Playing the Game Page 2

I plop down on the couch and grab the remote. I need a distraction. Any distraction. Even something as trivial as the stupid reality show that’s playing.

  “Better?” Quinn asks when she returns to the living room. Her arms are outstretched as she does a little twirl.

  “Much,” I lie. Because despite the clothing she’s wearing, I’m still picturing the slight glimpse I got of her naked body. Every glorious inch of it. “I didn’t realize you were visiting Mason.”

  “I’m not,” she says.

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  She looks down at her hands as she speaks. The always confident and wild girl is seemingly uncharacteristically meek. “I… uh… I’m staying here for a while.”

  “Why? Did you get kicked out of school or something?” I tease. Or at least I think I’m teasing until she doesn’t respond, her gaze still focused on her hands. “Holy shit, what did you do?”

  “None of your business,” she says. Her voice is argumentative and snippy as she responds. She makes a face at me before heading into the kitchen.

  I follow her in there. “Oh, come on, just tell me. You know I’m going to find out anyway.”

  “I failed, okay? Are you happy?”

  “Why would that make me happy?” I ask, confused by her question. I know we don’t exactly get along, but does she honestly believe that I want her to fail?

  “Because it proves what you already know.”

  “And what exactly is that? Because aside from knowing you’re a pain in my ass, I don’t know a damn thing about you, Quinn. Just like you don’t know a thing about me.”

  She takes a sip out of the bottled water she grabbed from the fridge. “I know plenty about you, Hunter.”

  There is such disdain in her voice. I have no clue where it comes from or how it started. “Such as?” I ask as I fold my arms across my chest.

  “Enough.”

  I roll my eyes at her lack of response. It’s all she can give me because I’m starting to think that even she doesn’t know why she hates me so much.

  The phone sitting on the counter next to me begins to ring. Quinn dashes for it, but I pull it out of her reach.

  “Who’s Shane?” I ask as I glance down at the caller ID.

  “None of your business. Give me back my phone,” Quinn orders me. Not that I plan on following her direction. Not until she answers my question. Honestly.

  “Not until you tell me the real reason that you left Columbia because we both know it had nothing to do with your grades.”

  The phone stops ringing. The call…missed. And Quinn? Well, rather than fighting for the phone, she walks away and returns to her bottle of water.

  “Come on, fess up already,” I say as I follow her.

  “Even if you’re right, not that I’m saying you are… what in the hell makes you think I would tell you?”

  I shrug my shoulders. I have no idea why she would tell me. Just like I have no idea why she hates me.

  “I’m just trying to help,” I say as I slide her phone across the island to her.

  “Oh, please. Like you give a damn about what happens to me.”

  “If I didn’t, Quinn, I wouldn’t be asking.”

  Admitting I give a damn about her is enough to silence her. At least for a moment. Then she’s right back to her snarky comments. “I don’t need you or your concern.”

  “Why do you hate me? Why do you always think every attempt I make at being your friend has some sort of malicious intent behind it? Because I assure you, Quinn, that is not the case.”

  “You being you is more than enough reason for me to not like you. Sorry if that’s hard for you to swallow, but it’s the truth,” she says as she tries to move past me.

  I step in front of her, my unwillingness to let this go overshadowing my need to not fight with her. “How can you say that? You don’t know me. You never gave me a chance.”

  “A chance to what? Prove me right?”

  I look her dead in the eyes. “To prove to you that not everyone is like your parents. Not every man is like the assholes you date. There are good people out there, Quinn. You just have to give them a chance.”

  My words strike a nerve in her, putting her even more on the defensive and standing here, toe to toe. We’re already on the verge of world war three.

  “What don’t you get, hmm? My life is my business. Not yours. Stay out of it.”

  “I’m just trying to be nice. To be your friend.”

  “I don’t need you to be my friend, or my protector, or anything else for that matter.”

  “Fine,” I say, throwing my hands up in the air. “I’m tired of trying with you. I can’t win.”

  “Finally, he gets it.”

  “Loud and clear.”

  The question is, why in the hell do I care? Why is the fact that she won’t let me in bothering me so much?

  “You stay out of my life and I will stay out of yours.”

  While that is exactly what I should do, what I always should have done, the sadness that I see in her eyes, the deep seeded pain I know she feels – I can’t. I can’t walk away from her. Just like I couldn’t walk away from Mason. Not then. Not now.

  “What the hell is going on now?” Mason’s voice asks from the doorway. Avery is standing next to him.

  “Nothing,” I reply.

  “Just Hunter being Hunter.”

  I shake my head at her immature response. Her bullshit excuse for why she hates me. Me being me is enough? What does that even mean? “Can we go?”

  Mason shakes his head and turns his attention to Quinn. “You want to come with us? It’s a great event, I really think you’d enjoy it.”

  “I am not going anywhere with him,” she replies as she walks past me toward her room.

  I stalk off in the other direction but stop to glance behind me just before I walk out of Mason’s.

  “You want to tell me what we walked in on?” Mason asks.

  “Nope. Not worth the time. Besides, we need to go, Layla’s waiting.”

  Quinn Ford is not my problem. Never was. Never will be.

  Chapter 3

  Hunter

  She’s not my problem.

  At least that’s what I keep telling myself regardless of the fact that since our argument last week, I haven’t been able to get her and whatever it is that she’s hiding off my mind.

  “So, what do you think it is?” I ask Mason, inquiring about the very thing that I keep telling myself I don’t care about.

  Seems I’m not the only one questioning what brought Quinn to Mason’s doorstep. He’s not buying her story either.

  “I don’t know, man. But the last report she sent me was amazing. She was acing everything.”

  I push my legs out on the leg press, then slowly retract them. I grunt with the strength it takes for them to not buckle. “Maybe she’s lying? Maybe she wasn’t kicked out. Maybe she quit.”

  Maybe it was because of some asshole guy who treated her badly? And just how badly did he treat her? I push harder one last time letting at whoever hurt Quinn fuel my drive.

  Mason shrugs. “Even if that was the case. Why? She was doing so well. I don’t know. I don’t get it.”

  “Quinn ever mention someone named Shane?” I ask, recalling our last conversation.

  “No, why?”

  I shake my head. “Never mind.”

  “You think it’s because of some guy?”

  I shrug. “No. Maybe. I’m don’t know. I’ve never understood your sister.”

  “You and me both,” Mason says with a laugh. “I just wish she would tell me what’s going on so I could help.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want your help,” I say as I pat him on the back.

  Quinn has always gone by the beat of her own drum. She’s fiercely independent and hates being told what to do. It doesn’t take a genius to see that her having to stay with Mason, to rely on him, is killing her. Despite her attitude, that says otherwise.

  “Just think
, there’s only a couple more weeks to the wedding. Then you can forget about Quinn and relax. Focus on fun, sun, and…”

  “Women, all the women,” Mason replies as he claps his hands together.

  “What happened to you bringing Avery?” I ask. Avery McCall is Mason’s other best friend. She’s also the only woman other than Quinn that has managed to hold his attention for more than a few hours.

  “I was,” he says. He pauses, which is a clear indication that I’m not going to like whatever it is he says next. “But the more I thought about the more I realized it wasn’t fair to her.”

  “Really? Why is that?”

  “I’m going to be busy feasting on the bridesmaid buffet and Avery won’t have anyone to hang out with.”

  “Bridesmaid buffet? Jesus Christ, Mase.” I shake my head as I laugh. “You’re a damn mess.”

  “It’s not like that’s a newsflash.”

  The fact that Mason has commitment issues isn’t shocking. Not with the parents he grew up with. A father who, when he was around, was drunk or high and a mother who usually brought a different man home every night to help support her husband’s habit. It’s amazing that the two of them turned out as well as they did.

  “Besides, at least someone will be here to keep an eye on Quinn,” Mason says.

  Keeping an eye on Quinn wasn’t an issue for me. Tearing my eyes away from her towel clad body was. I still feel guilty for that. Looking at another woman when the woman of my dreams was at home getting ready for me.

  Unable to talk to Mason about my little transgression for obvious reasons, I turned to my brother, Hudson. He assured me that looking, and touching, are two different things and that what I did wasn’t awful. Still, I felt wrong and I felt like shit. Enough that I decided to plan a special night for me and Layla tonight.

  “What were you and Quinn fighting about the other night anyway?” Mason asks, breaking through my thoughts.

  “What don’t we fight about?” I laugh. “I just don’t get why she hates me.”

  “I don’t think she hates you. I think she resents you for having what we didn’t. She tries to act tough, but all that shit affects her more than she lets on.”

  Me being me.

  His explanation makes sense. But there has to be more. Something I’m not seeing.

  As soon as I think it, I feel guilty again. Why in the hell am I worrying about Quinn when I have Layla waiting for me at home?

  “Yeah, well, if you ask her, she hates me. And I’m done trying to make her feel otherwise,” I tell him.

  Everyone has already made it back to the locker room while Mason and I finish up the extra workout we always do. It’s the same routine we’ve done our whole lives. Whatever anyone else does, we do more. We work to succeed. I’ll be damned if the guy doesn’t push me to do it every time. Sometimes I swear he’s the only reason that I made it to the NFL. Not so much because of the work we put in, but just his drive and determination. If he set the goal for us, there was no way we weren’t going to accomplish it.

  “I don’t blame you for that one,” he says. “I just wish I could figure her out.”

  “If you haven’t by now, I’m pretty sure you should just give up to. Go with the flow and be by her side, man. That’s all you can do.”

  “If only she would meet a nice guy, someone who would help her give up this wild partying streak of hers.”

  I give him a side eye. “Pot, meet kettle.”

  “I already have my shit together,” he says in defense of his antics. The ones that don’t differ much from hers. The very reason he’s been deemed the bad boy, player of the Red Devils.

  Those same antics are also the very reason why he gives me shit all the time about Layla.

  Speaking of…

  I glance at the clock on the wall then back at Mason. “Last set. I need to get home.”

  “Awe, is Layla waiting for you?” he says in this sing songy voice.

  “As a matter of fact, yes.”

  “Pussy whipped,” he coughs out.

  “It’s called being in love. You should try it. It’s pretty damn amazing,” I say even though I know it makes me sound just like that – a pussy whipped lover boy. The mere thought of Layla has me not disputing him. For her, I’ll be that guy.

  Chapter 4

  Hunter

  As I step through the door to my apartment, the first thing I hear is her laughter. It’s like music to my ears. I step inside and revel at just how much I love her laugh, her voice, everything about her. Layla Malone is everything I ever wanted in a woman – and more.

  Before I even reach the door to the bedroom, I can picture her in there, cuddled under the covers the remote in her hand, and whatever stupid sitcom it is that she’s watching on the television.

  I push the bedroom door open, “Hey, baby.”

  The visual I just had is far from the one that’s laid out before me. Layla’s in bed alright, but she sure as hell isn’t watching television. As I stare absently at the scene before me trying to process what in the hell is happening, my duffle bag drops from my hand in a thud that snaps me back to reality. My mouth falls open and I swear every last breath of air leaves my body. My world is spinning, my heart is racing, and the woman I love is currently having sex with some other guy. In my bed. And all I can think to do is ask her what’s going on when that is already abundantly clear.

  She gasps, then says my name as a surprised exclamation. Why she seems so surprised, I’m not sure because it’s my damn apartment she’s fucking him in. She doesn’t even live here.

  As I stand there trying to process everything, I realize that she hasn’t even moved. He’s still inside her. That’s fine by me because I sure as hell never will be again. Fuck this. Fuck her.

  Unable to stand by and witness any more than I already have I say, “Leave your key when you’re finished.”

  I can hear her call after me just before the door to the apartment slams shut behind me.

  I stalk down the hallway taking the stairs in hopes of burning off some of the anger raging inside me. I make my way through the lobby of my building and straight into something. Or rather, someone.

  “Jesus, Hunter, where’s the fire?” I hear Quinn bark out at me.

  I blink my eyes a few times still trying to gauge what the hell is going on.

  “Hey, are you okay?” she asks. There is concern in her eyes and seeing it there almost makes me laugh. The idea of Quinn being concerned for me is beyond absurd. I stare at her for a second more before continuing on my path until I’m outside. Stepping into the fresh air, I finally stop and take a breath.

  “Can I bring you your car, Mr. Adams?” the valet asks.

  I glance around me. Cars flying by, people walking down the street hand in hand. The sounds of the city filling my head.

  “I’ll walk.”

  I pull the ball cap on my head down further and make my way down the street. I walk aimlessly for what feels like hours. The entire time my mind trying to grasp what went wrong, how in the hell Layla and I got here. Even the city sounds can’t drown out the incessant sound of the messages coming through on my phone. I glance down at it, texts from Layla and Mason lighting up the screen.

  And now Quinn decides to be a decent human being? To try and help me when I don’t want help when all I want is to drown in my sorrows?

  Alcohol. That’s what I need.

  Needing to be somewhere alone I bypass the bars where undoubtedly, I will know people. I’m the defensive end for the Remington Red Devils. Everyone knows me and the last thing I need tonight is to go to a place where everybody knows my name.

  I spot the Regency Hotel out of the corner of my eye. It’s perfect. No one ever frequents the hotel bars. Not to mention, I’m going to need a place to sleep tonight. There is no way in hell I can go back to that apartment. Not yet. Not when the visual is so strong, the sheets too messy.

  The bartender eyes me as I take a seat at the bar. It’s obvious he recognizes
me, but he doesn’t question it or make a scene. Thank fuck for that.

  “Whiskey, on the rocks,” I say flatly.

  I’m not much of a drinker to begin with. Maybe a beer here or there. But I definitely don’t dive into the hard stuff. But tonight? Tonight, sure as hell warrants something stronger than a beer. Something that will hopefully dull the ache in my chest and the visual in my head. I down the drink the minute he sets it in front of me.

  “Another.”

  Another drink down. Another drink ordered. And even less clue as to what the fuck just happened? How did I end up here? What went wrong between Layla and I that she would do this? We were happy, or at least, I thought we were. I was. Why wasn’t she? Had I missed something?

  I scrub my hand over my face and rack my brain trying to figure it out. But the more I think, the angrier I become because the only real way for me to know is to ask her. No way. Not happening. If I never lay eyes on her again, it will be too soon.

  The phone I had been ignoring all evening flashes with more missed messages. All from the same number. I don’t read the texts, but I respond anyway.

  Me: Make sure you change the sheets before you go. Oh, and burn the old ones while you’re at it.

  Then I turn the damn thing off and return to drowning in my sorrows.

  When I demand another drink, the bartender raises an eyebrow at me. “Please?” I grit out the words trying to make them sound as nice as possible.

  He shakes his head and laughs but brings me a double this time. “It’s not going to make it go away,” he tells me. “She might, though.”

  I look in the direction that he nods his head, the sexy woman with black hair, electric blue streaks, and a dress that leaves little to my imagination.

  Fucking hell could this night get any worse?

  That woman that the bartender just nodded to, isn’t any woman. In fact, she’s not even old enough to be in this damn bar, though I’m fairly certain her ID says otherwise.

  Quinn.

  “Not happening,” I tell the bartender and chuckle slightly at the thought of it.

  Don’t get me wrong, Quinn is stunning. Deep emerald eyes, long legs, and a smile that is simultaneously sweet and full of mischief. And since seeing her in that towel, I have admittedly thought about it more than I should have.