Rule Play (Saints of Love Book 1) Read online

  “Sure.” She shrugs, grabbing her bag off of the floor of my car and hopping out. “You had me at Giodanni’s. I’m probably out on the drinks, but I’m all about some pizza. Text me your address, and I’ll meet you there. That is, of course, as long as you can keep that boner of yours in check for the night.”

  Honestly, I can’t promise anything. My dick seems to have a mind of his own where Mia is concerned. But I sure as hell can try, and so, I nod my head.

  “Ten four, captain. My dick will be firmly in my pants, all night long.”

  “Oh my god.” Mia’s moaning as she eats another piece of pizza. She’s laying on my couch with her feet propped up on the ottoman, inhaling the food on her plate. She seems to have no issue eating around me, which is pretty amazing, to be honest.

  Kat was, and always will be, my only serious girlfriend. I’ve dated here and there, mostly hookups to get the job done, but I’ve never been the slip my hotel key to a woman kind of guy. I at least bring them to dinner first, and maybe even a movie, before getting to the other stuff. But all of those women seemed afraid to eat in front of me. They’d all order a plate of lettuce, and some kind of no calorie drink, while talking about how overweight they were, or how unhappy they were with their appearance. Mia is the complete opposite of that. Perhaps it’s because she isn’t trying to impress me. She already knows exactly what we are, which is two people, pretending to be something that we aren’t. There are no strings, no promise of anything else. And it feels pretty damn good.

  “Giodanni’s is seriously our best kept secret.” Mia’s now licking her fingers, and eyeing the rest of the pizza on the coffee table, probably trying to figure out if she can handle one more piece. I threw in the towel ten minutes ago, after demolishing almost an entire supreme pizza to myself, and a box of wings. “They don’t advertise, they don’t even waste their money on pizza boxes.” She points to the white paper wrapping that was once the pizza packaging. “They just make damn good pizza, and business booms because of word of mouth. That’s how you know you have good food.”

  I couldn’t agree more.

  “I stumbled upon them once, and now they are my Sunday night home game staple.”

  Mia sets her plate down and then relaxes back into the sofa. I shift under the weight of her stare. She notices and turns her eyes away.

  “That surprises me.”

  “How so?”

  She twists her hair and ponders my question before finally responding. “I don’t know. I guess that just seems so normal, you know? Having a Sunday night dinner ritual, when you’re someone like you. It just doesn’t seem to fit with your image.”

  I snort.

  “My image? What image are you talking about?”

  Her face drops. “Seriously? Catch up, mustard. You’re famous. Your picture is literally everywhere in this city, and everyone knows your name, whether they’re football fans or not. Even I knew who you were, and I am not a football kind of girl at all. It just seems like you should be out partying every night and living your best life. Not curled up on your couch and eating pizza like a normal human being.”

  I stare at the woman across from me for a few moments, a goofy smile erupting on my face, matching hers. No one’s ever called me out on how much of a homebody I am, but leave it to Mia to notice it and to point it out immediately. I’ve always been more comfortable staying home than lighting up the town partying, but once I went pro, I became even more of a homebody, because while at first, it was really cool to get noticed all of the time, honestly after a while, it just gets old. Being famous makes simple things, like running to the grocery store or going for a jog ten times more difficult. I’ve never been one to be shitty to my fans, so I’ll always stop and say hello, or sign an autograph. But it’s trying, because I could be having a super shitty day, but I always have to be on. I have to be gracious, and sometimes, on certain days, that kind of shit gets really hard. So, I’ve gotten accustomed to enjoying my time to myself. And I’ve become really protective of my privacy.

  I suppose that’s why I never really got into sharing my personal life on social media. I guess I just figured I was already sharing so much, that I never understood why people needed to see more. But now I realize that it’s just the way the world works these days. And since what Mia and I have is just for show, sharing images of us together doesn’t invade my privacy one single bit.

  “I never really got into the whole fame part.” I tell her honestly, while she continues to assess me with her eyes. “I like my privacy. I get paid to play a sport that I love, but that doesn’t mean that I need my entire life to be public knowledge. I’ve always preferred to stay home instead of going out, anyways. Since there are always people watching me, and since I never know when an indiscretion will show up in the tabloids, its honestly just safer for me to stay this way. It gets a little bit lonely sometimes, but when the loneliness hits, I just find something to temporarily fill my time. Then all is good again.”

  Her grin widens.

  “Someone like that reporter, Tracy?”

  I grimace.

  “I mean, yeah. She filled up a few nights. But that was a long time ago. I haven’t been with her in at least a year.”

  “Alright.” Mia is now beaming. “So, is that your way of admitting that you to have some booty call contacts in that phone of yours?” She points coyly at the phone in my hand, tilting her head to the side as she waits for my response. I just smirk.

  “What I have in my phone isn’t important. I’m a gentleman, I don’t kiss and tell. And rest assured, sweetheart. I won’t be calling anyone for a hook up as long as we have our little act going on.” My smirk widens. “And I sure as hell don’t have anyone saved under booty call. My momma raised me better than that.”

  She chucks a throw pillow at me and groans.

  “For the record, he’s only saved under booty call because I met him one night when I was a drunken mess, and I forgot his name. Then the next time I saw him, he remembered my name, and I felt like a slut for not remembering his. Now it’s too late to ask for it.”

  A dark feeling falls over me as I stare across the couch at Mia. Even though I was just talking about my own indiscretions, the idea of her having her own makes me crazy. It shouldn’t, obviously. And yet, it does.

  “Doesn’t matter anymore though, does it? You won’t be needing to contact him any time soon.”

  “Not for the next month, no.” She responds. “I plan on taking a vow of celibacy for the next thirty days.”

  We’ll see about that. Originally, sleeping with Mia never crossed my mind. Well, I mean, it didn’t cross it often. But then I saw her in that T-shirt, braless, with parts of her on display that I can’t get out of my mind. Now all that I can think about is getting a glimpse of her sans clothes, and frankly, it’s driving me insane.

  Instead of acknowledging any of that, though, I change the subject instead. “We should really talk about the details of our relationship. You know, just in case anyone asks. Where did we meet?”

  She ponders my question.

  “You have really nice hair. We could say that we met when I cut your hair, and then the rest is history.”

  “No.” Hell to the no. No way am I letting the world think that I go to a beauty salon to have my hair done. “I’ve been having Jim the barber cut my hair since moving here. I’m not going to do him like that, and I’m also not going to look feminine. Pick something else.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I cut a lot of men’s hair, thank you very much. And not a single one of them are feminine.”

  “Have any of them hit on you? Or asked for your number?”

  The look on her face is all the answer that I need. “That’s what I thought. If they were single, heterosexual men, they would have hit on you. How about we could say that we met at the gym?”

  Her nose wrinkles. “That’s lame. And plus, I’m not exactly the go to the gym kind of person. It could ruin my reputation if people thought that of me. I
like to coast in the gray area of self-loathing and body destruction. The gym isn’t a good place.”

  We are literally getting nowhere. “Fine. Pick a different place, but it can’t be anywhere that makes me look like a tool.”

  “Farmers market.” She finally throws her arms up. “I met you over the vegetables.”

  “Fine.” I nod. “That works for me. We met at the farmers market. I slipped you my number, and you called me. End of story.”

  “No.” She leans forward, her eyes locking with mine. “We met at the farmers market. You asked for my number. You called me. The rest is history.”

  Women are so fucking weird. Does it really matter who called who first? But fine. Fuck it. The story works for me.

  “Fine. I made the first move. And then you couldn’t wait to ride this dick.” I wink at her, which only makes her frown.

  “Keep in mind, my parents will be hearing some of this. There will be no mention of riding dicks, okay?” Her mouth purses into a flat line. “I may be pushing twenty eight, but I’m still my Daddy’s little girl. I prefer for him to think of me as a virgin, if you don’t mind. There will be no mention of sex, whatsoever.”

  Our eyes lock, and I can instantly tell that she will not be budging on that. Fine by me. A woman who wants to remain holding her head high? I can get down with that.

  “Deal.”

  “Deal.” She finally stands. “We can discuss more things another day. I’m tired and I have an early morning. Goodnight, Adrian. I’ll see you around.”

  As she turns to walk away, I snap a picture of her backside, still clad in my jersey as she turns towards the door. For a second, I almost post it, but then I refrain, as I stare at the picture, realizing that my name and number have never looked so damn good on anyone.

  12

  Mia

  Most people tell me that I’m weird for it, but I always look forward to Mondays. I guess if I hated my career choice, Monday would be the day that I would dread, like the rest of the world. But I’ve always been excited to get back to my salon, so I’m never sad for the weekend to end, and for my week to get rolling.

  My salon opens later on Mondays, but I still arrive earlier than my stylists. I like to get candles lit and get my waiting room cozy and ready for all of my clients. I designed my salon with a homey, yet chick feel, with the seating area filled with trendy, yet comfortable pieces. Since fall is definitely here, and there is a slight nip in the air, I want my fireplace lit, and to set out a few pretty throw blankets, for anyone who would want to use them today. I take a sip out of my mocha, which only puts a little bit more pep in my step, and then turn the corner onto Market street, the bustling street downtown, where my salon is located. Market street is usually busy this time of day, with everyone hustling down the street to get to work. But the crowd of people gathered in front of my salon is unusual, even for this time of day.

  I pause mid step, blinking a few times to see if I’m actually seeing what I’m seeing, when the crowd of heads turn towards me, and then all of a sudden, I’m completely blinded by the camera flash, as microphones are shoved in my face.

  “Mia! How long have you and Adrian Malone been an item? Any talk of a future together? Or is this just a fling?”

  I’m not prepared for this. A Monday person or not, I wasn’t ready to be put on the spot like this. Plus, I’ve only been Adrian’s pretend girlfriend for two days now. How did they discover who I was so quickly?

  “It must be like a fairytale, right? I mean, here you are, just a normal, small town girl, dating someone like Adrian. Is it a dream come true?”

  This is a dream alright. Or perhaps, a nightmare. Because as I try to move through the crowd of them, inching my way towards my salon, they only step closer to me, essentially caging me in. I’m claustrophobic. I always have been. I have to deep breathe in the elevator. I’ve never been able to go into haunted houses, for fear of having to walk down a tiny little hallway in complete darkness. I don’t do well in airplane bathrooms. The list could go on. So, as the crowd circles in on me, my heart rate speeds up, leaving me breathless as my eyes dart around, looking for my escape.

  It comes just a moment before I completely lose it. An arm is tucked underneath my shoulder, and I’m whisked backwards, smacking hard into a wall of man. His scent hits me first, and I instantly breathe a sigh of relief.

  “No more questions.” Adrian’s voice booms, as he tucks me underneath his arm, and moves us through the crowd with the ease of a man whose done this many times before. “Mia is hardly basic, and if anyone is small town here, it’s me. As much as I appreciate the interest in my love life, I would also appreciate a bit of privacy for my girlfriend and I. And to answer all of your questions,” He smiles wide. “We’re taking it one day at a time, but a man like me would be lucky to have a forever with my Mia. She’s the best woman I’ve ever met.”

  My Mia. Good lord, it sounds so damn sweet leaving his mouth, that I can’t even fight the smile that explodes on my face. As I look up at him, with a sickly sweet grin still plastered on my lips, the cameras flash again. Before any more questions are fired at us, I’m whisked away, towards the door of my salon. I quickly unlock it, and then once we’re safely inside, I shut and lock the door, breathing a huge sigh of relief.

  “Jesus, Malone. You really came in clutch out there. What are you doing here, anyways?”

  Now that we’re out of sight of the reporters, likely still outside, I finally have the chance to look the man over. Never has there been a day where he doesn’t look impeccable. His faded jeans hang low on his hips but cling firmly to his muscle filled behind. He’s got on a plain grey hoodie and running shoes, but with the slight hint of whiskers growing on his chin, he looks like he should be modeling active wear rather than going on about his normal day. He catches me staring, which only makes his ever present smirk grow.

  “I came here just so that you could undress me with your eyes.” His eyes gleam, as they lock with mine. “Now that we’ve accomplished that, I came here to return your money. You left it on the coffee table last night.”

  He pulls the thirty dollars that I left at his house last night out of his pocket, smacking it on the receptionist’s desk next to us. I cross my arms.

  “I left that because it was my half of the pizza last night. Giodanni’s is expensive.”

  “I’m a firm believer in taking care of my woman.” His eyes are hard on mine. “Taking care of you, means paying for things. I’m old fashioned.”

  I snatch the money off of the counter and hand it back to him, which of course, he doesn’t take. Instead, he shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels.

  “I’m not taking that. It’s your money, Mia, and dinner was on me. The same as dinner will always be. On me.”

  “You might be old fashioned, but I, on the other hand, am an independent woman. I demand to pay for my half, especially since, we’re not actually dating.” I have no idea why I whisper the last part of that, since there isn’t anyone else here yet. But I do, and it makes Adrian chuckle.

  “You’re the one that wanted to date me.” Dear God, the way he grins like a little boy tugs at my heart way too much. “Dating me, means that we do things my way. My momma raised me right. You need to get used to that.”

  I’m not used to it, at all. Even though Brett and I were together for years, I still paid for my half of almost everything. I paid for my half of our mortgage. I paid for my half of our food. I paid for myself for everything, never blinking an eye when he asked me to cough up my half of any bill. My dad always hated it, because he like Adrian is old school, believing that a man should take care of a woman. But I don’t need that. I’ve got this- and I’ve always got me. So, doing things the old fashioned way as Adrian calls it is an adjustment that I’m not prepared for.

  I lean forward, trying to shove the money into the front pocket of his hoodie, but he moves too quickly, and I miss. What happens next wasn’t planned, but after it does, I can’
t exactly say I’m sorry. In fact, I don’t know what I am. Because my brain decides that shoving the money down his pants would be a good idea. It seemed like a good idea, at least, until I put my hand down the front of his pants, ready to leave the two bills there, when just as I release the money, my hand instead brushes the very thick, very soft skin of his….

  Oh, my God.

  “Whoa. Good morning.” I jump back, jerking my hand out of his pants, humiliation washing over me. “I’m so, oh, wow. Why aren’t you wearing underwear?” My voice is far shriller than it should be. But is he seriously walking around, looking like that without any underwear on?

  My cheeks are flaming by this point, but Adrian doesn’t look embarrassed at all. In fact, his eyes are now so dark, that they look like slate, as they fix on mine. He moves closer to me, and as he does, my breath catches. My heartbeat is so loud, that it’s all that I can hear.

  His hands grip around my hips, and I’m pulled flush against his body. As his head tilts, mine instinctively turns, and as his breath caresses my mouth, a fire ignites inside of me. One that I never expected, of course.

  But as quickly as this moment happened, it’s over. As the door to my salon swings open, and Aubree, one of my stylists, rushes in out of the cold, Adrian’s hands drop from my waist, and we both leap back. Aubree’s eyes widen, as she glances between the two of us.

  “Ah, if I’m interrupting something, I’d be happy to leave and come back later.”

  “No.” My voice is rushed. “You aren’t interrupting anything. Adrian was just leaving.”

  “Right.” He clears his throat, as he moves towards the door. “But Mia, we can finish our little conversation tomorrow, alright? I have an event tomorrow, and I’ll need you to accompany me.”