Playing Hard: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (32 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

RILEY

The party’s in the row houses down the block from us that’ve become notorious for this kind of thing. Every weekend they host a multi-house party that almost always spills out into the street; cops are called, drunk people end up lying in gutters and on the street, there’s roof-tile fights, people humping in the backyard in full view of everyone, and one time I heard someone had set a couch on fire in a high attempt to cook their frozen pizza. To put it out they’d had to heave it out the window and into the pool — fuck knows if it’s true, but it’s just one of those stories that have passed into Blaketon U party lore.

Either way, it sounds like exactly the kind of place I need to be right now.

I can hear the bass thumping from down the street by the time Omar and I show up — there’s people hanging off the balcony, girls in tube tops and mini skirts despite the frigid weather, chugging beers and screaming along with the music. One girl hands me a plastic cup of beer as I walk up the front steps. I smile at her before swallowing it down in one huge gulp. It’s nowhere near enough to get me drunk, but it’s a good start. I’ll need something stronger than beer if I’m going to get all the bullshit with Ava out of my head, though.

Fuck, I’d drink toilet cleaner right now if it’d make me forget about Ava.

Omar has found himself a beer and a hot girl to wrap his arm around, who’s already hauling him off to the lounge to ‘dance’, by which I mean grind her ass against his crotch. He gives me a wave as he lets himself be carried off — I wave back, and then turn toward the kitchen. I need more booze.

There’s a keg on the counter when I come in, surrounded by bottles and bottles of everything from expensive-looking scotch to cheap, shitty wine. I grab myself a bottle of something, anyway, and tip it straight down my throat. It’s not until after I’ve downed it and felt it burning its way down my throat that I even
look
at the label. Shit, it’s in… Japanese? Maybe? I have no idea what I’m drinking, but I can already feel it having an effect on me, so I take another long drink. The people in the kitchen, most of whom are already drunk, start screaming and cheering me on, which really only encourages me.

“Fuck,” I mutter. Whatever the hell this shit is, it’s making my mouth burn like a dumpster fire.

“Hey, you’re Riley Knox, aren’t you?”

As I shake my head to clear it, I hear a seductive voice in my ear. I turn to see a girl standing next to me, hair blonde, tits huge — the usual kind of girl who both gets invited to and would actually turn up to a party like this. Basically the female equivalent of me.

“The one and only,” I mutter, flashing her a grin, though my heart’s not in it.

Ordinarily I’d be all over a girl like this — the kind of girl that promises easy, uncomplicated sex in an empty room somewhere. But right now, I just can’t seem to get myself worked up for it.

“Been a while since I saw you at a party,” the girl pouts, twining some hair around her finger. “Did you break up with what’s-her-name? That girlfriend you had?”

“Ava.”

Her name is out of my mouth before I can think —  and straight away I can feel my stomach curdling. Or maybe it’s the drink. Either way, I feel suddenly sick.

“Okay, yeah, sure,” the girl says, shrugging a little. I take another drink — can’t hurt, right? — and she presses herself along the length of my body, her hand settling over my abs. “Need some help to forget her, baby? I’ll have you saying my name instead in about three seconds flat.”

I swallow the mouthful of whatever this godawful shit I’m drinking is, and look down at her. She’s cute, she has huge boobs, and I don’t doubt for a second she can do exactly what she promises.

So why the fuck do I hear the words, “Maybe later,” coming out of my mouth, before I turn away and go looking for more booze?

Fucking hot sluts was exactly the reason I came here — so why, when one serves herself up to me, don’t I accept it?

All I can say is my dick just doesn’t want it.

I wander out of the kitchen with a tallboy in my hand, to where couples are bumping and grinding in the lounge to the sound of a thumping bass. That’s the only thing I can hear of the music. There’s a couple all over each other on the couch, dry-humping through their clothes, and a circle of people playing spin the bottle in the corner. I watch a couple of hot chicks making out when the bottle lands on one of them, but again, it does nothing for me.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I refuse to believe Ava has killed my dick like this — made it like it can’t get hard for anyone but her. That’s impossible. I’ve never had any trouble getting it up before, not even when I’m drunk.

I drink some more beer.

God, what if that’s true, though? What if I really can’t get a boner now unless it’s for her? Just thinking about her soft, milky skin, her silky dark hair and the little dimple she gets in one cheek when she smiles….

I swallow.

Not to mention the look she gets on her face when she’s coming, or the way she just lets herself go entirely, giving herself up to the pleasure I’m giving her.

And the pleasure she’s giving me. God, I’ve never been harder than when I’m inside her, feeling her tight little pussy all around me. Virgin or not, I’m honest enough to admit to myself that she’s the best I’ve ever had, and I’ve had plenty. Girls who’ve known
exactly
what to do to get a guy off, with their expert fingers and expert lips and expert tongues.

None of them can even hold a candle to Ava.

Fuck.

I’m not drunk enough. That’s the problem.

And anyway, even if I’m suffering temporary dick dysfunction, it doesn’t matter. Things with Ava are over. If she can’t even tell her dad that we’re… okay, that we’re….

What the fuck
are
we doing?

Are we dating? Are we just having sex? I don’t even know anymore.

I get up from the couch, swaying a little. Whatever that shit I was drinking in the kitchen was, I’m starting to feel it now. Usually it takes a lot of drinking to get me drunk — I’m a big guy and I have lightning-fast metabolism — but this shit must be made of pure alcohol. My head feels fuzzy and my feet unsteady as I get up.

Suddenly, I don’t want to be at this party anymore. Coming here is starting to feel like a mistake.

Nothing seems to be having any effect on the cold knot in my stomach that’s been there ever since I stormed out of Ava’s kitchen — actually, since before that. It was what made me be such a jerk to her then — telling her I only came over for some ass, like that’s the only reason I’d ever want to see her.

And then storming out after she told her dad there was nothing between us.

Yeah, I was pissed, and I think I had a right to be.

But I could’ve stayed and talked to her about it.

Jesus.

I stumble toward the door. There is definitely something really wrong with me. First the dick thing, and now thinking that I should
talk
about it when shit gets complicated. I don’t
do
that. I’ve lived my whole life specifically to avoid complications — that’s why I don’t
date
. With dating comes hassles. I have enough on my plate without girl problems too. The few girls who’ve tried to hassle me have pretty quickly found out it just means I don’t sleep with them again.

I finish my beer and toss the can across the room, where it lands perfectly in the trash. Even when I’m drunk I have perfect hand-eye co-ordination.

The people in the room who saw it cheer, but I ignore them, turning away and heading toward the door.

Just as Bryce Lennox — Bryce
fucking
Lennox — walks in through it.

“What’s up, bitches?” he shouts at the room as he comes in, surrounded by the pack of dumb bastards he hangs around with, who call themselves the Cooze Hounds — as if any of them ever actually get any.

I groan, turning away as the bunch of them spread through the room, whooping and cheering like apes and yelling in people’s ears.

I feel like a jackass, but I decide to go sneak out the back door instead — I can jump the fence and make my escape.

Before I can get anywhere though, I hear Bryce’s voice over the general noise of the party.

“Hey, Riley,
Riley Knox.
Finally get your dick out of Ava’s snatch, hey?”

I grind my teeth. I am
not
going to get into a fight with this idiot. Not tonight. I’m not in the mood.

Instead, I just keep walking away.

“Hey —
hey
,” I hear Bryce yelling after me, but I just keep walking.

The backyard is full of grinding bodies, people doing keg stands, and even some who’re idiotically splashing around in the pool, despite the cold. There’s steam rising off the water, so presumably it’s heated, but still. The air smells like pot.

I stand there, looking around for the best way to get out of here, when the blonde girl from earlier makes a re-appearance by my side.

“So, does this count as ‘later’?” she purrs, again pressing her breasts against my arm, her hand making a grab for my crotch.

I snatch it away before she can get any further.

“No,” I tell her, looking down into her pouting face. “Look, just leave me alone, all right? I’m not interested.”

The girl just raises an eyebrow.

“Suuuuure you’re not,” she says, wiggling her hips. “Look, I’ve heard about you — you’re Riley Knox. Everyone knows about you.”

“Well, you heard wrong,” I snap.

I’m about to turn away, when she suddenly lunges up, pushing her lips against mine, her arms winding around my neck.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

AVA

What. The. Hell.

I mean that literally.

The scene I’ve walked into looks like something out of Dante’s
Inferno
.

At least, as far as I’m concerned, anyway — everyone actually participating seems to be having a great time.

I’m pretty sure I’m seeing two people having full sex on the couch in the lounge, while all around them couples are sucking face and grinding around to a bass beat so loud it’s making my teeth rattle.

Darcey is right next to me, one arm draped around Brett and the other already holding a beer. Where did she get one so fast?

The air smells like booze and cigarettes and pot, and it’s so loud I can barely think straight.

Suddenly, I start to think this isn’t such a good idea. I stick out like a sore thumb, even though I’m wearing what, for me, is a pretty revealing outfit: a miniskirt and a t-shirt, with a jacket over the top. I don’t even know how some of the people in here aren’t freezing their nipples off with what they’re wearing. Or
not
wearing.

And I don’t even know how I’m going to begin finding Riley in amongst the writhing mass of bodies that make up the dance floor.

It’s possible I don’t even want to.

I don’t know what I’ll do if I find him grinding up against a half-dressed cheerleader, or with his tongue down some girl’s throat. I’ll probably do something to embarrass myself — either punch him in the face or burst into tears. I don’t know which is more likely. Maybe both.

Darcey seems to be having a great time, twisting out to the dance floor with Brett, disappearing into the throng. I assume she’s just dancing, and stand there like an idiot for a moment, glancing around. Maybe I’ll catch sight of Riley by chance, or someone else I know. It seems doubtful — aside from anything else, none of the nerds I usually hang out with would
ever
be invited to a party like this — but all the same….

Just as I’m about to try going and looking for him myself, Darcey reappears, tugging a tall, muscular, black guy along behind her.

“Ava,” she shouts over the music. “This is Omar — he’s Riley’s teammate.”

I look up at him and try to smile. I don’t really know why she’s introducing us. “Hi,” I say, holding my hand out to him. “Nice to meet you.”

“Shit,
you’re
Ava? Are you the reason Riley’s been moping about all afternoon?” Omar asks, leaning forward so I can hear him.

Moping about?

I feel my breath catch. If it’s true, does that mean Riley has been regretting our fight? That he might be willing to at least listen to my apology?”

“Moping?” I ask, a little hopefully.

“Yeah — he’s been like a sack of potatoes all day. I made him come out with me to try to cheer him up. He wouldn’t tell me what was up, so I just guessed… girl troubles.”

I glance at Darcey, who raises her eyebrow, before looking back at Omar. “Maybe,” I say. “I want to apologize to him. Do you know where he is?”

“I saw him heading out the back a couple of minutes ago,” Omar says, pointing through the kitchen. “Probably for the best, seeing as Bryce Lennox and his crew just turned up.”

Ugh.

Bryce Lennox. Does he have to be everywhere?

“Thanks,” I say. “I better go find him.”

Omar laughs. “Good luck. Hope it works — Riley in a bad mood is a real pain in the ass.”

I swallow.

Okay, Ava, you can do this.

I’ve never had to have a…
talk
with someone before. I suppose the best thing I can do is just give him a sincere apology.

Darcey gives me an encouraging thumbs-up, and I take a deep breath before making my way between the gyrating bodies, trying to ignore it every time I get jostled or someone spills beer on me.

I finally manage to make it through to the kitchen, which reeks of vomit and alcohol. There’s more bottles of it here than I’ve ever seen in my entire life, and that includes my family’s wine cellar.

There’s some kind of drinking game going on, and everyone ignores me as I push my way through, heading toward the back of the house.

“Hey, Ava —
Ava!
”

I groan. I’d know that voice anywhere. I try to pretend I haven’t heard it, but apparently Bryce isn’t having that. He can’t stand being ignored.

He bounds across the room to me as I hurry away, grabbing me by the arm.

“Hey — get off me!” I shout, jerking my arm away.

I can smell the alcohol on him. His cheeks are red and his eyes glassy — he’s drunk as a skunk.

“I just wanted to offer my condolences,” Bryce slurs, a dumb smile spreading across his face.

I stare up at him. “What?”

“‘Bout you and Riley — you guys broke up? So sad. Like, really.”

I just stare at him. What the fuck? How does he know anything about that? Giving him a disgusted glare, I turn away and continue the way I was going. I don’t have time to waste talking to assholes like Bryce Lennox.

“At least, I guess that’s why he’s sucking face with some ho in the yard,” Bryce shouts at me as I go.

Okay,
that
hits home.

I feel a cold stone suddenly form in the pit of my stomach. Is Riley… could he really be… I mean, he didn’t even give me a
chance
to —

I reach the back door, and stand there dumbly, staring out over the floodlit yard.

Riley is out there, some blonde girl’s arms wrapped around his neck. They’re not kissing, but I can see her pink lipstick smudged over his face.

I stand there, staring at them, feeling the cold stone in my stomach suddenly expanding outward, filling all my veins with ice cold water.

I can’t breathe.

Nausea wells up in me.

Okay, he was angry at me. And yeah, what I said was horrible.

But… did everything we did together mean so little to him that just a few hours later he’s off hooking up with some other girl? Without even
trying
to talk to me about it?

I feel tears pricking my eyes, and I close them.

Well, apparently that’s the case.

I thought I knew Riley. But apparently, I don’t.

I whirl around, running back inside.

I can’t speak to him right now. Maybe later. Maybe to tell him I’m sorry for what I said, and that I get it — this didn’t mean anything to him after all. It can’t have done, if he’s out there now, doing that with that girl.

I’ve only taken a few steps back into the kitchen when I hear my name yelled behind me.

“Shit — Ava!”

I don’t stop. I don’t want to talk to Riley right now. I
can’t.

“Ava!”

I push my way through the heaving bodies in the lounge. As I shove past a couple, I see Darcey’s face in the crowd, her eyebrows pulled together. She can clearly tell something is wrong, but I don’t think I can stop to explain it right now. Instead, I just keep pushing my way toward the door.

“Hey!” someone shouts as I knock their arm and spill their shot.

“Sorry,” I mutter, even though I know there’s no possible way he can hear me.

I can’t breathe in between the crush of bodies, the heat, the smell and the smoke.

Finally, I manage to break free. The front door is right in front of me, hanging open — in fact, I don’t think it can even be closed anymore, someone’s clearly ripped it half off its hinges.

I’m finally about to make my escape, when I suddenly find my passage blocked. Looking up, I blink back my tears — and groan.

“Bryce, really, not
now
,” I force myself to say. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you had to learn the hard way not to date the peasants,” Bryce says, grinning sloppily. “Now you’ve seen what he’s like though, I’m guessing you’ll be looking for a rebound lay.”

I look up at him, my lip twisting.

“What, with you?” I say, shaking my head. “Seriously, Bryce — not if you were the last man on earth. I mean it. Now, can I go, please?”

Bryce’s face has started to turn purple, his expression angry.

“You can’t talk to me like that,” he slurs, alcohol making his voice thick.

“I just want to leave, Bryce,” I say. I suddenly feel exhausted. I knew I’d been right all these years not to get involved with men — it’s just not worth it. When they’re not breaking my heart they’re grabbing at me in hallways. Like Bryce is right now.

Thankfully, the alcohol makes him slow on his feet, and I manage to push past him and —
finally
— get out onto the steps.

“Hey, come back!” he roars, but I ignore him.

It seems like it’s not even quiet out here — things are clearly spreading out of control, and becoming one giant block party. Someone drives past in a car festooned with toilet paper, shouting out the window. The only thing I can probably do right now is try to head away from here, and try to catch a cab from downtown.

I wind through the people sitting on the steps and come out into the street.

Where the first person I see is Riley Knox.