Play Maker(7)

As the clock ticked towards eight, I felt that familiar buzz of adrenaline in my gut. Parties were where I shined. And they would mean the difference between living on ramen for the next month or being able to get fresh groceries for meals. Sometimes I dreamt about avocados, a rare purchase in our house.

Manager Steve went to open the bar and decided to stand awkwardly by the door, even though anyone who had any kind of experience with parties knew that absolutely no one would be showing up for at least an hour and when they did, the first people to arrive wouldn’t be the ones he was hoping to impress. The actual VIPs would show up at least three hours later after their agents, managers and anyone else who had snagged an invitation. And no one was going to be impressed by a sweaty guy in an ill-fitting suit standing by an open door. They certainly weren’t going to think he was the manager.

I pulled out a stick of gum, wanting to occupy my mouth for a while. Hopefully by the end of the evening I’d find something far more enticing to do with my mouth. Several members of the soccer team were certainly tasty enough to try. And oh boy, I was ready for them.

I caught Maya’s gaze across the room and blew a bubble for her. She shook her head and then nodded down to my shirt. I glanced down, hoping I hadn’t spilled anything on myself, but found nothing. “What?” I mouthed, looking back up at her. She gestured to her own shirt, which had at least two more undone buttons than usual. Leaning forward, she gave a little shimmy, shaking her perfect, petite bosom. I shook my head. She could pull off a gaping neckline like that – it looked chic and effortless on her. Undoing that many buttons on my blouse would have my tits practically spilling out onto the bar. I’d look like a bad girl looking for a good time. Then again…

I unbuttoned one. And then another. My adrenaline was beginning to kick in. I was a bad girl looking for a good time and I could only hope that one of the men tonight would know exactly what to do with a girl like me.



Two hours later, I was in my element. The room had filled up and the party was in full swing. Men in suits and gorgeous women were milling around. A few of the players had shown up, but most of them were sporting wedding bands and though that was definitely a way to guarantee that a one night stand stayed a one night stand, I was not interested in guys that cheated on their wives. I had too much respect for other women to do that.

But, men being men, I had still gotten a few interested leers from those sporting gold on their finger. For them, I put on my dumb blonde act, pretending that I just didn’t understand all the sexual innuendos they were throwing my way. A vacant stare and forced giggle after a bad sexual joke usually dissuaded most of them. The more aggressive ones I ignored until they went away.

“Any prospects?” Maya came over to my side of the bar to grab another bottle of whiskey.

I scanned the room again, seeing some attractive guys but none who were setting my panties on fire. I might have been a slut, but I was a slut with discerning taste. Not just any guy would do. I had standards. “Not yet,” I told her, swapping out my flavorless piece of gum for a fresh piece.

“Don’t worry.” She patted me on the shoulder. “I heard that most of the team isn’t even here yet.”

“That’s a relief.” I poured gin and olive juice into a shaker and gave it a firm rattle. “I’d really hate to give up on men completely.”

“Ha! That would be the day,” Maya teased. “Nicole Grant without an interest in men? I’d pay good money to see that.”

“Well,” I elbowed past her to grab a martini glass from the shelf. “You better be prepared to pay up because if I can’t find a guy in a crowd of British athletes, I’m hanging up my slut cap for good.”

She laughed and I turned back towards the room, a shaker in one hand, a martini glass in another and that’s when I saw him. Tall, broad, with dark brown hair that needed my hands in it. There was a bit of stubble on his cheeks – just the right amount – and the deepest blue eyes I’d ever seen. The room seemed to quiet as he entered, the crowd parting to let him through. Or maybe I was just imagining it.

His gray t-shirt was stretched tight across his chest, his bare arms inked up and down. I remembered him from the tabloids my mom read, but the photos there had hardly done him justice. They had called him the Prince Harry of Soccer, and I could see why. One look and I was ready to get on my knees in front of him and pledge allegiance to Queen and country. And do a few other, less noble things while I was down there.

God. Damn. I thought, and felt the martini glass slipping from my fingers and smashing on the floor, followed immediately by the shaker. In all my years as a bartender I had never broken a single thing. And in that moment, I didn’t even care.

“Wow,” Maya breathed next to me.

“Dibs,” I muttered, but it was totally unnecessary. His blue gaze had found me and a wicked smile spread across his face as he headed towards the bar. He was all mine.





4





James





There were curves and then there were curves. I headed towards the blonde bombshell like a compass finding north, totally mindless of everyone else around me. I only had eyes for her, that blonde hair and those red, red lips. And those curves. Fuck yeah, curves from here to eternity. She was the definition of va-va-voom, with a body that seemed to strain against her form-fitting uniform.