Beautiful Player (10 page)

“He definitely knows how to play the game,” Sara said. “God, some of the stuff Max has told me.”

I thought back to Jensen’s wedding and watching Will slip off, otherwise unnoticed, with two women at once. I was pretty sure that wasn’t the first or last time something like that had happened.

“Women have always loved him,” I said. “I can remember overhearing some of my mom’s friends talk about him when he worked for Dad. Jesus, the things they would have done to that boy.”

“Cougars!” Chloe squealed, delighted. “I
love
it.”

“God, every girl was in love with him.” I pulled a pillow to my chest, remembering. “I had a few girlfriends in school—I was twelve the first time he came home with Jensen—and they would find all these crazy reasons to need to come over. One of them pretended like she had to return my sweater on Christmas Eve, and it was
her
sweater she gave me. I mean, picture Will now but as a nineteen-year-old guy, playful, clearly wise to the ways of
the female body, and with that damn cheeky smile. He was in a band, had tattoos . . . he was walking sex. Then when he lived with us over the summer? He was twenty-four and I was sixteen. It was unbearable. It was like it offended him to wear a shirt in the house and he had to show off all that smooth, perfect man skin.”

I broke out of my memory to see both of them grinning at me.

“What?”

“Those were some very lascivious descriptions, Hanna,” Sara said.

Glancing over at her, I asked, “Did you just use the word
lascivious
?”

“She most certainly did,” Chloe said. “And I agree. I feel like I just watched something dirty.”

I groaned, getting up off the bed.

“So, clearly, teenage Hanna had a bit of a crush on Will,” Sara said. “But, more importantly, what does twenty-four-year-old Hanna think of him now?”

I had to think on this for a beat, because to be honest, I thought about Will a lot, and in every possible way. I thought about his body and his dirty mouth and of course all the things he could do with them, but I also thought about his brain, and his heart. “I think he’s surprisingly sweet, and he’s absurdly smart. He’s a total player but underneath that, a genuinely good guy.”

“And you haven’t thought about banging him at all?”

I stared at Chloe. “What?”

She stared right back at me. “
What
what? You’re both
young and hot. There’s a history there. I bet it’d be incredible.”

Hundreds of images flashed through my mind in only a few seconds, and even though I thought about
banging
him more than I should probably even admit to myself, I forced the words out: “I am absolutely
not
having sex with Will.”

Sara shrugged. “Not yet, maybe.”

I turned to her. “Aren’t you supposed to be the demure one?”

A laugh burst out of Chloe’s mouth and she shook her head, giving Sara a playfully scolding look. “
Demure
. It’s always the ones who
seem
sweet and innocent, trust me.”

“Well, regardless,” I said, “Will thinks of me as a little sister.”

Chloe sat up, pinning me with a serious expression. “I can tell you that when a man meets a woman, he puts her in one of two categories: unequivocal friend, or possible banging candidate.”

“Doesn’t he have scheduled booty calls?” I asked, wrinkling my nose. I liked the idea of dating, but I got the impression that Will was more structured in his relationships than just a conversation about keeping things casual. To have regular nights scheduled the way he seemed to? I wasn’t sure I could get behind that kind of boundary regarding something as fluid and shapeless as sex.

Sara nodded. “Lately, Kitty is Tuesday nights, Kristy is Saturday evening.” She hummed thoughtfully and added,
“I don’t think he’s seeing Lara anymore, but I’m sure others make cameos here and there.”

Chloe shot her a look and Sara stared back. I blinked away, letting them have their little showdown in private.

“I’m not suggesting she fall in love with him,” Chloe said. “Just bang the hell out of him.”

“I’m only making sure everyone knows the score,” Sara answered, a challenge in her eyes.

“Well,” I started, “it doesn’t matter anyway. Given that he’s my brother’s best friend, I think we can pretty safely assume I am in unequivocal friend territory.”

“Has he talked about your boobs?” Chloe asked.

I felt the heated blush crawl up my neck. Will talked about, stared at, and seemed to idolize my chest. “Um, yes.”

Chloe smiled, smug. “I rest my case.”

The next morning, I’m sure Will was convinced I was on some sort of mood-altering medication . . . or needed to be. I was distracted during our run and kept going over my conversation with Sara and Chloe in my mind. Not only was I thinking about how often Will looked at my boobs, gestured to my boobs, and
spoke
to my boobs, I was unfortunately thinking about Will with the other women I knew were in his life: what he did with them, how they felt when they were with him, and if they had as much fun with him as I did. Plus the fact that he was probably naked with women . . . a lot.

This, of course, led to me thinking about Will naked,
which did nothing to help my focus, or my ability to go in a straight line down the path in front of me.

I forced my thoughts away from the man running in easy silence beside me, and to the work I had waiting at the lab, the report I needed to finish, the exams I needed to help Liemacki grade.

But later, when Will leaned over me, stretching my right leg after I’d basically crumpled on the trail from a leg cramp, he stared at me so intently, his eyes moving slowly over my face, every thought I’d tried to banish came rushing back. My stomach twisted and a delicious heat spread from my chest and down to the neglected ache between my legs. I felt like I was melting into the cold ground.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

I was only able to nod.

His brows drew together. “You’re so quiet this morning.”

“Just thinking,” I murmured.

His sexy little smile appeared and I felt my heart trip and then begin to hammer in my chest. “Well, I hope you’re not thinking about porn or blow jobs or how you want to experiment with sex, because if you think you’re keeping that shit to yourself, you’re in trouble. We have a rhythm now, Ziggs.”

I took a particularly long shower after that run.

I’d never been a texter—in fact, before Will, my only texts had consisted of one-word responses to my family or coworkers.

Are you still coming?
Yes.

Can you pick up a bottle of wine?
Sure.

Are you bringing a date?
Ignore.

Until a week ago—when I’d finally unwrapped the iPhone Niels had given me for Christmas—I still used a flip phone Jensen teased was the first cell phone ever made. Who had time to type a hundred messages when I could call and get it over with in less than a minute? It definitely didn’t seem very efficient.

But with Will it was fun, and I had to admit, the new phone made it easier. He would text me random thoughts throughout the day, send me pictures of his face when I made a particularly bad joke or a photo of his lunch when the chicken breast he’d been served was shaped like a penis. So, after my . . . relaxing shower, when my phone buzzed in the other room, I wasn’t surprised to see it was Will.

What I was surprised by however, was the question:
What are you wearing?

I felt my brows pull together in confusion. It was random but by far not the weirdest thing he’d ever asked me. We were meeting for breakfast in a half hour and maybe he was worried I would show up looking, as he liked to say, like a graduate student hobo.

I looked down at the towel around my otherwise naked chest and typed,
Black jeans, yellow top, blue sweater.

No, Ziggy. I mean *insert innuendo* WHAT ARE YOU WEARING.

Now I really was confused.
I don’t get it,
I typed.

I’m sexting you.

I paused, looked down at the phone for a few more seconds before responding with
What?

He typed so much faster than I did, and his response appeared almost immediately.
It’s not nearly as hot when I have to explain it. New rule: you need to be at least borderline competent in the art of sexting.

Understanding went off like a lightbulb in my head.
Oh! And ha! “Sexting.” Clever, Will.

While I appreciate your enthusiasm and the fact that you think I’m witty enough to have come up with that,
he replied,
I didn’t invent the term. It’s been around in popular culture for quite some time, you know. Now, answer the question.

I paced the room, thinking.
Okay. An assignment, I could do this.
I tried to think of all the sexy innuendo I’d ever heard in movies and of course, in the moment, could not think of a single thing. I thought back on every pickup line I’d heard my brother Eric use . . . and then shuddered, reconsidering.

I drew a total blank.

Well, actually I’m not dressed yet,
I typed.
I was standing here trying to decide if it’s against the rules to go without underpants because I think my skirt shows all the lines but I hate wearing thongs.

I stared at the phone as the little dots indicated he was
replying.
Shit that was pretty good kid. But don’t say underpants. Or blouse. Never sexy.

Don’t make fun of me. I don’t know what to say. I feel like an idiot standing here naked texting you.

I waited.

A few moments passed before my phone lit up again. OK.
So you’ve obviously gotten the hang of it. Now say something dirty.

Dirty?

I’m waiting.

Oh God. Did I have time to google something? No. I searched my mind and typed the first semi-dirty thing I could think of:
Sometimes, when we’re running and you’re controlling your breathing and lost in the rhythm of it, I wonder what noises you make during sex.

So maybe that was a bit more than semi-dirty, and for what felt like an eternity, he didn’t reply.
Oh God.
I put my phone down, convinced that Will was going to walk away and not reply ever again. He probably wanted something playful and not so . . .
honest
.

I walked into the bathroom, pulled a brush through my wet hair, and then piled it into a knot on top of my head. In the other room, I heard my phone buzz on the desk.

WHOA,
was the first message.

The second message:
Way to just . . . dive on in there. OK I’m gonna need a minute. Or five.

OMGIMSOSOEEY
I typed, with stupid fumbling fingers and completely ready to climb into a hole and die.
I MEAN SORRY I CANTBELIEVEISAIDTHAT

You’re kidding me,
he replied.
That was like Christmas. Clearly I need to up my game. Hold on, I might need to stretch first
.

I rolled my eyes.
Waiting.

Your tits looked great today.

That’s all you got?
I typed. Honestly, he’d said more perverted things to my face. To my
boobs
. Did he really think he was schooling me in being sexy right now?

Really? You’re completely unimpressed?

Zzzzzzzzzzz,
I wrote back.

Can I SEE your tits next time?

Well.
I felt a little warmth in my cheeks but there was no way I was admitting that.

Yawn.
I smiled like an idiot at my phone.

The little text bubble appeared in the window to show that he’d started typing. I waited. And waited. Finally,
Can I touch them? Taste them?

I hitched my towel up higher over my breasts and swallowed, shaking. My face wasn’t the only thing that was warm now. I replied,
That was a little better.

Can I lick them and then fuck them?

I dropped my phone, and scrambled to pick it up.
Pretty good,
I typed with shaking hands. I closed my eyes, struggling to push away the image of Will’s hips moving over my chest, his cock sliding over the skin between my breasts.