Playing Hard to Get (The Players)

I WASN’T LYING when I told Joanna I can get fixated. When I was a kid, I would obsess about a lot of things. When I was three, it was Diego, Dora the Explorer’s cousin. Then I got hooked on Spider-Man and pretty much never looked back. Still love that dude and make sure I go to every movie that’s released on opening weekend.

Then of course, then there’s football. I’ve been obsessed with the sport since I was a toddler, watching my dad play. As I got older, I wanted to be just like him, and I worked hard at it.

Hell, I think I worked harder than my old man. I threw my all into it, making football my focus. My fucking life. By high school, I had college coaches desperate to recruit me, Dad by my side the entire time, coaching me. Making sure I chose the right university to play for.

I don’t regret my choice. This college, the team and the coaching staff have been a great fit. I’m on top of my game. It’s my senior year, and if we do it right, we’ll win a championship and play in a bowl game.

And if I’m really lucky, I’ll make the NFL draft and go on to greatness. Just like my dad. My uncle Drew. My cousin Jake.

I have big aspirations, and I’m determined to make them.

Which means I shouldn’t let a woman get in the way of all my hard work. That’s my biggest fear with getting involved with Jo. What if she fucks with my head and fucks with my game?

Right before practice I text my dad, feeling the need to check in with him.

Me: How are you? We haven’t talked in a while.

He answers immediately.

Dad: Sorry about that. We’ve been busy. Lots going on.

Me: Doing what?

Dad: House stuff. We’re getting rid of some things.

My dad is a sentimental person and he doesn’t like to get rid of anything so this isn’t normal.

Me: I bet Mom is happy.

She’s called Dad a packrat before, and she’s not wrong. He holds onto everything.

Dad: I realized your mom was right. I don’t need to hold onto everything.

Dad: How’s football going? I see you’re doing well.

It’s odd that they didn’t come to our last home game when they always do. But he told me they were going out of town.

Weird.

Me: We’re doing great. I miss having you guys there.

Dad: We won’t miss a game for the rest of the season. Even the away games. We had to take care of some things first.

Me: Like what?

He takes a few minutes to answer and when he finally does, I’m already in the locker room, getting changed.

Dad: We’ll discuss it next time we’re together.

Huh. That’s downright cryptic.

What’s going on with my parents? What are they doing? I feel like they’re up to something, but I have no clue what it is. They’re always so open with us and what’s going on with their lives. This feels completely out of the norm.

I don’t like it.

“You’re quiet,” Cam tells me as we both walk onto the field, suited up and ready for practice. “What’s your deal?”

“Nothing.” I want to tell him everything. About my dad and his mysterious comments. About Joanna and what she’s like. How much I like her. How scared I am my feelings for her might mess with my head.

“Surprised I didn’t hear your precious little Jo Jo sneaking out of our apartment again last night,” Cam says, his voice as casual as he pleases.

I come to a stop on the edge of the field and so does he. Thank Christ there’s no one else around. “What do you mean?”

Cam chuckles, smothering the sound with his hand. “I mean what I said. I know you had a girl holed up in your room a couple nights ago. You don’t moan that loud when you’re alone.”

Shit. Since Cam never brought it up, I believed we were in the clear and he didn’t know.

Guess I was wrong.

“I won’t blow your cover though I should,” he continues. “Celibate, my ass.”

“We didn’t have actual sex.” I fess up because I’m weak, especially when it comes to Cam. He knows all of my secrets, not that I have many.

“So everything but? Sounds fun.” Cam runs his hand across his cheek, contemplative. “Gotta say, she’s not your usual type.”

“I know.”

“She’s a good girl.”

I shrug a shoulder, uncomfortable with the direction he’s taking this conversation. Because I know what he’s going to say.

“Not that you bang a bunch of bad girls, but you have a type. Hell, we all have a type. We like the ones who are looking for a good time. No strings attached.” He pauses, letting his words sink in. “You know that’s not the type of girl Joanna is, right?”

“I know.” A ragged sigh leaves me and I grip the back of my neck with both hands, going quiet when a few of our teammates jog past us, heading for our regular meeting point by the goalposts on the south side of the field before we kickoff practice. “Here’s my problem—I really like her.”

“And that’s a problem, how?”

“What if she messes with my gameplay? What if I can’t concentrate?” If she fucks everything up, then I’ll have to cut her loose, and I don’t want to do that.

At all.

“Let’s test it out on the field.” He slaps my shoulder and starts running, encouraging me to run along with him.

Cam puts me through it the entirety of practice, testing me constantly. We run through drills over and over again until I want to collapse, the coaches never saying a damn word. They just keep blowing their whistles and demanding we do it again. The last half of practice consists of me running out on the field, fast as fuck, and never letting up, blindly holding up my hands, praying the ball lands.

I catch that fuckin’ thing every single time.

When practice is over, I’m a sweaty, exhausted mess, grinning like a fool and beaming under the praise of the coaching staff.

“On fire tonight, Maguire.” Mattson holds his hand out for a slap and I give it to him, gripping his fingers with mine for a brief moment. He grips them back, his expression reminding me of a proud father.

Reminding me of my dad, who’s coming with Mom in a few weeks to watch us play.

“Feels good, Coach,” I tell Mattson.

“You look good. Keep it up.” His gaze drops to my legs. “Your knee holding up all right?”

I don’t have the heart to tell him I slept in and missed my PT appointment this morning. He’d probably be pissed, so I keep it to myself. “Better than ever.”

“Glad to hear it.”

His praise has me floating all the way to the locker room, and I’m greeted to more of it by my teammates, all having something positive to say to me. Even freaking Derek.

“You get laid or something? That why you’re doing so well out there?” He gives me the stink eye, completely unaware of how close he is to what’s really going on.

I make a dismissive noise, giving him my best hell no look. “I’m celibate, remember?”

My gaze finds Cam, who slowly shakes his head. The fucker.

“All right,” Derek drawls, and I know he doesn’t believe me. “I hear one thing about you hooking up with a groupie, and you owe me.”

“You’ll never hear that,” I say with the utmost confidence.

“I can vouch for him,” Cam seconds like we’re at a board meeting, and I need votes.

Derek’s gaze goes from mine to Cam’s and back to me again. “I feel like you guys are trying to trick me.”

I’m as solemn as a priest. “Never.”

“Why would we want to waste even a minute of our time trying to trick you, huh, big D?” Cam’s brows lift.

“Right. You’re right.” He struts away, headed for the shower, and I send Cam a look.

“I should just confess.”

“Nah, I like seeing him get all twisted over it. It’s fun, keeping up the celibate pretense.” Cam shakes his head. “Well, for you at least.”

“And who are you fucking around with, huh?”

Cam’s smile is smug as hell. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Practice is long over. I’m back at my apartment, after going out for a quick dinner with Cam and a few other teammates, holed up in my bedroom since Cam left about an hour ago. He asked if I wanted to go with him to the bars, but I took a pass, which he knew I’d say no.

At least he asked. Always thinking of me, that Cam.

I’ve got some dumbass action movie playing on my laptop that I found on Netflix, but for the most part, I’m completely tuned out.

Thinking of Jo Jo.

Her soft skin. Her sweet lips. Her even sweeter—

My phone dings and I check it eagerly, disappointment crashing inside of me when I see it’s a text from Daphne, the busty blonde and only consistent hookup I’ve had since being in college. She’s been easily replaced by Joanna, though I can’t call her a hookup. It feels like so much more than that between us.

Would she freak out if I told her that? Or would she be down? She keeps talking about not wanting anything serious. She pushes me away more than she pulls me in, and that’s part of the appeal.

Feels like every other girl wants a piece of me the moment we meet. Not Joanna. She knew who I was, but she didn’t really give a damn.

My phone dings again, the two-minute reminder, and with an irritated growl, I read Daphne’s text.

Daphne: What are you doing tonight?

Me: Staying in.

Daphne: Aw! You should come out to Trixie’s!

Me: What the hell is Trixie’s?

Daphne: A new bar downtown. They’re trying to compete with Logan’s. They’re having a ladies’ night. Cheap drinks for the girls!

Me: Why would I go if the discount is only for the ladies?

Daphne: There are a lot of us here, that’s why! Duh! Come on.

Daphne: I miss you.

Daphne: And your big dick.

She then sends a string of eggplant emojis. I guess to hit that last statement home.

I grimace, remembering how hesitant Joanna was last night before she threw herself into giving me a blow job. I can’t blame her. Her eagerness made up for any skill she lacked, not that she actually lacked…anywhere.

Me: Sorry. Can’t make it.

She sends me a selfie of her pouting, her pink-glossed lips extra big and plenty of cleavage on display.

Me: You should also probably lose my number.

Her response is immediate.

Daphne: Don’t tell me the mighty Knox Maguire has fallen.

Me: I think so.

Daphne: RIP.

Chuckling, I open another text thread and send a quick message to Joanna.

Me: I miss you.

She takes four minutes to respond. I know because I kept track.

Joanna: Who is this?

Frowning, I start typing.

Joanna: Ha! KIDDING. I know it’s you, Maguire.

Me: I was going to ask how many people you know who’d say they miss you.

Joanna: There are a few. My mom and dad. My older brother.

Me: They don’t count.

Joanna: Oh and you do?

Me: I definitely count. What are you doing?

Joanna: I’m in bed.

Me: What are you wearing?

Joanna: Are you trying to turn this into sexting?

I mean if she’s cool with it…

Me: I’m not opposed.

She sends a bunch of laughing emojis. Then a string of peach emojis.

Hmm.

Me: What’s up with the peaches?

Joanna: You have to know what they represent.

Me: I definitely do. And that’s one of my favorite things about you.

Joanna: My ass??!!??

Me: Yeah.

Joanna: It’s too big.

Me: No, it’s fucking not. It’s perfect.

Joanna: You have lust on the brain. Take another look at it. It’s too big.

Me: Send me a pic. I’ll be the judge of that.

Joanna: I’m not sending you ass pics.

Me: Way to ruin the sexting vibe.

I’m chuckling and sporting a semi. This girl…

She really gets to me.

Joanna: There has to be trust in sexting. We don’t know each other that well. I wouldn’t want our conversations getting out.

I’m wounded. Does she think I’d share our texts with other people? The only one I’ve ever shared stuff with is Cam. And when it comes to Joanna?

I don’t want to show him anything.

Me: I would never share our convos with anyone. I swear.

Joanna: On what? A football?

She sends a couple of football emojis.

Me: I swear on football.

Joanna: You must be serious.

Me: You don’t know how serious I am.

Joanna: Tell me.

Me: Deadly serious.

Me: Come over.

Joanna: What? It’s ten o’clock.

It’s funny how Daphne is like, come out and party! And Joanna is already in bed, protesting how late it is. They’re on two different tracks, and while I’m not knocking Daphne for being out at a bar on Thursday night because come on, we’re in college, cozying up in bed with Joanna on a weeknight sounds a lot more appealing.

Me: Please?

She goes quiet, making me sweat. I slam my laptop shut and shove it away from me. I hop out of bed and head to the bathroom, where I’m brushing my teeth for the second time tonight, and finally, I get her response.

Joanna: Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll head over.