Princess and the Player (Strangers in Love)

The guy in the towel takes the seat on the other side of her, his barrel chest covered in dark curly hair. His name tag—attached to his towel—says Prince Rolex. He’s wearing shimmery brown pantyhose.

“You have an interesting choice in men, Princess Bride,” I murmur idly under my breath as I drain the bourbon I switched to earlier.

Prince Rolex says something to her as his finger twirls her hair. She gets off the stool and stumbles, her backside falling into the cradle of my spread legs. She uses my thighs as support as she finds her balance and jumps up to face him with clenched fists.

Her veil hangs over one side of her shoulder, and I stare at the deep V on the back of her dress. It’s not one of those fluffy dresses that can stand up by itself—no, it is silky, hugs her curves, and glitters with pearls and sequins. She said it wasn’t a costume, and I get it. It’s a real fucking wedding dress.

On her back, from one shoulder blade to the other, is a winged tattoo draped in pink and blue roses. The right wing is slightly bent. I squint to read the script but can’t.

I hear her mutter a distinct “No” to Prince Rolex, then, “Stay away from me, pervert.”

I’m practically hanging over her shoulder as he leers at her with heavy-lidded eyes. My temper stirs, itching to rise, but I shove it down to see how this plays out.

“Come on, baby; stop playing hard to get,” Prince Rolex says. “I’ve got everything you need. Let’s go try that doctor room.” He rubs a hand over his chest and pinches one of his nipples. “You need a breast exam. A thorough one.”

“Not interested,” she snaps. “How many times do you need to hear it?”

He grabs for her hand, and she jerks away.

“Hey, man, she said no,” I call out sharply, but he’s so focused on her that he either doesn’t hear or he’s ignoring me.

He puts a fat hand on her shoulder and grips her, making her cry out as she falls forward. I snatch her away from him as I wrap my arms around her waist before she hits the floor. Using gentle hands, I ease her behind me and out of his way. She barely weighs anything.

With one look at his red fingerprints on her shoulder, anger ignites. I shove his chest with my hands, and he tumbles back, loses his footing, and falls on his ass. “The lady said no. Those are the rules. Get the fuck out of here.”

Several patrons flinch at my voice and back away as I look for an attendant. Not seeing one, I curse. Fine. I’ll toss him out myself even if I have to drag him. I stalk his way.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Prince Rolex shouts as he regains his equilibrium and stands. He gapes as he gets a look at my face—then backpedals. I know what he sees. My father’s face. Flashing eyes. Gritted teeth. Clenched fists.

“You shouldn’t have touched her, asshole. You crossed a line—”

He sputters, then runs to the right, shoving into people as he slips and slides. I sprint after him—

“Wait!” A woman’s voice. “Don’t! Please!”

I jerk to a halt as if pulled by a string. That voice came from Princess Bride. My jaw twitches. Control, man, control. Taking deep breaths, I roll my neck as I count to ten, then twenty.

Prince Rolex is an abusive dick who thinks he can get away with hurting women.

Like my father.

The first time I witnessed his rage, I was five. I’d been on a field trip to the zoo and couldn’t wait to tell my mom about petting a giraffe. I walked in the kitchen, and my father had her pinned against the wall as he hit her. Later she found me under my bed and told me everything was fine, that she loved him more than anything, that I was her sunshine, that I had to keep smiling—

Nope. Not going to think about it.

I rub my scruff. I’m cool; it’s over.

My father’s voice snakes in my head. You’re just like me, boy. Rage lives inside you.

It doesn’t! I shove that idea away and walk to the girl, my eyes scanning her body for injuries. I take off my suit jacket and drape it around her shoulders. “You all right?”

She swallows thickly. “Yeah.”

Before we can say anything else, an attendant arrives, and I give him the rundown. Then I tell him that they’re doing a piss-poor job if they care about consent. The attendant’s head bobs as he dashes off to look for Prince Rolex.

I focus back on the girl, pushing my anger away. She’s tiny and delicate, maybe five-five in heels, her head barely reaching my pecs.

She weaves on her feet. “I said hello to him once—once. Then he tried to dance around me, not with me because I wouldn’t let him, but it didn’t matter; that’s all it took for him to, ugh, think I was into him. I tried to report him—I looked for my friend, but . . .” Her voice trails off.

“You don’t have to explain. Wasn’t your fault. Hopefully he’s out of here by now.”

Her fists clench. “He got aggressive. Wanna know why?”

I expected more of a damsel in distress, but . . . “Tell me.”

She points her index finger as she enunciates her words. “Because God forbid he feel emasculated by a woman’s rejection.”

“May he rot in pantyhose hell. Bastard.”

Her shoulders dip, and she lets out a husky laugh. “Funny. I like you. Oops. I think I called you a pervert earlier. Was that you? Yep, it was. I remember that mask. Sorry. I’d been avoiding him; then I bumped into you and spilled my tequila . . .” Her lush lips form a pout.

I guide her back to the bar. “There’s plenty of tequila here. Let me get you one.”

She says she’s warm and takes off my jacket and hands it back to me with a murmured “Thank you,” then eases down on her stool, placing her hands firmly on the bar. “First, water. A full glass every hour is the rule.”

“Bad hangovers, huh?”

“Migraines. Big. Huge.”

I settle into my seat and order us both waters from the bartender.

“It’s going to leave a bruise,” I say, my hands flexing as I stare at her shoulder.

She brushes at the fingerprints, then shrugs. “I’ve seen worse. You, my friend, were awesome. Strong. Fierce. And I’m not saying that because I might be a tiny bit drunk. Thank you so much—you’re, like, really muscled and hot. Oops, I didn’t mean to say that. By the way, if you saw me crying before, don’t tell anyone. I don’t cry. I really don’t. Yes, my eyes leaked, but it was allergies.” She glances back at the dance floor and frowns. “Dammit. That’s a lie. I did cry. The stupid DJ just had to go and play ‘All of Me.’”

“Let me guess. Wedding song you’d picked out for the big day?”

She turns to me, her rosebud mouth parting like petals unfurling. Her cheekbones are high, her raven hair thick and heavy as it falls to the small of her back. There’s a perfect widow’s peak in the center of her hairline, creating a face that’s heart shaped.

“How did you know?”

“You’re in a real wedding dress, and your, um, eyes leaked. Something ended your engagement? Today was your wedding date? Am I close?”

“It sucks that I’m that predictable. Yes, today’s the day.” She weaves a little on her seat, and I slowly ease her back.

“I’ve got you.”

“Thanks.” A long exhalation comes from her chest as she toys with a gold locket around her neck. My brow furrows as I gaze at it. The thick chain, the square design, the bird etching on the front. There’s something familiar—

“Let’s forget about my cheating ex,” she declares, stopping my train of thought. “You slayed the pantyhose dragon. You’re my knight in shining armor.” She reads my name tag, then waves her hands around in the air and claps her palms together horizontally. “We need a redo. Take two: when Princess Bride meets Prince Player. A naughty nighttime story about a masquerade ball. Ready?”

I laugh. “Sure.”

She cups her chin with her hand and smiles. “Hi, handsome. Nice mask. Love the feathers. Suits you. You come here often?”

“My first time, I’m a guest, and my friends chose the mask.” I stick my hand out, and her small one takes mine gingerly, a hum going down my spine as our fingers graze. “Nice to meet you. So what do you do, Princess Bride?”

“Um, I wanted this night to be anonymous, so . . .”

A girl after my own heart. “I shouldn’t have even asked. We can guess about each other,” I offer. “We don’t have to confirm if it’s true, and it might be fun. Wanna play?”

She turns on her seat to face me, her legs fitting in between my thighs. “Yes, I’m very creative.”

And hot.

I graze my eyes over the neckline of her dress, the skin shimmering with some kind of glitter that accentuates the creamy rise of her tits. They’re small enough to fit in my hand. Do her nipples match the deep red of her lips?

One step at a time, Tuck.

First, you flirt. Then you fuck.

“Okay, let’s warm up by using people here,” I say.

“Got it. We’re gonna make up stuff about people we think is true. You go first.”

I glance around the room, and my gaze lands on Deacon and Snow White as they come back into the club area.

“Not the guy,” she says, her gaze following mine. “The girl.”

I study Snow White for a few beats. There’s a confident air about her, a sense of power. “Hmm, she’s an executive who gets her kinks out in the dungeon. She loves the beach, jazz, and pumpkin spice lattes.”

She giggles, but come on—what girl doesn’t enjoy the beach, jazz, and fancy coffee? Plus I know they left the bar area to visit the dungeon.

“Fine. You try,” I say.

She studies Snow White while I drink her in. When she bumped into me earlier, I didn’t have the chance to appreciate her. She’s not the soft-and-sweet pretty I usually go for; she’s striking.

My body buzzes, feeling drawn to her.

Perhaps it’s the contrast of her hair with the white mask and dress. Maybe it’s her fire. Maybe it’s the fact that even though I can’t see her entire face, it’s easy to imagine how beautiful she is.

Or I’m drunk as shit.

Her scent wafts around me, like ripe peaches from the South. I itch to stick my nose in her neck but settle for soaking in the elegant lines of her throat, the shapely shoulders, the lush curve of her waist. I imagine her naked on my bed, her midnight hair spilling on white sheets.

The truth is I haven’t had sex since I broke up with a girl a few months ago, and with football starting, I haven’t had time to meet anyone. I’m starved for something (or someone) to take my attention away from the block of cement on my chest. Most days I’m able to ignore that pressure, but my birthday just brings it all full circle, a stark reminder of everything wrong in my life.

She taps her chin. “Snow White is a high-class call girl who keeps a burn book of anyone who’s ever crossed her. She has revenge plans for every entry, and she’s the kind of girl who’ll accomplish her goals. She’s jaded but wants to fall in love.”

“Nice. You win.” I toast her, then order us tequila shots. Three each. We slam them back at the same time, then suck the limes.

“All right. My turn to pick someone.” Her gaze stops on Jasper. He’s sitting by the pool, his feet dangling in the water as one topless Cinderella massages his shoulders while her twin is in the pool giving him a foot rub. “Him. The skeevy guy with the blond hair.”

My lips twitch. “Perfect.”

“In high school, he was a wrestler, but now he’s a shoe salesman. He uses social media to troll for women who love micropenises.”

I burst out laughing. Jasper does have a contract with a sneaker company.

Her lips curve up. “Ah, Player, you have a great laugh.”

“Really?”

Her voice softens. “Thank you. Again. You’re so great.”

Unease stirs inside of me. Shit. I’m not. I mean, this started as a bet. I doubt I would have noticed her if she hadn’t bumped into me.

My breath hitches when she leans her head on my shoulder, trust in her ocean-blue eyes.

“Okay, now you do him,” she murmurs as she crooks her arm inside my elbow. “Wait! Can I touch you? Oh my God, I forgot to ask!”

My lids lower. “Yeah. And I can touch you?”

“Please,” she murmurs.

I tear my eyes off her and watch Jasper, chuckling as the woman rubbing his feet tickles him and he cries out like a girl. “He’s an athlete, but it’s bowling.” He hates bowling.

“I don’t know. He obviously lives in the gym—”

“I’m not done, smarty.”

She makes a flourish with her hands. “By all means, sir, please continue . . .”

“He’s the kind of guy who eats food in his bed, like cookies and crackers and popcorn, then sleeps on top of it without a care in the world.” He’s been staying with me temporarily, and I’ve seen his eating habits. Food falls out of his mouth when he talks; then there’s the trash he leaves everywhere.

She giggles. “You never eat in bed?”

“Food belongs in the kitchen.” I flash a smile. “He’s also proud of his penis. He’s named it.”

“What?”

“Cupid. Because every girl who gets the arrow falls in love.”

“You win!” she calls out as she laughs, her face upturned to me.

A zing of electricity hits me. I like her lips. Her emotional eyes. My fingers trace the curve of her cheek, grazing down her throat to her chest. I stop at her neckline, caressing the outline. “You’re beautiful.”

She slides off her seat, settles between my legs, and wraps her arms around my neck. “Thank you, my prince.”

“You’re welcome, my princess,” I say huskily as her breasts press against my chest.

“Are you wicked?” she murmurs as she tugs my hair free from the bun and presses a soft kiss to my jawline.

A deep, primitive sound comes from my throat. “Hmm, very.”

“Good.” She pulls on my gray necktie, then removes it slowly. She runs the silk through her fingers, brings it to her nose, and then tucks it inside her bodice. “My souvenir.”

“If you get to keep one, then I want one.”

“I’m your souvenir.”

My blood heats at her words, rising higher as she undoes the top button of my shirt, then another. She stops at the third one, spreading the fabric. Heat flashes over me as she kisses the bump where my shoulder was dislocated.

“Now do me.” She gazes up at me. “Who am I?”

I blink as my head refocuses off sex and stumbles through the alcohol in my system to recall our previous conversation. “You’re smart. Your career is probably something artsy. You’re wearing a locket which holds a photo of someone you lost.” I pause, remembering her tattoo with the bent wing. I graze my fingers over the yellowing bruise on her arm. I’ve seen worse, she said. “Someone has hurt you before, and if you tell me who, I will make sure he never does again.”

The air around us thickens as our eyes hold; then she glances away.

Splaying my fingers on her cheek gently, I tug her jaw back. “Hey. I shouldn’t have said the last part. I shouldn’t assume.”

Her black lashes lower. “Maybe it’s because we’re strangers that you feel you can say those things. We don’t know each other. We can spill secrets, then let it go tomorrow.”

“So I was right?” The protective alpha inside me stirs.

“No one hurts me anymore,” she murmurs. “I’m different now. Stronger.”

“My little brave princess.” I ease the veil off her head and arrange her hair around her shoulders and chest, trailing my fingers through the sleek thickness. Her head instinctively leans into my palm when I cup her cheek. She kisses my palm, and scorching lust that’s been building since she slid between my legs sizzles like an electrical line dropped in my skull.

My thumb brushes her bottom lip as I picture my cock sliding between those plump petals. “Do me.”