Players Game 01 - Fraternize Read online

  For so many years it had been my dream to be a Buck.

  Now?

  It was a waking nightmare.

  (Then)

  “You think that was a tackle!” Em yelled. “Come on!” She jumped up to her feet and screamed until she was hoarse, while I sipped on our shared soda and watched with rapt fascination. “What?” She huffed and glared down at me. “Come on! Didn’t you see that?”

  “Nope.” I chewed the end of the straw just because I knew it would piss her off. “I was too busy watching you.”

  Her cheeks pinkened as she snatched the cup from my hand and rolled her eyes. “If they keep tackling like they’re afraid to break a nail, we aren’t going to the playoffs this year.”

  “I love it when you talk football.” I grinned up at her.

  “You’re mocking me.”

  “If I were mocking you, I’d be smiling.”

  “You are smiling!” she argued.

  “So I am.” I stood and joined her and the rest of the row. I had been literally one of the only people not standing and yelling. Then again, I knew the Bucks would pull through. They always did. “They’ll win. They just need a field goal.”

  “I don’t care about this game. What about the future! They can’t play the Pats with that defense!” Em shoved the soda against my chest and huffed out a breath as pieces of her hair fell from her messy bun and against her face.

  “Clearly, they just need to recruit me out of high school. All their problems will be solved.”

  “And mine,” she whispered.

  “What was that?” She had my full attention as she finally tore her eyes away from the game long enough to look up at me with a fear-filled gaze. “Em?”

  “I don’t want you to leave me. Ever.”

  “Good, because I’m not going to. You’re stuck with me like a bad cold.” I wrapped an arm around her.

  “I hate colds.”

  “But you love me.”

  “If you’re the cold, then, yes, I love you.”

  “Atta-girl.” I kissed her temple. “Stop being dramatic.” I paused. “Aw shit, is it that time of the month again? Is this why we’re emotional?”

  “We?”

  “We, us—you.”

  Emerson slapped my chest. “Stop asking questions you don’t want answers to.”

  “Does my girl need chocolate?”

  “No.” She said it too quickly.

  “Em . . .”

  “I’m totally fine.”

  “Whatever. I’m feeding you after this.”

  “I ate dinner!”

  “You barely ate anything, and I saw you lusting after that chocolate chip cookie. Don’t lie.”

  “I wasn’t lusting!”

  “No, but you were drooling.”

  “Just . . . let’s just watch the game.” She shivered against me.

  I kissed her again and whispered, “You know I’d do anything for you, right?”

  Her body softened against mine. “Good. Then this is the plan. Get drafted by the Bucks and I’ll cheer for you from the sidelines.”

  “As a Bucks Girl,” I added.

  She blushed. “Yeah, well . . .” Her eyes dropped to the cheerleaders bouncing around and yelling. “I highly doubt they’d let me cheer for them, but I’m going to work my ass off.”

  “You’re the most talented cheerleader I know.”

  “And you know so many cheerleaders?”

  “I’m a football player. It’s kind of my job, Em.”

  “Ew, gross!” She made a face. “All I’m saying is they’re . . . different than me.”

  “Thank God for that.” I cupped her face and forced her to look at me. “I’m glad that you like cookies, Em. I promise I’ll play for the Bucks if you promise that one day you’ll cheer for them. I can’t win without you.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “I’m not . . . NFL material.”

  “They’d be lucky to have you,” I said above the noise as my hands fell to her full hips. “All of you.”

  She gulped.

  “All of you,” I repeated.

  “All of me.” She sighed and then wrapped her arms around my body. “Thanks, Miller. You’re a good friend.”

  More. I would always want more.

  And it was only a matter of time before I took it.

  I shook the memory from my head, suddenly in a fouler mood than I should have been, considering how much money I was getting paid. Look, living the dream, folks. Only nobody ever told me how much dreams cost.

  Or how bad they sucked when you had no one to share them with.

  A door to the locker room jerked open.

  “Yo.” Well, well, well, Grant Sanchez, live and in the flesh. Pretty sure my other dream had involved him suffering a very severe hand injury and being unable to catch anything for the remainder of the season last year.

  And now we were on the same team.

  FML.

  “Miller.” He grinned stupidly. “Admit it, you missed me.”

  “Stole the words right from my mouth.” Bullshit. I wanted his head on a stake. How the hell was I supposed to be on his team? The guy was a complete asshole.

  A talented one.

  But whatever.

  “Ah, I know that look.” He shrugged his shoulders and kept approaching me.

  Damn it.

  “Wanna rip my head off?”

  “Wow, you’re good at this mind reading shit, aren’t you?”

  “Teammates, amigo.” He held out his hand. “So let’s put the past behind us, yeah? It’s not your fault you were on a losing team with a shitty quarterback . . .” My fists clenched. “And an even shittier coaching staff.”

  I held out my hand and shook his. “And here I thought you were about ready to throw my welcome party.”

  “I did. In my head. There were balloons.” He gripped my hand hard. “Seriously though, put last year behind you, man. I want another ring.” He released my hand and crossed his arms. “Relax. You still look ready to kill someone, and I just got a deal with Armani, so I can’t have a black eye ruining that, even if it is warranted.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m just leaving anyway. I wanted to check out the stadium before tomorrow’s practice.”

  “Hah, and I bet the fact that the cheerleaders are practicing out there right now has nothing to do with it?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” I said in a dead voice.

  “He lies.” Sanchez was quickly becoming a pain in my ass. “Come on, young friend, let me teach you the ways of the Bucks.”

  “Did you happen to fail your drug test?”

  Sanchez laughed. “Clean, my man. Let’s go.”

  “Where?” He was already shoving me toward another door that led to a dark hallway. Great. If this was a Bucks hazing thing, I was in over my head, jetlagged, and pissed off enough to do some serious harm to my own teammates.

  But nobody was on the other side of the hallway.

  Just another locker room.

  Another two doors.

  Three more dark hallways.

  And then, one last door that opened up to the top area of the practice facility.

  And around twenty of my new teammates.

  With binoculars.

  And whiskey.

  Yeah, I could get on board with this.

  “Gentlemen . . .” Sanchez gripped my shoulders with both hands and slowly pushed me toward an empty seat. “Miller has arrived. Now, let’s show him a good time and why we’re one of the only teams in the league whose cheerleaders have their own bestselling calendar and award-winning documentary.”

  “God bless cheerleaders,” someone piped up.

  Sanchez and the rest of the guys mumbled an “Amen.”

  “No fraternization my ass.” Another guy I recognized held up the binoculars and then nodded to Sanchez. “Almost time to make your pick. Remember, one pick, no stealing or trading.”

  “Stealing or trading what?” I asked.

  The guys looked at me w
ith knowing smirks before Sanchez moved around me to sit, patting the seat next to him. Most of the guys were rookies, and the other half were on the practice squad.

  “We each—even me—pick a cheerleader during the preseason, pursue her until she gives in, which most of them never do because none of these guys have game, and make bets on how long it takes for her to . . .” He licked his lips and whispered. “B-E A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E.” The idiot actually spelled it out while someone next to him threw his hands into the air like he was doing a cheer.

  “We may not haze new players . . . but we still force the rookies to take us out to dinner and leave them with the check.” Sanchez pointed out at the field. “We do have one requirement of all newbies, whether you’re a rookie or you’ve been traded.”

  “Oh?” I wasn’t liking the sound of this at all.

  “Bang the cheerleader. Save the world,” Sanchez said seriously. “Or just pick one to pursue for the season, and we’ll see who wins this.” He pulled a lame-looking trophy out of one of the duffel bags and tossed it in my direction.

  “Player of the Year?” I read aloud. “You’re just missing one tiny piece of valuable information. All teams have a no-fraternization policy.” I tossed the trophy back at him.

  Sanchez caught it then held up his hand. He reached into the same duffel bag and pulled out what looked like a rule book. “It states here that during any NFL season the cheerleaders are not allowed to hang out, date, or enter into a sexual relationship with any of the players. During the off-season, they must use discretion.”

  “Right.” I finally sat down while one of the guys next to me handed me binoculars like I was actually going to go through with their immature plan. Who did that? I was young. Not stupid. “Preseason starts in two weeks.”

  “Still the off-season . . .” Sanchez shrugged. “Not that it matters. Coach turns a blind eye as long as we win. Come on, have a little fun. It’s harmless. Besides, they love the attention. You think they don’t know we’re up here? Trust me. They know.”

  “How?”

  Sanchez grinned. “Because we tell them. Because they’re willing participants. Because we’ve been doing this for years. It’s a Bucks tradition. Wipe that judgmental look from your face, man. The girls love it. Trust me, they get plenty of attention because of it.” His smile faded, he gave his head a little jerk. “Those girls down there want one thing from us and one thing only.”

  “Your tiny dick?” I offered. “Are all Bucks assholes or just you?”

  Sanchez threw back his head and laughed. “Yeah we’re going to get along just fine. Man, do you really think that any of those girls give a shit about getting married, having kids, buying a dog?” He rolled his eyes. “Hell no, they want attention, and we give it to them, and in response, if they put out, it’s a win-win-win, wait how many wins?”

  “How do you even know who wins?” I asked.

  “Last man standing.” Sanchez shrugged. “Last year it was Thomas, he dated one of the girls for a solid year.”

  A few guys chuckled, one piped up. “Hey, Sanchez, didn’t you propose to one of the girls? Oh my bad, that was someone else.”

  Chuckling followed.

  Sanchez didn’t join in.

  My eyebrows shot up. Grant Sanchez? Down on one knee?

  His entire demeanor tensed. “So what do you say, Miller?”

  “Pass.” I shrugged.

  “Miller . . .” Sanchez sneered. “Are you a virgin? Is that what this is about, man? Because if you need to get laid, I can hook you up.” Why the hell did it matter so much to him?

  “I’d rather not get herpes. Besides, I doubt you could please me, man.”

  The guys all burst out laughing while he flipped me off with a grin. “Not me, you asshole.”

  I gritted my teeth and stood. “I’ll try not to kick your ass at practice tomorrow. Have fun acting your age, Sanchez.”

  “Your loss, man.” He was already looking back at the field. “They just hired a new one who’s actually nice.”

  “And the rest?”

  “Most of them are more interested in their Instagram accounts,” another guy said.

  “Well, you’re welcome to her. I don’t date during the season.” Or at all, but they didn’t need to know that.

  “Holy shit, is that her?”

  I was ready to leave when a prickling sensation washed over me.

  “Hot.”

  “Big.”

  “Her tits are huge.”

  “Those thighs.”

  “She has a nice smile though.”

  “Curves for days.”

  “She should diet.”

  “She’s three times the size of the captain.”

  “The captain is an evil bitch who likes celery,” Sanchez snapped. “Besides, I talked with her earlier. Dibs.”

  “The captain?”

  “No. Curves.” Sanchez’s voice changed. “She’s . . . different.” Sanchez seemed to be in some weird trance I wanted no part of, while he watched the girl with an intensity I’d only ever seen from guys on the field.

  I glanced over my shoulder. He was staring at the girl. I couldn’t see her without binoculars. But it didn’t matter. I was done with cheerleaders.

  All of them were evil.

  Chapter Eight

  EMERSON

  The cheerleading manual had been brutally . . . honest about what they expected.

  They didn’t come out and ask the members of the squad to diet, but it was strongly suggested they stay away from anything that could potentially attach itself to the thighs by way of fat.

  No sugar. No soda. No fruit! How was fruit bad? What had fruit ever done to a human other than hydrate? By the time I’d finished the first two pages, I was ready to be sick.

  Surprise weigh-ins throughout the season?

  What was this, Weight Watchers? Hell? Both?

  Coach Kay had said nothing about any of this, which meant only one thing. She was either setting me up to fail, or she thought I could handle it.

  All talking ceased the minute I walked out onto the field to practice with the other girls.

  When I dropped my bag to the ground and started stretching, a few girls eyed me, the bag, and then me again, and started whispering.

  One brave one marched over and sat down. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” I swallowed my nervousness and leaned across my right leg. “I’m Emerson.”

  “Coach and I both made bets about whether you’d show up.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, looks like she won, not that it matters. We need fresh blood anyway.”

  Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight braid; her makeup looked fresh, and her bright red lipstick stood out against her pale skin like a homing beacon. I had trouble looking away because it was such a stark contrast. The woman was wearing a white crop top and spandex. Shiny diamond earrings caught the light just right, nearly blinding me before she grinned again.

  “I’m Kinsey.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Suddenly feeling self-conscious, I started fishing around in my bag for at least some lip gloss. Clearly I hadn’t gotten to that part of the manual yet.

  The one that said all girls needed to have full makeup for each and every practice.

  “You’ll love being a Bucks Girl.” Kinsey mimicked my stretch. “We get free tanning, free massages, free makeup—” She frowned at me and then cleared her throat. “Not to sound like a bitch, but you should at least get your eyelashes done if you’re going to show up with a clean face.”

  “Oh.” I touched my cheeks. They were hot with embarrassment. “I didn’t know. I’ll make sure to do my makeup tomorrow.”

  She let out a breath. “Good, that’s good. I just . . .” She chewed her lower lip and whispered. “It’s going to be hard enough for you as it is . . .”

  My heart sank as I tried to suck in my stomach, but it was no use. I was just a bigger girl—bigger than them. I could fit two of those girls in my pants, no joke
.

  “Because you’re so pretty,” she finished.

  My head jerked to attention. Huh? What did I miss?

  Her smile was still in place, and I didn’t think it was fake. “You thought I was going to say something else, didn’t you?”

  I nodded, not trusting my voice. My eyes still searched for any hint of evil bitchiness, only to come up empty. Her smile seemed genuine.

  She rolled her eyes. “With an ass like that, I’m surprised Sanchez hasn’t already staked a claim.”

  At the sound of his name, my cheeks burned.

  I didn’t move.

  I was completely terrified I’d give myself away.

  Her smile grew. “Ah, so the best receiver in the league has staked a claim?”

  “No.” I shook my head and then rolled my eyes. “Not precisely.” I switched positions and moved to the runners’ stretch. She followed. “I was in the parking lot crying—celebrating, actually—and he started talking to me. It was nothing.”

  Except for the fact that he had one of the sexiest smirks I’d ever seen. But it was a knowing smirk—one that told women just how aware he was of his own sexuality—and that smirk led down a dark and dangerous road I wanted no part of.

  Her perfectly matched brown eyebrows bolted upright. “Um, Sanchez doesn’t talk just to hear his own voice, trust me. There are girls here he still hasn’t even acknowledged, which isn’t too hard for him since he’s so freaking tall.” Her laugh was loud. “Last year, he asked Molly to move out of his way, and she was so stunned that he finally talked to her that she froze. The man had to physically lift her out of the way. I’m pretty sure she suffered a mild stroke.”

  I frowned and glanced around the field. “Which one’s Molly?”

  “Oh . . .” She waved me off. “Molly’s gone. She slept with one of the players during the season, and he ratted her out because he thought she was cheating on him. The coaching staff found out and fired her ass.”

  “Whoa.” I sucked in a breath. “They mean business about that no-fraternization policy.” Not that it mattered since, in my opinion, all football players could burn in hell.

  “Eh . . .” Kinsey shrugged and moved to stretch her left leg. “It’s a confusing rule. Management turns a blind eye if the guys win games. If not, and they find out, we’re the only ones to go, while the players just get more money tossed at them by way of bonuses.”