DIRTY PLAYER: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Read online

  Sam rolls her eyes and grabs my cookie bag away from me before I can stop her. “Seriously, tell me more.”

  I take a deep breath and explain. “He was having some sort of brain freeze and I stopped to ask him if he was alright.”

  “What does he look like?” Sam asks.

  I shrug. “Dark hair, green eyes. Dimples and tat-“

  I’m cut off by the DJ speaking again. “Alright alright alright, next couple up to the plate! Is there a Camille S. and a Blake M. in the house tonight?”

  I drop my jaw.

  Sam giggles and claps a hand over her mouth sheepishly. “Guilty as charged.” She falls backwards into Thomas’s lap, still laughing.

  “I’m going to kill you,” I whisper.

  Thomas chuckles. “You’re singing with my roommate. He actually kind of sounds like the guy your just desc-“

  “Camille S! Is there a Camille S in the house?”

  The crowd is chanting my name now.

  My legs have turned to jelly. I’m not even sure if I’m going to be able to walk across the beach towards the stage. “Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.”

  Amanda stands up and grabs my arm, lifting me off the blanket and into the warm night air. “Let’s do this, Cami!”

  She pulls me over to the stage and pushes me up the steps.

  The crowd cheers and the lights blind me momentarily. I stumble towards the middle of the stage, tripping on a wire that’s not taped properly.

  Strong arms catch me mid-air.

  I look up.

  “Hello there, no, thank you.”

  His dimples say everything I need to know.

  I’m about to sing.

  In public.

  With the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in my life right beside me.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  BLAKE

  She’s the only woman here not baked by the sun.

  Her freckles actually seem like they’ve faded a little since earlier. I wonder how much sunscreen she had to put on to actually spend a day under the Miami sun and reverse sun damage. She looks terrified.

  And fucking hot.

  I got a good look at her ass earlier as she stormed away from me.

  She has more wiggle than a Jell-o pudding cup.

  And she’s probably just as delicious.

  “You,” she says accusatorily, her face a complex mixture of embarrassed, angry, and slightly turned on.

  Maybe I’m making that last one up, but I don’t think so. She keeps biting her lip and staring at my arms.

  I flex for her. “Don’t worry, many women have been made speechless by these things.” I grin at her, hoping to help her relax.

  She gapes at me. “I can’t sing,” she says. “I cannot sing.”

  I shove a microphone into her hand and the feedback blares through the crowd. “Of course you can. It’s just Elton John and Kiki Dee.”

  She groans. “Oh, God. What am I doing up here?”

  I put my arm around her and whisper in her ear. “You’re up here looking unfairly sexy in those jeans. That’s what you’re doing up here.”

  She flashes me a quick look of surprise and wriggles away from my grasp.

  The music starts and I take the first line.

  I’m horrible. I’m awful.

  But I’m a star quarterback. I know how to put on a show.

  I look at Camille, who is frozen to the spot. I sing her line.

  She’s crashing and burning. I just keep singing, and then I take her hand and spin her around.

  That makes her laugh.

  Suddenly, she starts singing.

  And she’s good.

  Like, really, really fucking good.

  The crowd gasps and then starts raucously cheering.

  Camille is fifty shades of red right now, but she looks pleased.

  She takes the harmonies and I grunt out my parts.

  I sound like a caveman next to her angelic voice.

  She actually smiles at me when we make it to the final chorus.

  She ends on a perfect high note and the crowd goes wild.

  “Encore! Encore! Encore!” they yell.

  I lunge forward and sweep Camille off her feet. She smiles at me.

  And then I do something I didn’t plan on doing when I got up here.

  I plant a kiss on her rosebud lips.

  Fireworks go off somewhere in the distance.

  And I mean literal fireworks.

  Someone’s shooting them off about a mile away.

  But it’s more than literal.

  There are figurative fireworks between us.

  I feel myself getting hard as my tongue inches its way into her mouth.

  She grabs the back of my head and pulls me closer to her.

  It’s pure electricity.

  I know only one thing.

  I want to fuck this woman.

  Then she pulls away from me and I put her down.

  Camille rushes off the stage and I drop my mic, taking a final bow before chasing after her.

  I see her red t-shirt up ahead of me on the walkway.

  My bare feet pound along the wooden planks.

  “Camille!” I yell.

  I like the sound of her name in my mouth.

  She doesn’t stop running.

  She makes it to the pool.

  It’s mostly cleared out of people except for a handful of couples fondling each other and making out in the pool light, the blue water sparkling.

  “Camille! Wait,” I yell.

  She stops and spins around, just like earlier. “I can’t do this.”

  I laugh. “Can’t do what? Jesus, you killed it out there.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m not sleeping with you.”

  I hold up my hands. “Whoa, there. Who said anything about sleeping with you?” I give her my trademark cocky grin. “I like the way you think, though, I have to admit.” I take a step closer to her and I see her resolve faltering. “What’s one night between strangers?” I ask with a smile.

  She opens her mouth and closes it again. I brush her soft arm with my fingertips. “I can’t think of a better encore than fucking you, Camille.” I move my hand up to her face, stroking her cheek with my fingertips.

  She sighs and relaxes against me. “I think, maybe…”

  She trails off and just as I’m about to kiss her, a crowd of people comes rushing onto the pool deck from the beach.

  “Thunderstorm, man!” somebody yells.

  I hear thunder cracking in the distance.

  Camille looks around nervously. “Being by a pool isn’t exactly the safest place to-“

  She’s cut off by people shoving into her.

  She loses her balance and falls headfirst into the pool water.

  I bark back a laugh as she comes up for air, kicking and screaming. “I can’t swim!” she says, barely keeping her head above water.

  “You’re joking!” I yell back to her.

  “I’m really not!” she says, ducking under the water once again.

  I tear my shirt off and dive into the water, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her up for air.

  She splutters and coughs, water spraying out of her mouth and into my face.

  “Sorry,” she says. “For spitting on you.”

  “No worries,” I say, pulling her to the side of the pool where she grips the concrete lip. “You really can’t swim?”

  She nods. “I cried a lot during swim lessons as a baby. My dad never took me back.”

  “Wow,” I reply. I reach out to brush a strand of wet hair out of her face. She looks even sexier soaking wet than she did earlier.

  Thunder roars even closer. Camille looks panicked.

  “We better get out,” she says.

  We make our way over to the metal pool ladder and climb out.

  She’s soaking wet, to say the least.

  Water gushes off her clothes.

  I grab a folded towel from an abandoned beach chair. I wrap it ar
ound her. She’s shivering.

  The temperature has dropped with the arrival of the storms.

  “You need dry clothes,” I say to her. “There’s pretty much nothing worse in the entire world than wearing wet jeans.”

  “Chocolate milk,” she replies, her teeth chattering. I wrap an arm around her to warm her up. I rub my forearm against her back quickly. It’s what my mom used to do when I was a kid.

  “Chocolate milk?” I ask her, confused.

  She nods. “There’s a worse sensation in the world than wearing wet jeans. Wearing jeans that you spilled chocolate milk on and then the milk dried on them. It’s scratchy and stiff and terrible.”

  I laugh. “Let’s go inside before we get run over.” It seems like the rest of the beach is rushing towards the hotel and parking lot.

  She nods. “I really could use some dry clothes.”

  We wander into the lobby, both of us barefoot. It’s against hotel policy to not have shoes or a shirt on, but it looks like the rules have been thrown into the wind.

  Nearly everyone is in bathing suits.

  Outside, the sound of thunder grows closer and closer.

  I reach into my wet swim trunks for my room key and slide it into the slot next to the elevator.

  Camille looks a little nervous but doesn’t protest as the elevator doors open.

  “After you,” I say, holding my arm out.

  She hops inside, the towel still wrapped around her. Her lips are purple.

  “It’s freezing in here,” she says. “Damn air conditioning.”

  I push the button for the top floor and the doors slide shut.

  She glances in the mirror.

  “I look like a drowned rat,” she says.

  “You look sexy as fuck,” I say truthfully.

  She blushes a little. It’s nice to see the color returning to her cheeks.

  “Where’d you learn to sing like that?” I ask her.

  “Church,” she replies.

  I make a mental note about this, wondering how religious she is.

  You know what?

  Fuck it.

  “Are you super religious?” I ask her tentatively.

  She gives me a knowing look.

  “Trying to gauge how likely it is I’ll have sex with you tonight?”

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  “I guess you’ll find out,” she says with a wry smile.

  The doors open and we step into the carpeted hallway.

  “My room is down here,” I say, walking ahead of her to lead the way.

  I open the room door, happy that I didn’t put the do not disturb sign on the door this morning. The housekeepers came through and cleaned the place up.

  “Welcome!” I say dramatically to Camille.

  She laughs. “This…this is a nice hotel room. Are you like a trust fund baby or something?”

  “Or something,” I say evasively. “Where is it that you’re staying?”

  “In Satan’s asshole,” she replies. “At least it is compared to this.”

  There’s a view of the Miami skyline from the floor-to-ceiling windows. Two double beds covered in lush linen duvets take up most of the room, but there’s a small sitting area near the windows as well.

  “Wait until you see the bathroom,” I say, opening its door. “I can bathe you if you want.”

  Camille rolls her eyes. “Do those lines of yours ever work on any woman on planet Earth?”

  She brushes past me and our skin connecting brings back that familiar electricity from earlier.

  “You’d be surprised how much they do work.”

  Camille steps into the bathroom, looking around at the ornate marble walls, ceiling, and floor.

  “I’d say the shower’s big enough for about six people. Not that I’ve tried to fit that many people inside of it,” I say with a laugh. “Not yet, anyway. But the night is still young.”

  Camille drops her towel. Her nipples are hard through her shirt and bra.

  “I’ll shower, borrow some dry clothes of yours, and then leave.”

  I lean against the doorway. “Are you sure? Because I could join you.”

  She grins and points into the main part of the hotel room.

  “Out.”

  I throw my hands over my heart as if she shot me there, stumbling back dramatically. “You’re killing me, Camille.”

  She grins and shuts the door.

  I wander back into the hotel room and stand next to the windows. I hear the shower click on with a rush of water and I try not to think about how Camille is completely naked and wet just twenty feet away from me.

  I try not to think about her.

  But I fail.

  Miserably.

  I stare out the window at the cars crawling below like ants with lights for eyes. The city of Miami seems to pulse through the floors. It’s exciting out there.

  But I’d much rather be in here with a chance at fucking Camille than outside without her.

  This never happens. Normally I go through women like they’re trading cards. And most of them are fine with that arrangement.

  I fuck them and I leave them before the sun comes up.

  It’s worked for me this far.

  I hear Thomas’s voice in my head beckoning me to go downstairs and find someone else. Someone ready and willing.

  But I like this game we’re playing, me and Camille. It’s exciting and new.

  It’s never happened before.

  I hear the water shut off and the shower door open and close. A few minutes later, Camille appears, wrapped up in a towel.

  She leans against the wall, a serious look on her face.

  “What? Was the water not hot?” I ask her. I try not to think about the fact that the only thing holding up her towel is her full tits.

  “It was hot,” she says.

  She pushes away from the wall and stands perfectly upright, her hands at the top of her towel.

  “I had a change of heart.”

  In what seems like a dream sequence, she undoes the terrycloth wrap and the towel falls to the floor, revealing her magnificent fucking body.

  “Alright,” is all I say. I’m across the room in two seconds, my hands finding her breasts and lifting them up. I run my thumbs over her hard nipples.

  “Just tonight,” she breathes.

  “Just tonight,” I reply, kissing her fully. Her tongue is hot and wet and it makes me think of other places that are probably hot and wet already, too.

  Camille pushes me back onto the bed with a force I didn’t expect from her. She undoes my swimsuit trunks and pulls them off me. Her face is one of shock.

  Yeah.

  I’m that big.

  “I like a woman who takes control,” I say to her with a grin.

  “Shut up,” she replies. She leans over my face. “Do you have condoms?” Her wet hair drips onto my chest.

  “Top drawer,” I reply.

  She fishes around and pulls out a plastic wrapper, handing it to me. “You put it on.”

  I don’t think twice. I slip it onto my hard, waiting cock.

  She lowers her hot wetness over my hard shaft, lifting her body up and down so her tits jiggle.

  I lean back and let her do all the work.

  She moans and tilts her head back. I feel her muscles contract around me, and I lose total control, coming inside of her. I wish I didn’t have a condom on so I could feel all of her around me.

  Don’t be stupid, says a voice in my head. The last thing you need is a pregnant girlfriend.

  Wait.

  Did I just say girlfriend?

  I lose the thread of my own thoughts as Camille comes spectacularly while she massages her own tits.

  She slides off me and I run to the bathroom to clean up.

  “Don’t move,” I yell over my shoulder.

  She’s collapsed onto the bed, breathing heavily.

  I come back to see her naked and relaxed.

  I get on my knees and pull her to the
edge of the bed, bringing my mouth to her wet mound. I run my tongue up and down and around in circles while she bucks against me. She’s a wildcat. She can’t be controlled.

  She sits upright, perched on her elbows and grabs my hair, pushing my face between her legs harder and harder. I can barely breathe.

  If this is how I die, what a way to go.

  She presses her thighs on either side of my head and screams out my name while she comes in my mouth.

  I’m hard again and grab another condom.

  “Get on all fours,” I say to her.

  She doesn’t object, turning her body around so I see her full ass. I grab her hips and pull her to the edge of the bed, slipping into her wetness once again. I push in and out, thrusting as hard as I can.

  She turns around, her hair still wet, and smiles at me.

  That sends me over the edge.

  I know only one thing for certain: I’ve never had sex like this before.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CAMILLE

  “You’re wearing boy clothes,” Sam says to me the next morning.

  I look down and realize I’m still in Blake’s t-shirt. I run to the bathroom, grabbing my own clothes on the way and changing with the door shut.

  I don’t know what got into me last night.

  The sex was wild. Completely out of control.

  I’m not even sure how many condoms we used.

  But I’m a private person. I’m not going to share that with Sam and Amanda, no matter how much they push me.

  I step out of the bathroom in a t-shirt and shorts. “And how were both of your nights?”

  Amanda rolls her eyes. “I sat in the hallway for an hour while Sam had sex with Thomas, so it wasn’t so great.”

  Sam laughs. “My night was plenty great, as you can imagine.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively while she packs up the rest of her things. “Thomas was amazing.”

  “Did you get his phone number?” Amanda asks.

  Sam sighs. “No. Why ruin a good thing?”

  “Did you give him yours?” I ask. Sam rarely does.

  “Like I said, why ruin a good thing?”

  Amanda and I both laugh. I speak. “I can count on one hand the number of guys you’ve given your phone number to. I guess Thomas wasn’t good enough?”

  She laughs. “He’s pretty hot, but your guy is even hotter.”

  I blush and reach for my stack of books on the nightstand, filling up my suitcase with them. “He’s not my guy.”