Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance)(12)

"I don't mean why do you want me to go out. I know what a date is. I mean why me? Dee told me things about you."

"What things?"

"She said you f*cked half the girls on campus."

"Is that a direct quote?"

"Yes."

Oh, thanks, Dee.

"Not half. Maybe a third. Don't you want to see what all the fuss is about?"

"No. I'm not going to be a notch on someone's bedpost. You're a 'player,' aren't you?"

"Hey, hey, where's this coming from? I wasn't getting this attitude last night. I thought we were having fun."

"We were, but the children of wine are oft abandoned come morning."

"We didn't have any wine."

She rolls her eyes. "It's an idiom."

"Did you just call me an idiot?"

"No, I—"

"I'm messing with you. I know what an idiom is. I'm an English major."

"I see," she says, narrowing her eyes as she studies me. "I would not have guessed."

"What would you guess I major in?"

"Football."

I snort. "They don't let you, and if they did, I still wouldn't."

She cocks her head and stands up. "Oh?"

"This is very clever. You're leading me away from the question. Will you go out with me?"

She steps closer, fingering the strings of her hoodie.

Wait, my hoodie.

How the hell does she look so sexy in baggy clothes?

"You want me to date you."

"Yes. Preferably on an ongoing basis."

"What do you Americans do on dates?"

"What do your people do on dates? Club seals?"

"We don't have seals," she snaps. "Why does everyone ask me that?"

"I was thinking we could go for a long walk, eat dinner at a moderately priced restaurant, and then have a night of toe-curling sex."

She snorts. "Then you'd never call me again. That's how I understand it."

"No, I'd call you the next day. I'm all about the toe-curling."

"I can feed myself. I don't need you to buy me dinner."

She edges a little closer every time she talks. I close the gap between us, leaning on the dryer.

"You still haven't answered my question," she says, poking my chest. "Why me?"

"You saw me staring at you on the field."

"It's not possible that you saw me from so far away."

"I'd know you anywhere. You're the only girl I've met with mismatched eyes. Besides, my lover’s face is like the sun."

I move closer.

She gives me a light shove back with one hand. "I am not your lover."

"Not yet, and the sonnet reads, 'my lover’s eyes are not like the sun.'"

"So it does. I was making up my own. Shakespeare isn't good enough to describe a beauty like you."

"I have had enough. I am going upstairs now. You can tell me when my clothes are ready."

The look on her face changes abruptly. She starts to say something, but stops, pursing her lips.

"Oh, I can? What am I, one of your servants? Do I look like my name is Jeeves to you?"

"What? I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Never mind. Fine, go upstairs. All the cool people will be down here with the laundry machine."

She turns, and with an imperious upward flick of her chin starts to leave.

"I hate to see you go."

"That is unfortunate," Anastasia says.

"I love to watch you leave." I grin.

She turns back to me on the stairs. "Dee taught me a gesture for situations such as this."

Princess Anastasia gives me the finger, then jogs back up the stairs.

I look at the washing machine. It chugs along, oblivious.

"Women," I tell it and run up after her.

At the top of the stairs, I find that Anastasia has joined Dee on the couch; the brothers have taken up positions the other two sofas.

They have the Monopoly board out.

"What the hell are you doing?" I ask.

"We're going to play Monopoly while we wait for Ana's clothes to get clean," Dee says. "She's never played Monopoly before."

"You think hangover Monopoly is a good idea?"

Akele shrugs his huge shoulders. "A game of Monopoly without at least three deaths is considered a dull affair."

"They're going to cheat," I warn Anastasia.

"They will not," she says.

"You don't know the rules. They could just make them up."

"What would be the point of that?" the princess asks me.

"Honey, cheating is half the point of this game."

"Don't call me honey."

"Okay, babycakes."

"Don't call me that either."

"Sweetie pie?"

"No."

"Honeysuckle. Popsicle?"

"One more and I will slap you."

I leap over the couch. "In that case, I'll just have to join the game."