Safe Bet (The Rules #4)

  The coach saved me that night, and never breathed a word about that incident to anyone.

  Yep, that all happened to me. You could’ve looked up risky behavior in teens on the Internet, and my photo would’ve popped up. I did stupid stuff. Went to parties I shouldn’t have gone to, messed around with boys who had bad reputations. Hung out with girls who had bad reputations too. I loved it. I strived hard for a bad reputation. I desperately wanted one.

  The start of my senior year, my parents started nagging me about applying for college, and I didn’t. My grades weren’t the best. I didn’t want to take the SATs—too boring. So I partied and I had fun and I got barely passing grades and when I graduated high school, all my friends had a plan. A purpose.

  I had nothing.

  “I guess that’s what happens when you’re handed everything you could ever want and you never have to earn it.” I expected him to sound bitter, but he doesn’t. I know he doesn’t come from money, that he struggled and had to work hard for everything good that he has. My life was the complete opposite of his. He is what he is today because he worked for it.

  I’m here, doing what I’m doing because I was forced to. This is not the life I expected, or wanted. If you asked me a year ago what I would be doing after high school, I would’ve answered, “Partying with my friends, hooking up with cute boys and having the time of my life.”

  None of that came true. My parents kicked me out. My friends ditched me. The boy I had been semi-seeing before I got the boot didn’t bother responding to me when I sent multiple texts. I needed someone to lean on and he wouldn’t even give me a second of his time. He was done. I was checked off his list.

  I got checked off everyone’s list.

  “I’m the classic spoiled rotten rich girl who got everything taken away from me. I don’t deserve any sympathy,” I talk over him, cutting off whatever he’d been about to say. Maybe he was going to defend me, I don’t know, but I didn’t want to hear it. I’ve said and thought and used every excuse there is.

  I’m done with excuses. I’m actually living my life now, and making my own choices. And it feels pretty good.

  “You seem to be doing pretty good for yourself right now,” Wade says, his deep voice quiet and soft.

  “I got lucky. My brother helped me get this job. Now I just need to remain on the straight and narrow and keep it.”

  It’s not hard to stay on the straight and narrow when you have no one to party with. And that’s me, the ex-party girl who’s now a complete loner. Yes, Fable treats me like a friend, but ultimately I’m her employee. And yes, I’m spending a lot of time with Wade, but every moment we’re together isn’t real.

  It’s fake.

  “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit,” Wade says, making me want to laugh.

  “I think you’re giving me too much credit. You don’t even know me.”

  “I can read people pretty well. You’re not a bad person, Sydney.”

  “You’re only saying that because you like kissing me.” I can’t believe I just said that.

  “No, I’m saying that because I see the way you are with Autumn and Jacob. You’re good with them. You care. And they care about you too. So does Fable. You two have become close. She likes having you around. That’s not because someone got you the job. You’ve done a good job. There’s a difference.”

  I’m quiet. I don’t know what to say to him, how to answer that. His words make me feel good. Like I’ve accomplished something. I’ve just been living these last few months. Surviving. It’s been such a confusing time, and while I know so many others out there are suffering way more than I am, I still felt like I was suffering. I also realized I’m selfish.

  I am. I can’t deny it. I’ve been that way my entire life. I’m trying to be better, and becoming a nanny—while not my first career choice—has taught me that the world doesn’t revolve around me.

  “Thank you,” I finally say. “I appreciate that.”

  “Sometimes we need to hear someone tell us we’re doing a good job. It can be hard to keep going when no one is there to root for you.” He clears his throat and I turn to look at him, noticing the ruddiness in his cheeks. “When you told me you were proud of me earlier, it felt good. I needed that.”

  His words are achingly sincere and I give in my to urges. I touch his knee, run my hand slowly up so my fingers curve around his thigh. He’s warm and firm beneath his jeans, solid and real. This moment isn’t fake. It’s not.

  It’s one hundred percent real.

  And I don’t ever want it to stop.

  “I’m sorry I laughed at you earlier.” At his confused look, I explain further. “The band thing. It was fun to tease you about it. You looked so offended.”

  “That’s because I was offended.” His smile is big and aimed right at me. I clutch his thigh tighter, glad I’m sitting because that smile rivals a thousand bright suns and makes me weak. “But I get it. You were embarrassed about your own band geek roots, so it makes you feel better to make fun of others.”

  “Hey.” I smack his thigh, but I swear it hurts my hand more than it hurts him. “Just because you think your drums are superior to my clarinet.”

  “They are.”

  “Doesn’t mean you can act righteous and tease me about poor band instrument choices,” I say primly, removing my hand from his thigh.

  He chuckles, the sound rich and warm, making my belly flip with nerves. “You didn’t have to stop touching me.”

  I’m startled he’d mention it. “But—”

  “Don’t say our relationship is phony. Not right now. This, what we’re sharing right now, it’s real, Syd.” It’s his turn to touch me, the back of his fingers drifting across my cheek. I close my eyes, savoring the gentle touch. “You can’t deny it. I won’t deny it either.”

  I don’t answer him. His words terrify me. It’s one thing to think this is real based purely on attraction. I can admit I want to get him naked. What woman wouldn’t?

  But I also—like him. Spending time alone together like this, we’re getting to know each other. Getting closer. Too close.

  It’s dangerous.

  I don’t want to go home alone. I don’t. As we get closer to San Francisco, to Drew and Fable’s house, the more I realize I don’t want to drop her off, turn around and head back to my place. That sounds awful.

  Lonely.

  Sad.

  Pitiful is what I am. Boo hoo hoo, poor little Wade doesn’t want to be all alone with his feelings and his demons keeping him up through the night.

  Well, I have no real demons. Shit, I should be on top of the world right now. I should’ve gone out to a bar when the guys invited me earlier, before I left the locker room. I could’ve gone out, got drunk, found a girl, and fucked her into oblivion.

  But I didn’t do any of that. Hell, I couldn’t. What if I was somehow photographed with another girl when I’m supposed to be with Sydney? The shit would hit the fan, Drew and Fable would be pissed at me, and Sydney would probably never talk to me ever again.

  Not that I wanted to do any of that. Not really. I’d rather be with this girl, right here. Talking to her. Learning more about her. Her revelation was surprising, but then again not. I’m glad she trusted me enough to tell me her secrets. I want to find out more.

  A lot more.

  And for once, that thought doesn’t scare the hell out of me.

  Without saying a word, I pull onto an off ramp, which gets Sydney’s attention.

  “Where are you going?” She sounds confused.

  Good. I am confused. So at least we can be confused together.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I go into the left-hand turn lane and stop at the red light, flicking on my blinker. Ready to turn right around and get onto the freeway headed back to my place if she wants me to.

  “Um, sure?”

  “Will you come home with me?”

  Dead silence is my answer.

  Shit.

  “Neve
r mind,” I mutter, glancing in the rearview mirror, ready to head straight across the street so I can get back onto the freeway and go on to the Callahan house. Dump Sydney off, go along with this pretend relationship plan for the next five days and then call it good.

  “No, wait. I didn’t say no. Are you—are you sure you want me to come back to your place?” Her voice is a little shaky and I wonder if she’s nervous.

  If she is, that’s fine. I’m nervous too, not that I’d admit it.

  “Only if you want.” The light turns green but I haven’t turned yet. I don’t want to press my luck, or end it. “Only if you’re comfortable. We won’t do—anything if you don’t want to. I just don’t…”

  “Don’t want to be alone tonight?” she finishes for me.

  I blow out a harsh breath and nod. “Yeah.”

  A horn honks behind us and I glance in the rearview mirror again, realizing there are at least three cars waiting to turn. I turn off the blinker, my foot hovering over the gas when Sydney answers me.

  “I’ll come over,” she whispers. “If you want me to.”

  “I want you to.” Before she can second-guess her answer, I hit the gas and turn left, my tires squealing. We’re back on the freeway within minutes, both of us quiet, the sexual tension growing with every minute that passes. Or maybe that’s just my imagination, but I don’t think so. The attraction is there, simmering between us. There’s no denying it. I keep sneaking glances at her, anticipation licking through my veins, making me want to touch her.

  But I keep my hands firmly locked on the steering wheel.

  Sydney’s on her phone, sending a text to someone, but I say nothing. Wait for her to volunteer the information instead. “I let Fable know I’m not coming home tonight.”

  Uh oh. “What did she say?”

  “She told me to have fun.” She rolls her eyes and starts to laugh softly. “So embarrassing, and kind of weird. I sort of admitted without saying it out loud that I’m spending the night with you.”

  Does she think I’m bringing her home only to get her in my bed? That’s not the case. Not really. Though I’d like to get her in my bed, I won’t push…

  “I want you to know, I have zero expectations tonight.”

  “Well, that’s kind of insulting.” She sounds amused. I hope she is.

  “I didn’t mean to insult you.” Now I’m the one laughing, though not at her. More like at the ridiculousness of the situation. “I just mean, whatever you want to do, I’m up for. If you don’t want to do anything, I’m okay with that too.”

  “Honestly? I don’t know what I want. It’s not like I plan this sort of thing out, you know? It usually just—happens.”

  “Same.” It’s all I can manage to say. Sex is sex. It happens or it doesn’t. I never put much thought leading up to it. No expectations, no emotions, none of that. I treat it like a form of release. Sometimes I’m having it with a fun or hot girl, which always makes sex better.

  Like Sydney. She’s fun. She’s hot. The two of us together would probably be pretty damn good.

  “A bunch of prep beforehand and candles and silk sheets and rose petals isn’t my style,” she continues.

  “Mine either.”

  “So you’re not a romantic?”

  “Not even close,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m just a guy.”

  She’s laughing again. “A big, sexy guy.”

  My head whips to the right, studying her. “You think I’m sexy?”

  “Um, yeah.” Her tone is pure duh, which hey, is flattering. “You’re good-looking and you know it. Plus, you have a lot of muscles.”

  I keep my gaze fixed straight ahead, ignoring the good-looking comment. Over the years, I’ve heard plenty from friends and teammates about my pretty face. It’s annoying. A detriment most of the time, I swear. “Training all those years gave them to me. I used to be a wimp.”

  “Right. Well, you’re definitely not a wimp now.” She slaps her hands over her cheeks, comically embarrassed. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

  “I can’t either.” I grin, pressing my foot on the gas a little harder. I can’t wait to get her home.

  We make it back to my apartment in record time, and as we climb out of my truck, I start to worry. I don’t have much furniture. A single couch in the living room along with a big screen TV mounted on the wall and my PS4 set up. I have a king-sized bed in the master bedroom and a couple of bar stools at the kitchen counter. That’s it, furniture-wise. Hell, I don’t even have a dresser in my bedroom. All of my clothes are shoved into the walk-in closet.

  I haven’t had time to go furniture shopping and I couldn’t give a shit about knickknacks and that kind of stuff. Once the season schedule starts in earnest, I won’t be around much anyway. I don’t need anything beyond the basics for now.

  “This is a nice complex,” Sydney says as we head down the walkway toward my apartment building. It’s dark so she can’t see much, but maybe she’s just trying to make conversation.

  “Thanks. I chose it because it’s so close to the stadium. I didn’t want to be too far away.”

  “Smart.” She looks around. “It seems very quiet here.”

  “It’s quiet because it’s late at night,” I tease, and she just rolls her eyes at me in response.

  Yeah. She’s definitely nervous, not that I can blame her. I glance down at her, trying to fight the warmth that’s taking over my chest but failing miserably. There are so many things about this girl…

  I like how tiny Sydney is. I like how much bigger I am than her too. Makes me feel like I can take care of her, protect her. Not that she can’t take care of herself, but the more time I spend around her, the more I feel almost…caveman around her. Like I want to keep what I think is mine.

  Fucking ridiculous, right?

  I like her attitude, her personality, how easy she is to talk to, her sparkling blue eyes and her pretty smile. I like how feisty she can be, how honest she’s been, how worried she is that I might think less of her because of a couple stupid decisions she’s made.

  She’s young. I’ve done stupid shit, too. Who am I to judge?

  Resting my hand on her lower back, I guide her to my apartment, where I unlock the door and lead her inside. I go to the kitchen and flick on the overhead switch, illuminating the space, and she stands in the middle of my living room, taking in everything.

  “It’s very…empty,” she says when her gaze meets mine.

  I shrug. “I haven’t had much time for furniture shopping lately. Just went for the essentials.”

  “Like a PlayStation 4?” She’s teasing me again.

  “Hey, every guy needs one of those in his life.”

  “What if I told you I stopped dating a guy because I believed he liked his PS4 more than he liked me?”

  “I’d call bullshit.”

  She raises a brow, silently challenging me.

  “Really? He’d rather spend time with his PS4 versus spending time with you?” He must’ve been a total idiot.

  Sydney nods, crossing her arms in front of her as she watches me. “He was a total jackass.”

  “I bet.” I go to her, giving in to my need to touch her. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I hold onto her loosely. “I would choose you over my PlayStation 4. Just thought I’d let you know that.”

  She fakes a surprised gasp as she rests a hand over her chest. “I’m so honored.”

  “You should be. I love that thing.” Bending my head, I brush my lips against hers. She kisses me back, her lips soft and pliant, and I sneak my tongue in for a quick lick before I pull away. “Want something to drink?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Something to eat?”

  “We just ate.” She makes an annoyed yet cute face. “How about a tour of your apartment?”

  “Okay, though there’s not much to see.” I throw my arms out wide. “This is the living room.”

  “No end tables or lamps, huh?”

&n
bsp; “Who needs light when you have a big screen TV on?”

  She muffles her laughter as I lead her into the kitchen. “Where I cook,” I tell her.

  “You cook?”

  “No. I did find a good Chinese takeout place, though.” I turn to meet her gaze. “You like Chinese?”

  Sydney nods. “I do.”

  I’ll remember that for later.

  I point toward the very small, very empty dining room. “I still need a table, but that’s the dining room.”

  “You do.” She pokes my chest, right in between my pecs. “How many bedrooms does this place have?”

  “Just one. I wanted something small. I don’t need anything big.”

  I take her down the hallway and point out the bathroom, which, thank Christ, doesn’t have my dirty underwear scattered on the floor or dried toothpaste splatters on the mirror. That’s been known to happen back in the day when Owen and I lived together, but now that I’m on my own, I try to actually clean up my stuff. Plus, I’m never home to make a huge mess, so that makes life easier.

  “And here’s where the magic happens,” I say as I push open the bedroom door for her.

  Sydney peers inside, looking around, and I hit the light switch on the wall so she can see everything better. She quietly takes in my giant king-sized bed that’s actually made for once, the black comforter stretched across the mattress with hardly a wrinkle in sight.

  “I think you have something against lamps,” she says.

  I start to laugh. “What’s the point when I have overhead lighting?”

  She enters my bedroom and turns in a slow circle, checking everything out. “Overhead lighting is harsh and makes everyone look washed out. Haven’t you ever heard of mood lighting?”

  I decide not to tell her she looks pretty damn good-standing in my bedroom with all that so-called harsh lighting shining down upon her. “Lamps are unnecessary.”