The Player's Club: Scott (24 page)

“Damn it, that’s not it at all.”

“I don’t have time for this,” she said, wiping carefully at her eyes with her fingertips. “I have to go. I have a date.”

“We need to talk,” he said.

“
No,
we don’t.” She moved past him, opening the front door. “The worst part is, if I hadn’t been so gung ho about this club, so intent on helping you and getting myself in, none of this might’ve happened. You were stupid, but I let you hurt me.”

She gestured to the hallway. “I’m not letting you hurt me again.”

“I’m sorry,” he said helplessly.

“So am I,” she said. “But I’m also late. Good night, Scott.”

15

LATER THAT NIGHT AT DINNER, Amanda gritted her teeth before she took a sip of water.
Getting back on the horse, getting back on the horse,
she reminded herself. At least, that’s what Jackie and Tina had suggested she do, once she’d come home from Spain. She’d first decided to continue and explore Europe on her own. She’d had some delicious food, but instead of comforting her, it had only depressed her more.

“So, what do you do for a living?” Rick, the journalist and coworker that Jackie dug up to be her get-back-on-the-horse date, said with a smile as he started cutting into his steak.

“At the moment, nothing.” She poked at her filet mignon. He’d taken her to a steak house, very expensive, very chic. It seemed great. Too bad she wasn’t in a red meat frame of mind.

“Nothing?” Rick asked, eyebrows going up. She got the feeling Jackie had been less than forthcoming with details, and he was now wondering if he was having dinner with a loser. Ugh. “Unemployed? Lot of that going around. How’s the search going?”

“Lousy.” Not that she was actively searching for a job, but the fact that she was without purpose was still bugging her steadily. She ate her scallops.
Overdone,
she thought critically. If there was a next date with this guy, she would choose the restaurant. She knew a great place, hidden adjacent to Union Square, that would put this overpriced joint in the dust.

“What, exactly, are you looking to do?”

She laughed. “That’s sort of the problem. I don’t know.”

“Oh.” He took a nervous gulp of his beer. “Hmm. This isn’t going very well, is it?”

She frowned. “Sorry. I…just sort of went through a nasty breakup, and I’m trying to get my social skills back.”

“Aha.” He smiled broadly, leaning back. Like he had her pegged. She went from contrite to annoyed in about five seconds. “Double whammy, huh? Lost your job, and you’ve got a bad ex-boyfriend. Common story. We write about it all the time, over at the paper.”

“Really.”

He had that gleam in his eyes, whenever he talked about the stories he worked on. He tried to at least make them entertaining, but they were really a sort of quiet bragging. “Although I write about a lot of fun stuff, too,” he continued in a smooth transition. “Did you read the article about The Player’s Club?”

She shuddered. “No,” she said flatly. “But I heard about it.”

“Must be nice, to have all that money to jet around the world, living that death-defying lifestyle,” he mused.

She wasn’t going to ask, but next thing she knew, the question popped out of her mouth. “So you must’ve spent time at one of the parties or whatever, huh? Spent time with the guys? Did you do all the crazy stuff with them?”

Now, he squirmed. “I did a lot of research,” he said quickly. “There was this other story, about a group of vigilante strippers…”

“So you skydived with them, stuff like that?”

He looked irritated at her persistence. “Well, no. I would’ve compromised the story if I had tried infiltrating them directly. They’re a small group—I would’ve stuck out.”

“You could have joined.”

He shrugged. “The paper wouldn’t have agreed to that.”

She nodded.
Translation: they wouldn’t have you.
Scott might have been a lousy liar, but at least he’d tried to avoid lying in the first place. “So you got all your information secondhand,” she clarified.

“I had a great source,” he defended. “I mean, the guy provided me with pictures, gave me the whole background. I might as well have been there.”

“Oh?” Amanda asked carefully, feeling a prickle of reluctant interest. He’d written the story. He knew who the
real
source was. “Why would he agree to talk to you? They’re pretty secretive. Did you bribe him or something?”

“Are you kidding? He came to
me,
” he said, clearly offended. “He wanted this story done.”

Amanda’s eyes narrowed. “Since secrecy is one of the top rules…why would he let you print what he did for a living? He had to know that the Club would put two and two together.”

“I didn’t print his name,” Rick snapped. “I kept his anonymity. Besides, he made it sound like the Club was going in a new direction, and they won’t care as much about getting into the paper. He could feed me more information.”

“I thought that only rich guys were in that club.” Amanda didn’t know why she was grilling Rick, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “Was this a rich guy?”

Rick looked a little startled, shaking his head. “You know, I never would’ve pegged him for a data analyst, actually…not that I know what one looks like, per se. But this guy seemed loaded. Expensive watch, silk tie, the whole nine. I’ll bet he bought all that stuff after he joined the Club…” Rick mused, his eyes going hazy. “Well, I’m going to be following up, soon.”

“What was his name?”

Rick snapped out of his journalistic reverie. “I protect my sources,” he insisted. “Besides, why do you want to know? What’s with the police interrogation?”

“I think he’s…an old neighbor of mine,” Amanda said carefully.

“I can’t tell you the guy’s name. It would be totally unethical.”

“At least describe him to me,” she wheedled.

Rick sighed. “Like I said, he looked rich, dressed well.”

“Had glasses?” Amanda asked.

Rick smirked. “No. At least, not that I saw. That would’ve really fit the stereotype, huh?”

“Anything else you can tell me?”

“Well,” Rick hesitated, “he did have the reddest hair I’d seen in a while. Now, can we continue with our date? I think your food’s getting cold…”

Red hair.
Suddenly, Amanda remembered George—his smirking, arrogant, repugnant expression as he’d cornered them on the plane, then when he’d tried to intimidate Scott in the hotel room.

Just as Scott suspected: George had set him up. Only now, she had proof.

She pushed her plate aside. She’d lost her appetite. It was Scott’s stupid fault they’d broken up, a part of her reasoned. She didn’t owe him anything. If he hadn’t… If he’d only…

This still isn’t fair. This isn’t right.

She gritted her teeth. “Do you want to go to a Player’s Club meeting? For real?”

He blinked at her, and surprised them both when he dropped his fork with a clatter onto his plate. “Seriously?” He was practically out of his seat. “You
know
them? You know how to reach them?”

“I’ve got some ideas,” she said. “But first, there’s a guy we need to talk to. Then, we’ll head out.”

Rick motioned to a waiter, paying in a rush, then all but tugged her out of the restaurant. “What guy are we talking to?”

“An idiot,” she replied. “But I love him anyway.”

SCOTT SAT IN HIS APARTMENT, drinking a beer and holding the ice bag against his face.

He considered getting even with George. He knew without a doubt that George was the one who had screwed him, and part of him wanted nothing more than revenge. But right now, all he could think about was Amanda. Amanda, the woman he loved.

Who was currently on a date.

He’d been so worried about not being a “nice guy”—so intent on being the badass he thought Amanda wanted—that he’d become the opposite. Selfish, insensitive. Cruel.

No matter what his reasoning, he’d actually treated Amanda poorly. She was right: he’d tried to have his cake and eat it, too. Have The Player’s Club, while she waited for him, sharing the adventures he chose to tell her about. Helping
him.
Being there for
him.
Hell, tonight, he’d felt crushed, and he’d gone to her to feel better.

He hadn’t even bothered to ask her how
she
was doing.

He was surprised when there was a knock at the door. Cautiously, he glanced around. He figured Lincoln wouldn’t put a hit out on him—but there was something really shady about the guy, even if he was really cool.

It was a strange guy. And he recognized Amanda in the fish-eye lens.

He opened the door. “Amanda, I—”

“Scott, meet Rick, my date.”

He blinked. Now who was being cruel? “Uh, hi?”

“Great to meet you,” the guy said with what appeared to be genuine enthusiasm. He held out his hand. “So, you’re in The Player’s Club, too?”

“I was,” Scott said, shaking hands with the guy. He glared at Amanda. “What’s this all about?”

“Didn’t I tell you?” Amanda’s tone was tart. “Jackie set us up. Rick works with Jackie.” She paused a beat. “At the newspaper.”

Another journalist, Scott thought, remembering Kayla’s date, Matt. Hadn’t newspapers gotten him in enough trouble?

“I wrote the article about The Player’s Club,” Rick supplied helpfully.

“Oh.” Then the wheels clicked. “
Oh.
You!”

“Yeah. It was a great article,” Rick said modestly. “But more than that…I’ve been interested in the Club since I first heard about it. That’s why I went after the story so hard. I’d give my left nut to join.”

“Vivid,” Amanda said, wrinkling her nose.

“Very,” Scott agreed. “Amanda, can I talk to you alone for a second?”

“All right.” She followed him into the kitchen, leaving Rick in the living room. “Scott, he can prove that you weren’t the source. What’s the problem?”

“You’re
dating
him.” Scott gritted his teeth. “I know we’re not together, whatever. But…why would I help the guy who’s dating…”

The woman I love.

“You?” he finished.

She rolled her eyes. “This isn’t about helping
him,
idiot. This is about helping
you.
”

For the first time that night, he smiled. “Why are you helping me?”

“Because I’m an idiot, too,” she said, huffing impatiently. Then she crossed her arms. “I still care about you. You did so much to get into this club. I mean, I just helped, and I couldn’t believe what we wound up doing. What
we
were able to do. Before this, I just worked all the time. I was the dependable one, the boring one. Then I met you, and I heard about the Club, and…and I turned into an exciting burlesque dancer who camps out in the Mojave and runs with the bulls.”

For a second, she smiled, too, and it lit her face.

“I like who I am, when I’m with you,” she breathed. “More than that, I like knowing I can be myself when I’m with you, whether it’s running with the bulls, or just hanging out and watching
Twilight Zone
reruns.”

He smiled, reaching for her. “Amanda.”

She took a step back. “It’s not fair,” she said. “You shouldn’t have gotten kicked out, and George shouldn’t get away with it. I think we should do something about it.”