead set on avoiding me like the plague. Why would I lie now? It’s gonna get me nowhere with you. You’ll just add liar to the list of cons under my name.”

She nibbles the corner of her lip. “I don’t…I’m not keeping score or anything.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. The odds were stacked against me the moment I approached you.”

“Well, to be fair—”

“Yes, I asked you to go back to my condo and fuck, I know. Not a great first impression. If I could take it back, I would.”

“Why?”

I spread my legs, resting my elbows on my thighs. “Because then maybe you could get past all the other shit and we could move forward.”

She honestly could not look more confused. She’s also seriously lacking in terms of sassy comebacks. Part of me worries I’ve broken her. “What in the world are you talking about?”

I gesture between us. “This. Me and you.” I drive a hand through the air like an arrow. “Forward.”

“Is there a me and you, Carter? A forward?”

“I…” My shoulders feel taut and cramped, and my body itches to move, to flee before I can bring myself any deeper. Instead, I hold her small hand in mine, my thumb sweeping over the blush polish on her fingernails. “I think so.”

“You think so,” Olivia repeats slowly. Her gaze rises cautiously, meeting mine. “I don’t have time for I think so’s. Nor the energy to wait around while you figure out what you want from me, especially when the chances are pretty damn high that you figure out a couple weeks down the road, once I’m already in well over my head, that what you want is not a relationship.”

My expression must hold all the disappointment I feel, because her warm hand cups my cheek, guiding my gaze back to hers.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound rude. I’m just not sure if you understand, Carter. We’re worlds apart.”

My gaze floats down her face, over her high cheekbones, the dainty freckles that paint her nose. She’s so beautiful, sometimes I think it hurts. “Are we?” I finally ask.

“Aren’t we? We want different things.”

“What if we don’t?”

“Can you tell me honestly that what you want is a serious, committed relationship? Because I don’t do casual, Carter. I’m not built for it, and I have no desire to waste my time on something that doesn’t have the potential to move forward.”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “All I know is being with you here feels nice, and it felt nice last week too. Don’t you feel it too?”

A beat of silence lingers between us, and my pulse thuds in my ears while I wait for her to answer, to tell me I’m not alone in this.

She brushes a stray wave from my forehead and smiles. “I do. But as it stands, Carter, I think that’s all we’re on the same page with. Does that make sense?”

I nod slowly, wetting my lips. “Does that mean if I wanted to try to be in a relationship, you’d let me try it with you?”

A laugh gurgles from her throat, a little bit anxious, a little bit exasperated. “You realize you’re making it sound like tryouts, you know? A relationship is something two people try together, yes, but I’m not a test run to see if being in a relationship is something you actually desire. You need to decide what you want first before you go after the girl.”

“What if the only thing I’m sure about wanting is you?”

She sweeps her thumb over the indent in my chin. “Sometimes wanting something isn’t enough.”

I spend the next two hours trying to pretend like my gaze isn’t exactly where it is: glued to Olivia.

I watch her become friends with my friends so effortlessly. I watch her put her heels back on just to ditch them all over again two minutes later in my kitchen. I watch her dance and drink and play games, and I watch her fucking laugh. Fuck, is she ever spectacular when she laughs, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, her milky skin stained with pink as her loose curls cascade down her back.

I rub at my chest, trying to soothe the tightness that stretches across it when one of my teammates touches her lower back, bending to whisper in her ear. All this jealousy I’m feeling tonight is throwing me off kilter; I don’t know how to handle it.

But Olivia catches my eye, the corner of her mouth lifting as she sidesteps away from him, and for some reason, that’s it. For some reason, I know: no isn’t an option when she’s involved.

Because I can do better, be better, and I can do it for Olivia. I want to do it for Olivia.

Maybe that’s why I get a wild idea when Ryan Seacrest tells us there’s only two minutes to midnight, even though I lost our bet.

Maybe that’s why my grin splits my face when I straighten off my spot on the wall, catching Olivia’s wildly anxious gaze. She’s looking at me, then at Cara, then down the hall. I see the apprehension, see the way she spins, hands in the air like she has no idea what to do. She starts slipping off toward the hallway, but Cara grips her arm, yanking her back.

Olivia’s chocolate gaze locks on mine.

And suddenly there’s only thirty seconds to midnight.

And I start moving.

And she’s still freaking the fuck out, feet cemented in place, eyes gigantic saucers that only grow rounder with each stride I take, eating the distance between us.

Fifteen seconds.

“Carter,” Olivia whispers, her fingers crawling around my wrists when I take her face in my hands. “What are you…what are you doing?” Her eyes bounce between mine, full ruby lips parting to let her tongue peek out, swiping across, getting ready, because she knows exactly what I’m about to do.

Ten.

“I-I…Carter, I—”

“Relax, Ollie.” I rake my fingers through her soft curls, and when I bracket her jaw in my hand, I swear I hear her heart thumping.

Five.

My thumb skims her lower lip. Her eyes flicker. “Can I?”

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

“Yes.”