Summer Lovin' (Fun For the Holiday's) Read online

  “Let me guess.” He pressed a finger against his full lips. “You don’t date football players.”

  “I don’t date professional athletes. Hard rule,” I said, but my tone was all kinds of contradiction.

  It had come out sounding like I was flirting, and hell, maybe I was. But I didn’t flirt with my clients. This was why it was so much easier when they had a girlfriend or a wife. I worked directly with them instead. No mixed signals. No lines crossed. No flirting. End of story.

  “Rules are meant to be broken, Duchess,” he said, calling me that hideous nickname again. “And I like breaking them.”

  “God, you’re so arrogant.” The words slipped out of my mouth before I could even think about not saying them.

  I hated the bravado that most guys hid behind, refusing to show their true selves to anyone, but for some annoying reason, it worked on Crew. Being confident was one thing, but arrogance and cockiness were other beasts altogether, and he wore them all in spades like a superhero.

  “I’m sure you’ll find plenty of women in LA who would be happy to give you whatever you need. The town’s practically known for it.”

  Cleat chasers. Groupies. Puck bunnies. Jersey chasers. Fans.

  LA was filled with them. People wanting to do whatever it took to land a guy with money or to further their career. And I wasn’t only referring to the women here. The men in this town behaved in this way too. It wasn’t a gender thing, but more of a Hollywood industry thing. Whatever it took to get ahead, people were willing to do it.

  Crew leaned forward, his arms hitting my desk and staying there as he blew out a soft breath, those dark green eyes meeting mine. “I am arrogant. But I’ve earned it. And you like it. Now, what do you need from me, Duchess?”

  Gah!

  This man was going to challenge me at every turn, and I hated how much I was enjoying it. I needed to remind myself that he was exactly like every other guy who had ever stepped foot in this office before him. Crew Maxwell was no different than the rest. He wanted one thing, and once our time was up, he’d go away, just like all the rest had.

  THIS MIGHT WORK OUT IN MY FAVOR

  CREW

  I was not deterred by anything that came out of Summer’s luscious mouth. I didn’t believe half the things she was trying to sell me on anyway. And she knew it. Summer had to be tough, untouchable, professional. And I wanted to fuck it all out of her. Every last bit of armor she hid behind until she was lying bare beneath me, screaming my name.

  I was watching her—staring really, but she was downright mesmerizing, and I was entranced. Like some voodoo priestess out on the Louisiana bayou, where I had grown up, I swore Summer had put some sort of spell on me. Little did she know, she didn’t need it.

  I’d wanted her riding my cock the second I laid eyes on her. She was exactly my type—tall, long-legged, beautiful, smart, independent, and sassy with a mouth that needed to be punished. I knew, verbally, she wanted to give me a run for my money, but she held back every time she got worked up enough to start. I let it go because there was plenty of time for me to wear her down.

  Two months, to be exact.

  Honestly, LA giving me Summer was the best thing they could have done. I was grateful that she was going to help me because I had no idea how to navigate this place. The city was paralyzing. It moved too fast. Was far too crowded, spread out, and didn’t make any sense geographically. I wasn’t sure I was going to like anything about being here, except my paycheck.

  And maybe the pussy.

  But that had never been an issue. Not even back in high school, where my star had first started rising. Girls had been throwing themselves at me for as long as I could remember. And once it started, it never stopped. Not that I took them all up on the offer, obviously. I’d actually been doing it less and less over the past few years, only going out with women that I hoped would lead somewhere. Not that you’d know it by the things you read in the press. It always amazed me how easily it was to lie online. Cite an “anonymous source,” and an entire article filled with bullshit became believable.

  Not that I usually cared. None of them were truly defaming, and thankfully, no one had accused me of anything unsavory. But my reputation as being the biggest player in the game always seemed to precede me, and I could tell that Summer was all too aware of it. I’d change her mind soon enough.

  “I’m going to ask you a few questions to get started.”

  I watched as Summer gripped her strawberry-blonde hair with both hands and twisted it quickly before it became a knot, sitting perfectly on top of her head.

  Fuck.

  I wanted to undo it, pull it, and wrap it in my fingers while I fucked her from behind until it all unspooled and spilled down her back.

  “How’d you do that?” I asked, fascinated by women’s tricks, and she laughed.

  “What?”

  “Your hair.” I stared hard before shaking my head.

  I watched as her cheeks turned red, and she pretended not to be affected by me as she grabbed a pen and pulled out a notebook. She wanted me just as badly as I wanted her, but she had to act like she didn’t. It wasn’t professional to want to fuck your clientele until you couldn’t see straight.

  “Did you bring a car?” she asked, completely ignoring my question about her hair and moving into work mode.

  “No. I left it back in Louisiana. Figured it was easier,” I said because the trade had happened so fast that I didn’t even have time to think, let alone make definitive plans for my things. One day, I had been at home, and the next, I had been on a plane, headed for training camp in Los Angeles with my new team.

  “I get that. You’ll need a car here though. You have to drive in LA. So, I can either arrange to have your car shipped out or we can get you something new. It’s up to you,” she said.

  For the first time since I’d signed my new deal, I felt relieved instead of guilty about my paycheck.

  No matter what team I played for, I consistently took less money so that we could build a better team overall. No one could ever look at my salary and say that I was the reason we sucked or had a losing season. The sheer amount of injuries we’d kept having the past two years was the reason for that. I wasn’t to blame, which was why this trade had been so surprising. Honestly, it felt like it had come out of nowhere. Me and the old LA quarterback had basically been swapped for one another.

  To me, it made no sense. But it didn’t have to. Football was a business, and I was simply a player. I either went along with it or I got the fuck out. And I was still in my prime, so I wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Let’s just get something here,” I suggested, and she scribbled down some notes.

  “Okay. I’ll need you to email me a list of car preferences or types that you’re interested in, and I’ll arrange a private showing. That should be first on our list so that you can get to and from training and the stadium.”

  “All right. Easy enough,” I said because I already knew exactly what I wanted. A metal-gray G-Wagon, fully tinted, decked out with all the bells and whistles.

  There were two things I insisted on being an unreasonable prick about—my car and my home. I worked hard and deserved to have a little luxury in my life, so I splurged on those two things and very little else.

  “Do you have any idea what you’d like to do in terms of housing?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you want to rent something, or do you want to look into buying property?” She waited for me to respond, her blue eyes watching my every move as I contemplated my answer.

  I’d actually thought about that a little on the plane ride over, but every time I tried to research it online, I got overwhelmed, said fuck it, and slammed my laptop shut.

  “I have a dog,” I started to explain, and her whole face lit up like I’d just told her I rescued fifty kittens on the freeway this morning.

  “What kind of dog?”

  “He’s a big, fat yellow Lab.”

  “Is he here already?”

  “Yep,” I said, popping the P.

  I’d bought him a seat in first class with me, and the two of us had flown over in style.

  “He needs a yard.” I couldn’t imagine keeping Bart in an apartment or someplace where he couldn’t get out during the day if he needed to. Which was exactly our current situation, considering that we were living in a hotel suite.

  Summer started scribbling again on her notepad. “Okay. So, I think we should look at houses then, so he won’t be cooped up all day with nowhere to go. Unless you’re planning on hiring a dog walker, which I definitely recommend for the times when you’re on the road or will begone at the field.”

  “Yeah. I had someone help me with Bart before. I’ll probably need that out here too,” I said, and she continued her quick writing.

  “I can help you find the right person. For the housing, rent or buy is probably the biggest question.”

  Leaning back into the chair, I folded my arms across my chest. I had more money than one person needed, but it felt like I could absolutely blow through it all in this town if I wasn’t smart or cautious.

  “What do you recommend? Do you have any thoughts?”

  She laughed, and I wanted to bottle the sound up and take it home with me, where I could jerk off to it later.

  “I have lots of thoughts.”

  Is she flirting?

  “Any on housing?” I asked, playing it cool.

  “Yes. Here’s the thing. What we would need for you, in terms of a rental, is going to cost a lot each month. I’m talking in the thousands, depending on the location and size of the home. It makes more sense to purchase something, honestly. Real estate is usually a good investment. Especially out here. And I have a great agent I work with
who won’t dick us around.”

  I felt my possessive streak flare to life. “What agent?”

  “My best friend, Seline,” she said, and the flare died out on the spot. “She is a great resource, super knowledgeable, and won’t steer us wrong.”

  Summer had said us instead of you, and the caveman inside of me wanted to pound my damn chest, proclaiming that I’d won the girl when I hadn’t even started yet.

  “I think I’d like to buy something, but I can’t stay in this hotel for the next month with Bart. Is there somewhere else I can rent in the meantime while we look?”

  “Yes, I can find you something,” she said, writing on her pad again.

  “Summer?”

  “Uh-huh?” she mumbled, still focused on the paper in front of her instead of on me, where I wanted her attention.

  “What if I’m only here for a year?” It was a rare moment of brutal honesty that I couldn’t help but spit out.

  The question had been floating around in my head since I’d first learned of the trade. Even though I’d signed a multiyear contract, that didn’t mean shit in the overall scheme of things. My old contract hadn’t meant anything; otherwise, I’d still be there.

  She stopped writing and lifted her head to look at me. “Then, we can rent your place out, or we can sell it. It would take a lot for you to lose money on the purchase. But, Crew”—her eyes softened—“it’s not going to be just one year, okay?”

  “Sure,” I said before pulling it together and remembering who the fuck I was. “You’ll help me look and stuff? I don’t have the kind of time to—”

  “I know. That’s why I’m here. I’m all yours for the next two months. I won’t leave you hanging.”

  “Promise?” I asked, forcing her to tell me she’d stick around as long as I needed her, desperate to hear her deliver the words so I could hold her to them.

  “Promise,” she agreed, and I was momentarily satisfied.

  HE WAS GOING TO BE A HARD ONE

  (That’s What She Said)

  SUMMER

  We wrapped up our initial conversation by exchanging phone numbers and email addresses. The second Crew walked out of my office, I swore he took all the air with him. I sat in my chair, staring at my computer screen, my brain in some sort of hot Crew fog. The man had temporarily broken me. And his moment of vulnerability hadn’t helped.

  It made no sense because every single athlete I’d worked for in the past was incredibly sexy, but Crew was on another level. Hell, he was on another damn planet.

  My phone pinged, and I glanced at it, seeing Seline’s name on the screen.

  Pressing the text button, I read her message.

  “How was it?” was all she asked, and instead of even trying to respond with words, I called her instead.

  “Ooh, so good you had to call?” she teased, her soft French accent infiltrating through the line.

  “I’m sitting here at a complete loss for words. I need to pull it together,” I admitted, and she laughed and clapped at the same time.

  “Are you flustered? I’ve never heard you like this before.”

  “Tell me about it. I’m …” I stuttered. “I don’t know what I am.”

  She breathed into the line, and I pulled the phone away from my ear before putting it back. “Okay, Summer. Focus. Does he need a house?”

  That worked. I snapped out of whatever spell Crew had put on me and went straight into work mode. “Yes. He needs a house, and we want to buy instead of rent. He has a dog. But let me talk to him about potential locations first. We didn’t even get that far.”

  “What the hell did you even discuss then?”

  I growled into the line, feeling frustrated because Seline knew as well as anyone that those first meetings could be super overwhelming, especially when the new location was unfamiliar territory. “It was an introduction. Basic needs and light conversation only. Just to get us started.”

  “Well, I’m going to send you a list of where his childless teammates live, so you have some sort of jumping off point. You find out all the particulars—how many rooms, budget. Unless you want me to contact him directly,” she suggested, and I ground my teeth together in response, thankful she couldn’t see me.

  “Seliiiine.” I dragged out her name even though she knew that wasn’t how this worked.

  I was the middle person for a reason. There was no direct contact between the vendor and the athlete. The fewer people who had access to the player, the better. I handled all potential issues that arose and put out fires before Crew ever knew they’d sparked to life. That was my job.

  “Just teasing. Ooh, this one’s gonna be fun,” she said before saying, “Au revoir” and ending the call.

  I knew that her brain was already going a mile a minute, and before I even had the chance to send her a list of potential neighborhoods, she’d be sending me one instead.

  I opened up my email on the computer and started constructing one to send to Crew, telling him that it was nice to meet him today and that I was looking forward to working together before reminding him to give me a list of cars he was interested in so that I could set up a showing.

  Even though we were currently only working on two items, both were big tickets and could take a lot longer than two months if I didn’t do my job well or if Crew’s demands were too particular. It was better to get started on what I hoped would be the easier of the two as soon as possible. Guys were happier when they had a car that they loved.

  Three hours flew by before I knew it, and I’d found a handful of furnished rentals with a yard for Bart. When I pulled up my email to send Crew a list, I saw that he had responded to my initial car request. His email was short and concise, and I hated that he hadn’t even flirted a little.

  Why was I like this with him?

  There was no signature or sign-off at the end, just one sentence describing exactly what he wanted. Crew was precise. A little too precise, and I wasn’t sure the dealership would have one available, but I started emailing my contacts to ask anyway before crafting my own non-flirtatious email in return.

  My cell phone rang the second I pressed Send, and I looked down at it, seeing Crew’s name flashing on the screen.

  “Did you get my email?”

  “I did. I can’t work like this,” he said, and I wanted to laugh at the tone of his voice. He was trying to be friendly, but I could tell he was frustrated.

  “Like what exactly?”

  “I can’t do all of this over email. I need to print things out and see them in real time. That’s how my brain works. I need visuals and not on a screen.”

  He sounded like he was almost embarrassed even though there was absolutely no reason for it. All of us processed things differently, and it made sense to me that he liked seeing things the way he did for football—most likely hand-drawn charts on pieces of paper.

  “I can do that. Do you want me to come by the hotel?” I offered because that was what my job was—to show up wherever my client was at, work closely with them, and make their life easier.

  “Please. That would be really helpful. Clothing optional,” he said, and I barked out a laugh into the line.

  “Had to go there, didn’t you?”

  “Couldn’t resist.”

  “Can we do this tomorrow? Will that work?” I asked and waited for him to answer. When he didn’t, I pulled the phone from my ear to make sure our call hadn’t been disconnected. “Crew?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Tomorrow okay?” I asked, sensing that he was going to tell me no.

  “Tonight would be better.”

  I could argue or tell him that I had plans, but I didn’t. I simply responded with, “See you in twenty,” before ending the call and pulling up all the links I’d sent him in the email and printing them out.

  There was no sense in fighting with Crew. Especially when I knew I wouldn’t be on the winning side. I worked for him and only him—a point I’d made very clear in our meeting earlier. That meant that I was basically at his beck and call, and he knew it. Although if he ever worded it that way, I’d probably knee him in the nuts.

  Grabbing a manila folder, I stuffed the information on the temporary rentals in there along with a map of the counties. Right as I was about to head out, I got a response from one of my car guys, letting me know he had the car. I printed that email out as well, fired back an acknowledgment, and asked him to hold it for the night.