Consider Me (Playing For Keeps Book 1)

CARTER

I’M on that postwin high, floating on air and feeling invincible. But this one’s a little higher, a heady, addicting feeling, a hunger I want to feed, and fuck, do I ever know exactly how I want to feed it.

Apparently, though, Emmett’s hopes aren’t as high as mine.

“Liv’s gonna hollow your eyes out with a spork,” he says, toweling off in the change room.

Seems like something she would do. But still, I ask, “Why?”

“Why do you think?”

It could be a plethora of reasons. Everything I do seems to piss her off. But if I had to take a wild guess…“Because I landed her on the jumbotron?”

He winks, pointing a finger at me. “Bingo.”

I sweep my arms out with a grin. “I only showed the world how beautiful she is.”

Adam snorts, whipping me in the leg with his damp towel as he strolls by. “That’s good. Save it for when she’s jabbing your eyes out with that spork. Might be your saving grace.”

Emmett shakes his head but laughs. “You also told the entire world her name.”

“Oh come on.” I plant my hands on my hips, because really, if I can’t name her in the postgame interview when one reporter asked who she was, then what the fuck is this all about? “What girl wouldn’t love that?”

I’m trying to win points here, and personally, I think I’m off to a good start. I could read her fury from a mile away. Why was she furious? Because I’m relentless and I drive her nuts? Possibly. But I think it’s mostly because she wants me and she fucking hates that she does. Joke’s on her, though—her wrath only lures me deeper.

“This is the girl that turned you down last weekend?” Garrett jumps to his feet, tugging his slacks up his legs and over his hips.

Emmett smiles at the ground. “Twice.”

“She didn’t turn me down.” I ruffle my wet hair with my towel before shoving a toque over it.

“Twice.” The two fingers he shoves in my face are unnecessary.

“We’re just getting to know each other.” I shrug. “So she’s a little hesitant.”

“Dude. When you offered her your number, she said, ‘That’s gonna be a no from me,’ and slammed the door in your face.”

Garrett guffaws, fingers pausing their work on his shirt buttons. “No. She Randy Jackson’d you? That’s hilarious. Must’ve kept you up all night.”

Okay, so it was funny. Once I got through a moment of stunned silence, I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face.

Stunned silent. That’s what that woman does to me. Fucking stuns me. I don’t have a single clue why. She’s gorgeous as hell, but I’m not new to pretty women.

There’s something about her that’s piqued my interest, the sass, maybe, or the sarcasm. There’s a softness to her, too, something lurking just beneath the surface, like she’s trying to hide. I’d wager a bet she spits all that fire so that her resolve doesn’t start crumbling around her like a sand castle. She strikes me as an all or nothing kinda girl, which is probably why one-night stands aren’t her thing.

I don’t care. I’m just trying to make me her thing.

Maybe that’s why the first place my gaze goes when our team strolls into the bar is that wild mane of soft, dark chocolate curls, the caramel bits weaving throughout. She looks like an ice cream fucking sundae, and all I wanna do is taste her.

I’m trying to slip through the crowd, but people keep tugging me back, clapping a hand to my shoulder, trying to make conversation. I’m doing a damn good job of ignoring them, because all I can hear is Cara and Olivia bickering.

“Just pretend it didn’t happen.”

“Oooh. Pretend it never happened. Cool. Cool, cool, cool. Yeah, great advice, Care.” Olivia shimmies out of the booth and hops down to the ground. “I’ll pretend Carter Beckett didn’t name me on TV. I’ll pretend he didn’t dedicate a goal to me in front of all of North America.”

Cara lifts a brow, a smile on her lips that says she’s as much a fan of Olivia’s attitude as I am. “All right, tiger. Where are you going?”

Olivia tosses a hand up over her shoulder as she stalks off. “Need another fucking drink.”

Shit, I like her. Like to watch her go…

Literally, I lean to the right, watching those hips bounce as she moves across the bar. She’s got killer curves and a fantastic, round ass. Those jeans she’s wearing like a second skin paint a pretty picture of what’s hopefully in store for me one of these nights.

Emmett’s elbow digs into my ribs. “Behave.”

I definitely could but it’s not in my nature. “I’ll try to reel it in.” I pat Cara on the head in way of greeting as I move by her.

“Hi to you, too, fuck face!” she yells after me. Real potty mouth on that one.

For fuck’s sake, I could stand back here and drink in the sight of Olivia all night long, elbows on the bar, ass swaying gently back and forth, fingers drumming as she hums along to the music.

The air around us zings with electricity with another step forward, and Olivia’s spine straightens for only a moment, followed quickly by a quiver that shakes it.

My breath coats her neck, and her skin dots with goose bumps when I ask, “Cold?”

She spins so quickly she stumbles backward, tripping over a stool when our gazes lock. She reaches out to me, eyes wide with fear, and I lurch forward, catching her with an arm around her waist. She peers up at me, her fingers wrapping around my forearms, clutching me tightly as her chest rises rapidly. I’m not ready to have my ass handed to me just yet so I’ll keep my observations on how she reacts to me to myself.

I do enjoy the show though.

And by show, I mean the way those deep brown eyes blaze a heated path over my face, dipping down the length of my body, right down to my feet, before slowly—so damn slowly—making their way back up. Her teeth graze her bottom lip as she grips my forearm, fingernails digging in as she leans closer.

“Are you done?” I finally ask.

Olivia tilts her face up, leaning way back; there’s got to be nearly a foot-and-a-half height difference here. Her eyes bounce between mine, brows just barely pulled together in question.

“Are you done, Olivia?” I repeat, releasing her waist, slipping my hand over her hip before prying her fingers off my forearm. She’s left marks, but I don’t mind. In fact, I like it. I’ll let her carve her goddamn name into my skin if it gets me what I want, and what I want is her. “Checking me out?”

Her lips part, head wagging. “I-I…what? I wasn’t…checking you…what?”

Well, fuck me sideways and call me Sally. This is a first. She sure knows how to pump my ego when it doesn’t need pumping.

Except when her gaze settles on my self-assured smile, she rips her hand free from mine and spins back to the bar, right back to ignoring me like it’s her job. If it was, she’d be a pro. I’d hire her and pay damn well.

Resting my forearms on the bar, I let my shoulder brush hers, ’cause getting a reaction outta her is fun. Also, I like touching her. She smells good and she’s warm.

Olivia glances my way and I flash her a grin. I’m rewarded with her signature eye roll before she sidesteps away from me. It’s cool; it gives me a chance to check her out. Not that I haven’t already done it a thousand times tonight. Hard to look away when she’s sitting right behind the bench looking like she wants to rip all my equipment off. If she thinks I didn’t notice, she’s wrong.

I can’t help coasting my gaze down her body. She’s kicking ass in this outfit tonight, all tight tee, a flash of creamy skin peeking out above the waistband of her ripped skinny jeans, and a plaid shirt wrapped low around her hips, the Chuck Taylors on her feet the finishing touch.

I follow the swing of her hips when she juts one out, and my eyes fall to her stellar tits when she pins her arms there. I wouldn’t mind fucking those tonight.

When she arches one perfectly shaped brow, I smile.

“What? You can look but I can’t?” I prop my chin up on my fist. “Those are called double standards, Olivia. Gender equality and all that.”

Her lips purse like she’s trying her damnedest not to smile. I wish she would. I caught her doing it with Cara during the game and it lit up the whole place. Wouldn’t mind being the reason for one of them.

She’s still not talking though, so I look at her some more, watching her squirm under the intensity of my stare. She’s nothing like the women I’m usually surrounded by. Those women love showing off. Every glance shot their way only fuels their fire. Olivia seems like she wants to sink under a bar stool and die, which is insane; she must get these looks everywhere she goes.

Reaching out, I finger the wrist cuff of the soft flannel plaid wrapped around her, enjoying the way the muscles in her stomach clench at the proximity of my hand.

“How is it that as absolutely insane as your outfit was last weekend, you look even better in this?” Taking hold of both hanging sleeves, I haul her toward me. She comes willingly, I think, fingers gliding up my forearms. “I mean, plaid shirt, ripped jeans, and a pair of Chucks? Come on,” I groan, dropping my head back. “You’re a goddamn masterpiece. I could just take you home and cuddle you all night long on my couch. What’s that term—Netflix and chill?” I wind the sleeves around my fists and step into her, bending my neck until the tips of our noses graze. “Come on, Olivia. Let’s do it.”

The lashes she peers up at me from beneath are ridiculously thick, ramping up that whole fuck me factor, and I tap the corner of her mouth, right where it’s quirking.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the way you’re gnawing on your lip right now is your desperate attempt at biting back that smile of yours. Come on, Liv. Let it out. Let that bad boy shine.”

Olivia’s grin explodes across her face, likely without her permission. She lets out the sweetest little giggle before slapping a palm across her mouth. “Oh fuck,” she whispers, twisting away.

It’s unfortunate that at that moment the bartender steps up, setting two pints down in front of her. Her face lights up as she reaches for her back pocket, but I slap down a bill and grab the beers, effectively wiping any trace of a smile off her beautiful face.

“Hey!” Olivia’s brows pinch together. “What are you doing? Those are for me and Cara.”

“And you can have them back when you give me the time of day.”

“I don’t need to give you anything and I certainly don’t need you to keep paying for my drinks.” Fists meet hips. Those whiskey eyes narrow dangerously. Olivia packs a surprisingly ferocious punch. “I have a job, you know.”

“Does your job pay thirteen million a year?”

“I’m not impressed by how much money you make.”

She truly looks like she couldn’t give less of a shit. She does, however, reach for the drinks, hopping up and down, rubbing against me as I hold them above her head.

“What is it that you do, anyway?” My shoulders stiffen at my question, because it’s not one I usually care to ask. Those are typically more along the lines of how hard, how fast, and top or bottom.

Olivia grumbles something I can’t quite make out, but God, asshole, and sexy are definitely part of it. Wish I caught the whole thing.

“Just forget it. I’ll get drinks back at the table.” She throws her hands in the air above her head like she’s done with me.

Thing is, though, I’m so far from being done with that woman. That’s why I’m only one step behind her as she stalks back to the booth.

“Did you call me a manwhore?” I ask as I slide in beside her, catching the tail end of her conversation with Cara.

“I would never call you something like that,” she insists, swiping her beer from my hand.

“Yeah.” Cara accepts her own drink with a smile. “She called you Mr. Manwhore.”

Olivia hides her guilty grin behind the rim of her glass. “It’s much more distinguished.”

I give her elbow a gentle pinch. “You’re a little shit, aren’t you?”

“Me? You literally never stop.”

“I’m like a puppy,” I tell her.

“Annoying, untrained, and requires a lot of work?”

I lean into her, dropping my voice. “I’m exceptionally cute and I thrive on attention.”

Another giggle, genuine, sweet, and light, making me smile.

“That’s two,” I point out.

“Two what?”

“Two laughs I’ve gotten out of you tonight.”

Her brows rise as she takes a sip. “Mmm. Are we keeping score?”

“We are. I’m aiming for ten.”

“Well, good luck, buddy. That’s the last one I’m giving you.”

“We’ll see,” I murmur, eyes on Emmett as he comes bounding over, eyes lit up when they spot Olivia.

“Ollie!” He scoops her up, yanking her right from the booth, and wraps her in a hug I kinda wish I was on the giving end of. I wouldn’t mind seeing how she feels in my arms. He smacks a loud kiss to her cheek before stuffing her back in her seat, and she topples sideways, gripping my thigh as she catches herself.

Desire prickles my skin and rushes to my dick at the close proximity of her hand, and it takes everything in me to gently guide her upright with my hand on her lower back, rather than suggesting we go fuck out this tension that’s been vibrating between us for a week now.

“Ollie?” I muse, and watch the way Olivia blushes when Cara starts tapping off her nicknames on her fingers.

“Yeah, you know, Liv, Livvie, Ol, Ollie, Ollie Wallie. And of course, my personal favorite.” Her head rolls over her shoulders as she lets out a moan. “Oh, Miss Parkerrr.”

Heat radiates off the petite woman beside me as she buries her face behind her hands.

I skim my bottom lip with my thumb as I watch her. “Are you a teacher, Miss Parker?”

She clears her throat, hands bracketing her face as she stares down at the table. “No?”

“High school,” Cara clarifies. “All those senior boys wanna get between her luscious thighs.”

“No students are ever getting between—ugh.” There go her hands again, raking up and down her face.

Christ, she’s exactly the type of teacher I would’ve died to have in high school. Gorgeous, with a perfect, full ass and a snarky, sarcastic personality.

“I agree, Ollie.” My hand covers her thigh, squeezing gently as her lips part on a jagged inhale, wide eyes peering at me as the magnetism instinctively draws us both closer. “Besides the obvious, what you need is a man who knows how to take care of you.” My fingers walk up her thigh, and hers curl around my bicep, gripping it to stay upright. “Someone who knows how to hit all the right…spots.”

A beat of silence stretches between us as I hold her gaze, the intrigue that dances in it, even if she doesn’t want to admit it does.

“Okay,” Emmett starts. Out of the corner of my eye, he waggles his finger between us. “What’s going on here?”

Olivia blinks, spell broken as she shakes her head and shifts back, taking her warmth with her.

“Nothing,” she insists at the same time I declare, “Ollie’s playing hard to get.”

Cara swipes a loaded nacho chip through a cup of sour cream and points it at me. “She’s not playing. She is hard to get.”

Olivia jabs my shoulder. “And don’t call me Ollie. We barely know each other.”

“Right. Okay.” I slide out of the booth and tug on the tie around my neck, pulling it loose and stuffing it in the pocket of my coat that hangs off the booth. Olivia watches the whole thing with pinched brows, like she wants to know what I’m doing and where I’m going, and I’d love to see the look on her face as I turn my back and walk away.

“You taking requests tonight?” I ask the DJ in the corner of the bar. “I’ve got some work to do.”

He laughs, and when I’m done making my request, I head back to the booth.

Olivia watches as I pop a few buttons free around my neck and shift my sleeves up to my elbows. I hold my hand out to her.

“Well, let’s go.”

“Pardon?”

I gesture behind me with the flick of my head, beckoning her with the curl of my fingers. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Her cheeks pool with angry heat. “I’ve already told you I’m not going home with you. You are unbelievable.”

My palms hit the table with a groan, sliding slowly across the wood, head dipping so our eyes are level. “Yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear. We barely know each other, as you’ve said, so we’re going to start.” Another curl of my fingers. “Dance with me.”

“But I…I…” Her head swivels as she looks to her friend for help. Cara shrugs. “I don’t dance,” Olivia blurts.

“Patently untrue. I watched you dance all night long last weekend. Trust me.” I rub my tired eyes with my hand, half burying my next words. “Couldn’t take my goddamn eyes off you.”

“She prefers to be halfway in the bag before she starts wiggling that ass of hers, Carter,” Cara chimes, chomping another nacho chip. “She’s only on her second beer tonight.”

“Okay, so you don’t dance.” I wind her hanging plaid sleeve around my fist, giving it a gentle tug. C’mon, Liv. I flick a heated gaze to hers, an invitation. “Do you turn down challenges, as well?”

There it is, the bite of her teeth into the pink flesh of her bottom lip, that quirk in the corner of her mouth that gives way to a slow explosion, the grin that ignites her entire face.

She slips her tiny hand in mine, and I know.

I’ve got her.