Beautiful Player (6 page)

“Don’t worry, Max is here and I can tell he’s enjoying this enough for the both of them.”

She laughed. “We’re on it. Bras to support the supple breasts of your nongirlfriend. God, you’re a pig.”

“Thanks.”

She hung up and I handed the phone back to Max, avoiding his eyes.

“Oh,
Victoria
,” he said, giddy. “Do you have a
Secret
? Do you have a fondness for helping women find well-fitting ladywear?”

“Fuck off,” I said through a laugh. His expression was as if Leeds United had just won the fucking World Cup. “She’s been joining me on my morning run, and she wears these . . . whatever. They’re not sports bras. And her bras do that . . .” I gestured to my chest. “That weird four-boob thing up front? I just figured if they were out shopping already . . .”

Max leaned his chin on his fist and smiled at me. “Christ you’re precious, William.”

“You know how I feel about breasts. It’s no joking matter.” And, I didn’t add, Ziggy was stacked like a pinup girl.

“Indeed not,” he agreed, lifting his paper again. “I just like how you’re pretending you wouldn’t cream your panties for a girl with four tits.”

About half an hour later, the door behind Max opened and I looked up as a tangle of shiny hair and shopping bags careened toward our table. Max and I stood, helping Ziggy unload her loot on one of the chairs.

She wore a pale blue sweater, dark fitted jeans, and green flats. She wasn’t dressed like she was coming off a runway, but she looked comfortable, stylish. Her hair was . . . different. I narrowed my eyes, studying it as she slipped her messenger bag from her shoulder. She’d cut it,
or maybe it was that she just had it down instead of confined to her trademark messy bun. It fell past her shoulders, thick, and straight and smooth. But despite the changes in her clothes and hair, she, fortunately, still looked like
Ziggy
: a tiny bit of makeup, bright smile, sun-kissed freckles.

She reached her hand out for Max’s, smiling. “I’m Hanna. You must be Max.”

Grasping her hand, he said, “Nice to meet you. I trust you had a good morning with the two crazy women?”

“I did.” She turned to me, wrapped her arms around my neck, and I tried not to groan when she squeezed. I both loved and hated her hugs. They were tight, almost smothering, but disarmingly warm. When she let go, she collapsed into a chair. “That Chloe likes her lingerie, though. I think we spent an hour in that section alone.”

“Let me find my surprised face,” I murmured, discreetly checking out Ziggy’s chest as I sat back down. The girls looked fantastic: full and high. Just perfectly in place. She must have purchased some lingerie herself.

“On that note . . .” Max stood, slipping his wallet into his back pocket. “I think it’s time for me to find the Petal and see how successful
her
shopping ventures were. Nice to meet you, Hanna.” He patted my shoulder, winking at her. “Have a nice lunch.”

Ziggy waved to Max, and then turned to me, eyes wide. “Wow. He’s . . .
hot
. I met Bennett earlier, too. You guys are like the Hot Men’s Club of Manhattan.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing. And anyway, do you really think we’d let Max in?” I said, grinning. “You look great, by the way.” Her head shot to me, eyes surprised, and I quickly added, “I’m glad you didn’t let them cover you up with makeup. I would miss your freckles.”

“You would miss my
freckles
?” she asked in a whisper and I winced inwardly at how forward I sounded. “What man says that? Are you trying to make me have an orgasm right now?”

Whoa
. I no longer felt like
I’d
been too forward. I worked very hard to not look at her chest again when she said that. I was still getting used to the way she seemed to let out every thought she had. Glancing down at her shopping bags, I softly redirected, “I . . . uh, it looks like you bought plenty of running shoes.”

Bending, she rummaged through a few things and I blinked up to the ceiling, ignoring the view of her full cleavage. “I think I got
everything
,” she said. “I’ve never shopped like that. Liv is probably going to pop some champagne when she hears.” When I finally looked back down, her eyes were scanning my face, my neck, my chest as if she were just now seeing me. “Did you go for a run this morning?”

“And a bike ride.”

“You’re so
disciplined
.” She leaned forward with her hands on her chin and batted her lashes at me. “It does really nice things for your muscles.”

Laughing, I told her, “It calms me. Keeps me from . . .” I searched for words, feeling my neck heat. “From being stupid.”

“That isn’t what you were originally going to say,” she said, sitting up. “It keeps you from what? Like getting into bar fights? Release of tension and man angst?”

I decided to test her a little. I had no idea where the urge came from, but she was a confusing mix of inexperienced and wild. She made me feel reckless, and a little drunk. “It keeps me from wanting to fuck all the time.”

She barely skipped a beat. “Why would you want to run instead of fuck?” She tilted her head, considering me for a beat. “Besides, exercise increases testosterone and blood flow. I think, if anything, you’re having better sex
because
you exercise.”

Talking about this with her felt dangerous. It was tempting to look at her a little too long, and Ziggy didn’t shrink under my inspection. She would look right back at me.

“I have no idea why I told you that,” I admitted.

“
Will
. I’m neither a virgin nor a woman trying to get into your pants. We can discuss
sex
.”

“Hmmm, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” I lifted my juice to my lips, taking a sip while I watched her drink some of her water, her eyes locked on mine. She wasn’t trying to get into my pants? Not even a little?

The air between us seemed to hum quietly. I wanted to reach forward, run my finger over her lower lip. Instead, I put my juice down and curled my hands into fists.

“I’m just saying,” she said, “there’s no need to sugarcoat with me. I like that you’re not a guy who talks around things.”

“Are
you
always this open with people?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I think this might be you-specific. I say a lot of things, really, but I especially feel stupid around you, and I can’t seem to shut up.”

“I don’t want you to shut up.”

“You’ve always been so obviously sexual and open about it. You’re this hot, player guy who doesn’t apologize for enjoying women. I mean, if I noticed that about you when I was twelve, it was
obvious
. Sex is natural. It’s what our bodies
do
. I like that you are who you are.”

I didn’t respond, didn’t know what to say. She liked the thing about me that every other woman wanted to tame, but I wasn’t sure I liked that this was her primary impression of who I
was
.

“Chloe said you asked them to take me bra shopping.”

I looked up to catch her eyes as they flickered away from my mouth.

Her smirk curled into a playful smile. “How thoughtful, Will. So nice of you to think about my boobs.”

I bent to take a bite of my sandwich, murmuring, “We don’t need to discuss that conversation. Max already gave me an appropriate amount of shit.”

“You’re a mysterious man, Player Will.” She lifted the menu, skimming the choices before putting it back down. “But, fine. I’ll change the subject. What should we talk about?”

I swallowed, watching her. I couldn’t imagine this wild
young thing with the intense and poised combination of Chloe and Sara. “Whatever you ladies talked about today,” I suggested.

“Well, Sara and I had a fun conversation about what it feels like to be almost revirginized after not having sex for so long.”

I almost choked, coughing loudly. “Wow. That’s . . . I don’t even know what that is.”

She watched me, amused. “Seriously though. I’m sure it’s not like that for guys. But for girls, after a while, you’re like . . . does the virginity grow back? Is it like moss over a cave?”

“That is a disgusting image.”

Ignoring me, she sat up straighter, excited now. “Actually this is perfect. You’re a scientist so you’ll totally appreciate this theory I recently developed.”

I pressed back farther into my chair. “You just ended with a moss over a cave analogy. Honestly, I’m a little scared.”

“Don’t be. So, you know how a girl’s virginity is considered kind of sacred?”

I laughed. “Yes, I’ve heard of this concept.”

She scratched her head, her freckled nose wrinkling a little. “My theory is this: Cavemen are making a comeback. Everyone wants to read about the guy who ties the girl up, or gets all violently jealous if—God forbid—she wears something sexy outside the bedroom. Women supposedly like that, right? Well, I think the new fad is going to be revirginization.
They’ll want their man to feel like he’s their first. And can you imagine how women will do this?”

I watched her eyes grow increasingly excited as she waited for me to attempt an answer. Something about her sincerity, her earnest consideration of this topic tightened an invisible band beneath my ribs. “Um, with lies? Women always assume we can read braille with our cocks. What’s that about? I honestly probably wouldn’t know a girl was a virgin unless she—”

“With surgery first, probably. Let’s call it ‘hymen restoration.’ ”

Dropping my food, I groaned. “Jesus Christ, Ziggs. I’m eating brisket. Can you just hold off on the hymen talk for like—”

“And then”—she drummed her hands on the table, building suspense—“everyone is waiting to see what stem cells can do for us. But spinal cord injury, Parkinson’s . . . I don’t think that’s where they’ll start. You know what I think the big splash will be?”

“Edge of my seat,” I deadpanned.

“I bet it will be a restoration of the maidenhead.”

I coughed again, loudly. “Dear God. ‘Maidenhead’?”

“You said no ‘hymen,’ so—but am I right?”

Before I could answer and tell her the theory was actually pretty good, she barreled on. “Stupid amounts of money are spent on this kind of thing. Viagra for boners. Four hundred different shapes of fake boobs. Which filler feels the most
natural? It’s a man’s world, Will. Women won’t stop to think that you’re putting
actively growing cells
in their
vagina
. Next year, one of your nongirlfriends will get her hymen regenerated, and she’ll give her new virginity to you, Will.”

She leaned down, put her lips around her straw, and sucked, her gray eyes locked on mine. And with that lingering, playful look, I felt my cock harden slightly. Releasing the straw, she whispered, “To
you
. And will you appreciate what a gift that is? What a sacrifice?”

Her eyes danced and then she tilted her head back and burst out laughing. Holy fuck, I liked this girl. I liked her a lot.

Leaning forward on my elbows, I cleared my throat. “Ziggy, listen up because this is important. I’m about to impart some wisdom.”

She sat up, her eyes narrowing conspiratorially.

“Rule one we’ve already covered: don’t ever call someone before the sun is up.”

Her lips twitched into a guilty little smile. “Right. Got that one.”

“And rule two,” I said, shaking my head slowly. “Don’t ever discuss hymen regeneration over lunch. Or . . . like, ever.”

She dissolved into giggles and then moved out of the way when the waitress brought her food. “Don’t be so quick to mock it. That’s a billion-dollar idea, moneyman. If that comes across your desk soon, you’ll thank me for the heads-up.”

She dug into her salad, taking an enormous bite, and I tried not to study her. She wasn’t like any of the girls I
knew. She was pretty—actually, she was beautiful—but she wasn’t poised or contained. She was silly, and confident, and so much her own person it almost made the rest of the world seem monochromatic. I had no idea if she even took herself seriously, but she certainly didn’t expect me to.

“What’s your favorite book?” I asked, the question bubbling up out of nowhere.

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and I blinked down to my sandwich, picking at the tiny pieces of crispy meat at the edges.

“This is going to sound cliché.”

“I sincerely doubt that, but hit me.”

She leaned forward, and whispered,
“A Brief History of Time.”

“Hawking?”

“Of course,” she said, almost offended.

“That’s not cliché. Cliché would be if you said
Wuthering Heights
or
Little Women
.”

“Because I’m a woman? If I asked
you,
and you said Hawking, would you be cliché?”

I considered this. I imagined saying that book was my favorite, and getting a few
Dude, of course
’s from my grad school friends. “Probably.”

“So that’s bull, for it to be cliché for you and not me just because I have a vagina. But anyway,” she said, shrugging and popping a small bite of lettuce into her mouth, “I read it when I was twelve, and—”

“Twelve?”

“Yeah, and it just blew me away. Not so much what he said—because I don’t think I understood everything then—but more that he thought that way. That there were people out there who spent their lives trying to figure these things out. It opened up a whole world for me.” Suddenly she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, and smiled a little guiltily when she opened them again. “I’m talking your ear off.”

“Yes, but lately you’re
always
talking my ear off.”

With a little wink, she leaned forward to whisper, “But maybe you kind of love it?”

Unbidden, my mind flooded with the fantasy of her neck arched, her mouth open in a hoarse plea while I licked a line from the hollow of her throat to her jaw. I imagined her nails digging into my shoulders, the sharp sting of pain . . . and blinked, standing and pushing my chair back so quickly that it hit the chair behind me. I apologized to the man seated there, apologized to Ziggy, and practically sprinted to the restroom.