Rule Play (Saints of Love Book 1) Read online

  As Adrian trots back down the stairs, I finally award him with a pleading stare.

  “Can it be break time?”

  He glances at his watch. “We’re only halfway done, and it’s already eight thirty. The flooring guys are coming first thing in the morning, so these all have to be ready.”

  “I don’t understand why everything around here has to be done by us. You just said that you could call your friends to come and help, but I get not wanting to do that. But can’t some outside help be hired? This is a lot of work, and it seems never ending. I’m not trying to complain, but I’m not really built for all of this.”

  “Let me guess.” His eyes scan over my body, but I’m too exhausted to be self conscious and suck in all of my chubby areas. I just continue to sit like a blob while his eyes assess me. “You’ve never had to work for anything in your life. It’s all just been handed to you.”

  All that I can muster is a snort.

  “Your judgement is lacking, Malone. That’s really far from the truth.”

  He shrugs. “Then tell me different. Aside from this guy, what have you wanted that you haven’t gotten? What have you had to really, and I mean really work for?”

  “I’m working on keeping my sanity right now, thanks for asking.” I push up from the boxes, even though my body wants to resist my every movement. “And I’m working on not letting myself walk out to my car to grab the emergency bottle of Jager that’s hidden in the back.”

  A smile tugs at his lips. “That’s one hell of a battle.”

  Tell me about it.

  “How much Jager you got hidden in your car?”

  It’s now my turn to smile.

  “Enough to make this suck a lot less.”

  “Break time it is, then.” He’s now smiling wide. “A few shots never hurt anybody.”

  As it turns out, Adrian was wrong. Perhaps, not totally wrong, because a few shots probably never hurt anybody, but a few ten might be too much. I’m now on the verge of sloppy although not as sloppy as the night that started all of this, as I truck the last of the boxes up the stairs. I’m having to stop every few steps to regain my balance, but now instead of being irritated at the work, I can’t stop myself from laughing. Adrian, however, didn’t have as many shots as I did, so he isn’t laughing as much. But at least my night went better.

  Thank you, Jägermeister.

  I make it back down to the foyer, as Adrian is shrugging on his jacket.

  “Well, that was fun.” I half snort. “Not.”

  I nearly miss my step, having to catch myself on the wall. Adrian reaches out, grabbing my elbow and steadying me. As his hand wraps around my skin, I suck in air, my heart beating faster as my eyes travel up to his. My god, this man is so handsome. He’s so pretty, in fact, that I have a hard time imagining him being out on a football field, getting knocked around and trampled on. He looks much more like he should be modeling underwear on a billboard or something. Which of course, imagining Adrian in his underwear is about the last thing that I should be thinking about in my state.

  Because of the haze that I’ve found myself under, I don’t pull my eyes away from his as quickly as I should, which leads to him muttering something underneath his breath that I can’t quite make out. But I’m pretty sure it’s a few curse words.

  “You’re hammered.” He finally says clearly. “Too drunk to drive yourself home.”

  I’m just about to object, when my foot gives out from under me, causing me to nearly fall into him. I’m able to stop myself just before my body slams into his. I immediately nod.

  “You’re probably right. I should call a cab.”

  He looks surprised, like I was going to argue about driving. Except while I tend to drink a bit more than I should these days, I never drive after. It’s one rule that I will never break.

  I manage to pull away from him and grab my purse and jacket off of the floor. I pull my jacket on and am fumbling around in my purse to find my phone when he shakes his head and snatches it out of my hand.

  “Hey!” I try to take it back without any luck.

  “You’re not calling for a cab. Do you know what kind of men drive cabs? Predators, Mia. And right now, in your condition, you are prey.”

  “That’s a little extreme, and anyhow, I was going to call an Uber, not a cab. Uber drivers are way safer. I use them all of the time.” I try to jump to snatch my phone, but he’s way taller than I am, and to be honest, I don’t exactly have hops.

  “If you’re having to use them all of the time because you’re drunk, you might want to get some help on that. And plus, do you not watch the news? One of those super safe Uber drivers went on a mass shooting spree a few years ago. Then, there are those two college women who were kidnapped and killed by one whose still on the loose.”

  I roll my eyes. “Paranoid much? None of those things happened around here. I’ve never had an issue with a driver, and if you’re implying that I have a drinking problem, please note that you suggested that I retrieve the Jägermeister from my car tonight to begin with.”

  “I suggested a few shots. You took a few too many. And besides, I’m not the one driving around with a fifth of it in my car for emergencies.” When he makes quotation marks in the air with the last word, I’m able to snatch my phone back. Turns out to be amazing timing, because the second that my phone is in my hand, it rings.

  Both of our eyes lock on my screen, as a name that makes me cringe begins to flash across it.

  “Does that really…”

  I quickly decline the call and shove it into my back pocket.

  “Mind your business, Malone.”

  His arms cross, and his eyes lock with mine. “You have someone saved into your phone as Booty Call?”

  I roll my eyes. “As if you expect me to believe that you don’t? Please. You have hook up written all over you. I’m sure you have a whole contact list of booty calls.”

  “Actually, I don’t.” He tucks his hand underneath my arm and leads me outside. He veers me away from my car, and toward a black Range Rover with dark tinted windows. Before I can even stop him, I’m loaded into the passenger seat and the door is slammed shut behind me. Once he’s behind the wheel, and pulling out of the driveway, he glances at me.

  “For the record, I don’t have a bunch of women saved in my phone like that. And furthermore, if I’m going to do this for you, this whole pretend boyfriend bullshit, those type of calls need to stop.”

  I roll my window down for some fresh air, and of course, to clear all of the bullshit now filling the air between us.

  “What part of imaginary boyfriend allows you to depict who I can and can’t have in my bed?”

  “The boyfriend part.” He snaps. “Look, I actually care about my image, alright? I’m doing this as a favor to you, so I don’t need to be made to look like a jackass. Once pictures start to circulate of us, you better realize that people will be watching you. And if they get a picture of you hooking up with someone else, it will be front page news. I can fucking guarantee that, Mia. I don’t need that kind of shit circling around my name, alright? I don’t need people thinking I’m some pathetic chump getting cheated on.”

  My blood boils at his words. I spin in my seat to face him, glaring at him hard enough for him to sense it and turn my way.

  “Pathetic, huh? Kind of like me?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Well, that’s what you said.” And it fucking stings. Mostly, because since finding out about Brett and Michael Ann, I’ve felt pathetic. I’ve felt like the gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe. Something that nobody wants. And while I’ve never been a one night stand or booty call kind of person, since I’ve been in such a low place, I’ve become that girl. The one who has a guy saved in her phone strictly for sex. A guy that I barely know, but still hooked up with one night in my drunken state. And you know why I have him saved as booty call?

  Because I don’t even know his name. Yeah-somehow, I’ve become that gir
l. And who in the fuck is he to throw it into my face?

  “Our deal is off.” My words are a low hiss, forced out between my clenched teeth. “I don’t need to listen to you, and to be honest, I don’t give a flying fuck as to your opinion of me. I’m not a drunk. I’m not a whore, and you are way out of line right now. I’d rather show up to my reunion looking pathetic,” I fire his word right back at him, “And alone, rather than show up with an asshat like you. Kindly fuck off, Adrian Malone. And forget that I even exist.”

  “Look, I was only trying to do you a favor, crazy train. I’d rather walk across a bed of rusty nails than to pretend to be anything with you. Go drink another fifth, Mia. And booty call it up. Because you’re right-this deal wouldn’t work out. No one would ever believe that I’d date a psychopathic drunk like you.”

  “Ugh!” I clench my fists so tightly at my sides that I feel one of my nails break through the skin. I’m so angry that as he pulls up in front of my house, I don’t even wait for the car to stop. I crank the door open and hop out, flying my middle finger high in the air at him, as I stomp towards my front door, cursing his stupid name with every step.

  8

  Mia

  “I seriously think that you are making a huge mistake.” Sophia tells me the following night over dinner. Dinner and drinks, of course. It is Friday night, after all.

  “You have the opportunity to get back at both Brett and Michael Ann. You have the chance to make them both so damn jealous, that I guarantee that Brett will drop her and come crawling back to you, once you go live with this thing with Adrian. Plus, you get to pretend to date Adrian fucking Malone for a month. Mia, how can you not want to do this?”

  Frankly, because Adrian is a jackass. Yeah, he has his moments of good, but for the most part, he’s a quiet, judgy, asshole. And I’m not even trying to be around all of that.

  “He called me pathetic, Soph. He basically told me that I’m a drunk who makes poor decisions. I do not need that kind of negativity in my life.”

  Sophia takes a long, slow sip of her wine, pondering my words I assume, before finally shrugging. “Yeah, but so what if he’s an ass? You’re only going for the show here, sis. You got engaged to Brett for chrissakes, and he’s the most judgy motherfucker that I have ever met. Adrian can’t be any worse, and plus, the man is gorgeous. And you do realize, that he’s famous, right? Do you know how many women would kill to have the chance to date him?”

  I just stare at her.

  “Plus, I mean, I’m not trying to jump on that bandwagon, but as your best friend, I think it needs to be said. Ever since you and Brett split up, you have been making questionable decisions.”

  My hand slams down on the table.

  “Are you kidding me? You’ve been the little voice in my head, telling me to do it! You told me that I needed to find a hump buddy to get my groove back! And you’re the one who came up with the plan that got me arrested and into this whole mess to begin with!”

  She fidgets in her seat, aimlessly tracing her finger around the stem of her wine glass.

  “I mean, yes. I did tell you to do those things, and I am to blame for some of this, but you have been drinking a lot since the breakup. When you were with Brett, you hardly ever drank at home, and now, a lot of times you’re drunk by eight pm.”

  “I’m just going through some shit.” I mutter, and frankly, I’m sick of defending myself. It’s only been six months, and I have every right to grieve the loss of my relationship. The loss of the man that I love, and the loss of the life that I had planned. Sophia, while I know has my best interest at heart, can’t relate to any of this, because she has a boyfriend, who loves her dearly and would never do anything to hurt her. Me, not so much.

  “I know that you are, baby girl.” Sophia reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “And I’m sorry that my plan backfired and got you into this mess to begin with. But you have the opportunity to make Brett pay, and to make him squirm. Plus, you might have a lot of fun pretend dating Adrian. I mean, what do you really have to lose in this deal?”

  My sanity. I just might lose my sanity.

  Oh, and there’s my pride too-if I even have any of that left. Because after the other night, I highly doubt Adrian would even consider keeping our deal on. And groveling over him just isn’t worth it.

  I sigh.

  “I told him to fuck off the other night, and that the deal was off. I’m still going to help at the house, but I think I blew my shot at him coming to the reunion with me, anyways. And I won’t grovel for him. I have at least a shred of pride left, and I’d like to hold on to it. So, I don’t even know why we’re talking about this anyways. That ship has sailed.”

  9

  Adrian

  “Excuse me? Come again?”

  My agent leans back in his seat, resting his fingers underneath his chin, and staring across his desk at me.

  “Your merchandise sales have dropped significantly. Your shoe sales are so low right now, that the company is threatening to pull them out of production. That is a contract that you cannot lose. That’s big money, Adrian. Big fucking money.”

  “But I’m playing the best season of my life!” I’m on my feet and pacing around his office, my hands waving wildly at my sides. “We’re on a winning streak. I threw a fucking amazing pass and won our last game in the last fifteen seconds, Rodney! How in the fuck are my sales that damn low?”

  He pulls out his iPhone and begins to scroll. When he opens my Instagram and slides it across the table, he points to the screen.

  “You have literally no posts. No interaction with your fans, whatsoever. You have five million followers, and your social media accounts are all dead.”

  I can’t even believe my ears. My sales suck because I don’t do social media? Give me a fucking break. I hate that kind of stuff, and I will never understand how being active on social media has anything to do with football. I mean, damn. Instead of having my face shoved into my phone, I spend my time in the gym, working on my strength and then on the field, practicing hard and getting myself ready for each game. The free time that I do have is spent working with Amy and the kids, getting their house ready for them. Sure, I could post about that stuff, but I’m just not that guy. I don’t need the world to know about my good deeds. I never have, and I never will. Privacy is key, here.

  “I’m the first one on the field every day for practice, and when we’re done, I’m the last one off. We’re on a winning streak, and I’m at the peak of my game right now. I really don’t know what else they expect from me.”

  “Look.” Rodney levels his gaze with mine. “I get it, alright? You’re one of the good guys. Maybe the best one out there. But this isn’t just a sport anymore. It’s all about showbiz. Your fans can’t connect with you, because they know nothing about you. I bet if you started posting about Amy and the kids, your shit would fly off of the shelves.”

  “No way.” I’m one hundred percent firm on that. No fucking way am I putting both myself and Amy on blast like that.

  “I figured that much.” Rodney relaxes against the back of his seat. “But why can’t we give them something else? A peak into the life of Adrian Malone. Your fans need a vision of you off the field, Adrian. They need to see pictures of you all over the place, and good ones, at that. You’ve got to engage with them. Maybe get yourself a girlfriend or something, or fuck. At least go visit your family and get some pictures with them. Pictures of you in the gym, at practice. Something, man, because if your shoes get pulled, and if they pull their contract with you?” He shakes his head. “That shits bad. You could be the best athlete on the field, but one injury, and you’re done for. Athletes live off of contracts, Adrian. They live off of their merchandise. That’s your retirement, when you can’t play anymore. Those royalties are going to be where it’s at for you. So, you’ve got to do something to fix it, and time is of the essence. You’re at the top of your game right now. Get yourself a beautiful girlfriend to enjoy some of it with, and l
et your fans be a part of your life.”

  Girlfriend. Well funny he should say that, because up until a few days ago, I was about to have a pretend one. That is, until I pissed Mia off, and she stormed into her house while waving her middle finger in the air at me. I’ll admit, what I said to her was wrong, but damn it all if watching her phone light up like a Christmas tree from Mr. Booty Call didn’t piss me right off.

  I have no idea why it did. Partially, what I said about not wanting to be made a fool of is true. But just knowing that she has some guy on the side that she hooks up with doesn’t sit right with me. And I’m not about to change my stance on that.

  Instead, I just shrug, and grab my keys off of Rodney’s desk. “I’ll think about it,” is all that I say, before getting the hell away from him and all of his advice that I didn’t ask for.

  “You look like you need to get laid, man.” Wyatt tells me, later on that night after practice. “You aren’t acting like yourself, and your throws sucked today.”

  His words are salt in my wound.

  “You know, if it’s getting that bad, I could always throw another party…”

  I immediately shake my head. The last fucking thing that I need is to attend another one of Wyatt’s drunk fests. No thanks.

  “You on Instagram?” I change the subject as I yank my shirt over my head and toss my practice jersey on the bench. Wyatt looks at me like I’m an alien.

  “Yeah, man. That’s like asking me if I breathe oxygen. Everybody’s got an Insta these days. I got Snapchat, Twitter, and Facebook too. But you’re losing me here, brother. What in the hell does that have to do with your throws today?”

  I’m only really close to a few guys on my team. Most of the men in my profession are pretty cutthroat. Nobody wants to be outplayed, nobody wants to have someone else be better than them, because not a single one of us want to get traded mid-season. That’s never a good thing, because it’s the start of a downward spiral, and every one of us knows that. I’ve watched guys on my team sell each other out without a single thought about it in order to make themselves look better. I’ve overheard some serious shit talking, and then watched those guys act like the one they were just ragging on is there best friend. It’s basically like middle school girls on steroids, so I choose to just stay out of it.