Played: A Novel (Gridiron Series Book 4) Read online

  Ty’s high school girlfriend who told him that she wanted to sleep with his brother to see if they were identical down to their dicks.

  My roommate Fleur’s sophomore boyfriend who dumped her for a sixteen-year-old local!

  My middle school nemesis who didn’t tell me that I’d gotten my period the day I wore pink skinny jeans to school.

  And this guy in front of me.

  “Matt.” I force a smile on my face and pretend to be unbothered by the sight of him.

  “You look good.” He runs his eyes down my frame and then back up to my face. I don’t miss how he lingers on my chest. Asshole.

  “Oh look, it’s Weasel. How’s it hanging, Weasel?” A large arm lands around my shoulders.

  Relief washes over me as Ty reappears at my side. He must have seen Matt approach me and spun right back around to rescue me. And that’s why he’s my best friend.

  Ty looms forward. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t show your face around Ara anymore?”

  Matt, last name Weitzel not Weasel, shoves his hands in his pockets and looks over Ty’s shoulder. “It’s Weitzel. You know that, but you get off on trying to make me feel low.”

  Ty stiffens. “Nah, you do that pretty well on your own.”

  Matt’s mouth flattens out and I can tell he’s two breaths away from saying something insulting.

  “Wow, look at the time. Didn’t you have some place you needed to be?” I turn and push at Ty’s chest. He goes nowhere, of course. I’d need Thor’s hammer to be able to move Ty when he doesn’t want to be moved.

  “It can wait.” He folds his arms across his chest and widens his stance. “I’m not leaving you alone while Weasel is here. He might trip and fall into your chest.”

  “At least I don’t pretend to be her friend while feeling her up,” Matt spits back.

  “Okay. That’s enough,” I say.

  “When you lie awake at night and wonder why we broke up, your answer is right there, Ara.” Matt jerks his chin in Ty’s direction. “You’re never going to have a real relationship while Meathead is around.”

  I drop my hand from Ty’s chest and face Matt with my own stern expression. “If you think I spend even a minute thinking about you, let alone a minute while I’m in bed, you’re more delusional than I thought.”

  Ty chuckles softly.

  “Yeah? Maybe you should spend some time dwelling on it. Otherwise, you’re going to be single for the rest of your life.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” I snap.

  “Get gone,” Ty adds.

  Matt tilts his chin upward defiantly. “Or what? You’ll hit me? That’d look good in the national press. First round draft prospect Ty Masters arrested for campus assault.” He taps his chin. “Have at it, big man.”

  Ty growls. Literally growls. I feel the reverberations against my back. This is going south really fast.

  “Oh hello, Ara, Ty.” A tiny blonde appears at Matt’s side and winds a small arm around his.

  For the first time, I feel almost grateful at the sight of Maribeth Schmidt-Wollums. Matt’s stiff frame melts a little.

  “Maribeth.” I give her a small nod of acknowledgment.

  “Maribeth,” Ty grunts.

  “Did Matt tell you the news?” she coos.

  “No. He didn’t.” I glance toward Matt, who has grown pale. “What’s up?”

  Maribeth flashes her left hand in my direction. A very familiar sparkling pink diamond nearly blinds me. “We’re getting married this summer. Matt proposed on Valentine’s Day.”

  A lump of something hard and sour develops in my throat. I swallow once and then twice, trying to find my voice.

  Ty saves me. He leans over and grabs Maribeth’s hand. The rock is blinding and familiar. “Nice ring,” he says. “Feel like I’ve seen it somewhere before.”

  “It was featured in Southern Living a few years ago,” she gushes. “It’s Matt’s grandmother’s. It’s a two—”

  “Carat, princess cut diamond in yellow gold,” Ty finishes for her.

  If possible, Matt grows paler. His lips flap open a couple of times, but no sound comes out.

  “How did you know?” Maribeth cocks her head, making her look like a tiny bird.

  I place a warning hand on Ty’s arm.

  “Like I said, feels like I’ve seen it before,” he answers.

  I breathe a sigh of relief and so does Matt.

  “Congratulations,” I tell Maribeth. I actually sound somewhat sincere. Go me.

  “I meant…I was going…I planned to tell you before,” Matt explains haltingly.

  “That wouldn’t be necessary. You don’t owe me anything.” I smile, for my sake more than theirs. “Congrats again. If I don’t see you around, best of luck.” I point my feet in the direction of the bathroom and walk away, leaving Ty to deal with the two of them.

  “Thank you, and best of luck to you, too,” I hear Maribeth call after me.

  “Remember that it’s happy wife, happy life, Weasel,” Ty adds.

  “It’s Weitzel,” Matt says between gritted teeth.

  The rest of the conversation is lost after I enter the washroom. I hurry into an empty stall, slam the door shut and collapse on the toilet. Seeing my ring on Maribeth’s hand was a shocker.

  Matt and I broke up almost a year ago and I’d heard through the grapevine that he was dating Maribeth. I didn’t know it was serious, though. I didn’t know I was going to feel like I’d been struck by a pole when I saw the ring I’d sported for the entire summer last year on some other girl’s hand.

  But, then, I didn’t expect to see Matt’s dick in another girl’s mouth, either, and that happened so…why is this worse?

  I drop my head to my hands. I’m over Matt. I hadn’t felt right about the engagement from the moment I said yes. The best thing that happened to me was finding him getting a blowjob from his pledge’s date at Spring Fling.

  Yet…finding out that he’s getting married to someone else and so soon feels rotten.

  The phone in my pocket buzzes. I pull it out expecting to see my dad wondering where I am.

  I’m sorry.

  It’s from Matt. I delete it and text Ty.

  Me: Is it safe?

  Ty: Coast is clear. Your dad just walked in.

  Me: He didn’t see Matt, right?

  Dad hates Matt as much as Ty does. And unlike Ty, a restraining hand isn’t going to keep Dad from causing a ruckus. It adds to his artist mystique, he says.

  Ty: No. Weasel was gone by the time your dad arrived.

  Me: Be right out.

  I tuck my phone away, unnecessarily wash my hands and stare at myself in the mirror.

  “You’re over Matt. You’ve been over him for a long time. You don’t care who he marries, who he screws, or if he fails or succeeds.”

  “You go, girl,” says a brunette coming out of one of the stalls. “Whoever he is, he’s not worth it.”

  “Right.” I give her a grateful smile.

  She winks at me. “You’re better off without him, whoever he is.”

  A pounding on the door cuts off any response. “You okay in there?” Ty’s deep voice carries easily through the door.

  “Is that Matt? Because I’m down for whatever,” my newfound friend says.

  “No. He’s one of the good guys.” I open the door. “I’m fine. No need to break down the door,” I tell Ty.

  He lowers his hand. “Just making sure. You said you’d be right out and then you weren’t. I didn’t want to leave if you needed me.”

  “It’s all good.”

  “All right. Call me later?” He makes a telephone sign with his fingers.

  “Yes.”

  “See ya.” He salutes me and then jogs off.

  “If he’s a good guy, then you should use one of those big shoulders to cry on.” The girl from the bathroom joins me in the hall to ogle Ty’s hot ass.

  “He’s a good guy because he’s my friend,” I say.

  “Well, there
are worse ways to be ruined,” the girl says with a saucy smile. “Sunny Pope.” She sticks out her hand.

  “Ara Martin.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ara. If you ever need any help in the bathroom again, give me a holler. I’m like a bathroom Batman.”

  I laugh. “Do you have a sign that I can shoot into the sky?”

  “No, but I do have this.” She flips a paper towel in my direction. “And if that big boy ever needs companionship and you seriously don’t want to provide it, pass this along to him, will ya?”

  I look down at the number scrawled across the paper towel and groan.

  Not again.

  “What’s this?” Dad asks after we hug out our greeting. He points to the towel that Sunny just handed to me.

  “Another girl after Ty,” I say and crumple it.

  “Oh, to be young and virile.” Dad shakes his head. “You young people don’t know what to do with the gifts you’ve been given.”

  Dad’s plenty virile. Apparently that’s how I got my current job. He’d slept with the gallery owner, promised her a piece of art, and then wrangled a position for me as an assistant. I wonder how that worked. Did he ask her after he stuck his penis in her or before? I shutter my eyes. Damn. What a terrible image that is.

  “Ty does plenty with his gifts,” I say. A twinge of something uncomfortable pokes me in my chest, so I change the subject. “What do you plan to do in New York?”

  “I have Stephen to see, of course.”

  Stephen is his agent. “Tell him hello.”

  “I will. I'll buy you a dress while I'm there. I think Stephen and Tracy are getting married this summer.”

  “Really? They've been engaged for four years. What's the hurry?” I joke.

  “Tracy is tired of being engaged, or so Stephen says. Anyway, it's too bad you can't come with me.”

  “It's in the middle of the semester. If you’d waited until March, I might've gone with you.”

  “No spring break?”

  I shake my head. “Marissa has a big show she's planning and asked if I could stick around the first weekend.”

  “Then I’ll just go again in March,” he says. “We'll stay at The Surrey and empty out my bank account at Barney's.”

  “I'm in.”

  Jeanette flutters over with a menu and a mug.

  “Coffee?” She tips the pot toward the mug she just deposited in front of him.

  “I would love some.” Dad flashes a lazy grin, and Jeanette visibly gulps.

  I cringe inside, knowing what's coming.

  “You have any classes with my daughter here?” Dad asks, dumping five cubes of sugar into his mug.

  “Oh, no, I'm not a student.” Jeanette flutters a weathered hand against her chest.

  “You don't say?” Dad says in what appears like genuine surprise. “You can't be older than twenty-five. I thought you were one of those returning students.”

  “Non-trads, Dad.”

  “Non-grads?” he repeats incorrectly.

  “Non-traditional. That's what students are called if they don't matriculate right after high school. Jeanette. My dad, Arthur. Arthur, this is Jeanette. Best waitress in the state.” Except for right this minute. I push the carafe upright so that Jeanette, who's busy staring starry-eyed into Dad's smiling face, doesn't pour coffee all over the table. I've a hard limit of wearing one breakfast drink a day and Rhyann's water has met that.

  “Sorry,” she mutters sheepishly. She whips out her little notebook. “What'll you have?”

  Dad looks at me.

  “He'll have the eggs Benedict.”

  “Good choice, honey,” he says. “I'll have the eggs Benedict.”

  Jeanette nods firmly. “Got it.”

  “Put a little extra love on it, will you?” he calls after her.

  The waitress, who doesn't even flirt with Ty, puts an extra swing in her step.

  I sigh. “Well, you made her year.”

  He grins. “That's what I live for.”

  Isn't that the honest truth?

  “So what'd you drive all the way up here for?” I ask.

  His handsome face takes on a wounded expression. “A dad can't visit his only daughter without being questioned like a criminal?”

  If I were younger, like ten or eleven, I might've fallen for this act. It worked for many years of my life, but I'm older, wiser, have been the veteran of three of Dad's failed marriages. The man is lovable but terribly irresponsible.

  “Spill,” I say sternly.

  He looks around, as if someone is going to save him. “Where's that pretty waitress with our food?”

  “It's coming.” I wait him out. He drove three hours for a reason, and while I suspect I know what it is, he needs to say it.

  Finally, he turns back to me. “I'm getting a divorce.”

  “I figured.” I try saying it flatly, but I guess I'm not successful because he winces.

  “Now, honey,” he starts, but Jeanette finally appears with our breakfast. He immediately digs in as if it’s the first meal he's had after a week of fasting.

  “Thanks, Jeanette,” I say.

  “No problem. I'm here all morning.” She winks.

  Dad grins.

  I want to slide under the table.

  “I'm good,” he finally says. Jeanette gets the hint. She tops off my dad's coffee and then saunters away.

  Dad, ever appreciative of the womanly form, can't take his eyes off of Jeanette's ass.

  I clear my throat and he tears his gaze away and meets my eyes with sheepishness.

  “Habit,” he says by way of explanation.

  “That might be the reason for your divorce.”

  This is too much for him. He sets down his fork. “Ara, you know I'm a loyal man. I didn't cheat on your mother and I didn't cheat on Holly. Or Marissa,” he adds as an afterthought. “I hope that's not too awkward for you.”

  Just a little, Dad. But I don't tell him. It's not his fault that Marissa's sort of flaky and has given over the running of her gallery to Van Riley, a vengeful asshole.

  “You do have a mistress, though.” I remind him.

  “My art is not a mistress. It's a calling. Speaking of which”—he fumbles for his phone—“I started work on this new piece last night. I'm calling it ‘departure’ with a small d. What do you think?”

  I take the phone and zoom in on the image. Whatever his flaws and faults, Dad is a brilliant artist. The metal sculpture isn't yet polished, and the shape is still vague, but the melancholic beauty sings even through the screen.

  “It's gorgeous.” I hand him back the phone.

  “I think it's the best thing I've done all year. As heartbreaking as it is for me to lose Holly, it's been inspiring.” Yeah, he sounds real torn up. “I've already sold this piece to a collector in Singapore for a substantial sum. In fact, that's why I have to go up to New York this weekend. He wants to meet me. I deposited a little something in your account, by the way. Buy something pretty for yourself.”

  “I don't need anything.”

  “I know, but you're my only daughter and I like to spoil you.”

  And it makes him feel better. I'm the one woman who's remained constant in his life, but then I'm the only woman he's never had a romantic relationship with. If that's not a life lesson, I don't know what is.

  “Oh, and Ara, before I forget, you need to call your mother.”

  “Really?” Suddenly, my appetite is gone.

  “It's been almost three months,” he chides gently. “And whatever your issues are, she's still the woman who carried you in her body for nine months and gave you life. That's a wonderful, precious gift.”

  “All right.” I give in because if I don't, Dad'll start writing odes to Mom's fecund gloriousness. I would rather hear Maribeth's wedding plans. I don't know why he's always so gracious toward Mom given that she walked out on us when I was eight. Her last words before walking out the door were literally, “I give up.”

  What kind of mom do
es that anyway? She cut off all contact while she went on some long jaunt around the world. Dad sat up nearly every night waiting for a phone call. He grew thin; his beard grew long. His work became dark, twisted, and more in demand than ever.

  When she returned, tanned, prettier than I remembered, Dad was thrilled. They never got back together, thankfully, but he's never held any real grudge. I asked him why once and he'd said that even though the flame of passion died, the embers of friendship remained.

  Life lesson number two. Friends last forever and hurt a helluva lot less.

  3

  Ty

  Dana Mullen, my agent, is already sitting in the club when I arrive. Several members stand up and greet me. I make nice with all of them, but it takes nearly thirty minutes to wind through the well-wishers. Even as I take my seat, I can feel their eyes boring into the back of my head. They want to be in the know. They want to be the first to report whatever news will be given to me by Dana.

  I heard from a solid source that Masters is going number five. His agent was at the club talking about it.

  “You're late,” Dana says.

  A month ago, he would've been falling over his own dick in an effort to be nice to me. If I'd been late, even by several hours, Dana would've said that he’d gotten the appointment time wrong. Now that my signature is on the agent contract, he's had a reversal in attitude.

  I don't love it, but this is my bed and I'll lie in it.

  “Sorry,” I say, although I'm really not. I wasn't going to leave Ara until her asshole ex was long gone. I'm surprised he had the balls to show up at the Row House—he knows it's a place Ara hangs out at. She and I and a bunch of our friends have been going there to eat and study since our freshman year.

  I suspect he wanted to see her. Not only wanted to see her, but wanted to shove his girlfriend and the big rock in Ara's face. Fucking prick. I'd like to have shoved my fist into his face, but he's right. If I hit him, or anyone, for that matter, it'd be front-page news on every national sports site.

  “It's fine because I'm your agent, but remember there are always eyes watching you. And I'm not talking about the liver-dicked members of this godforsaken club.”

  The Mansion is the ritziest place in town. The wealthy locals have memberships here to play golf, make business deals, and gossip. Watching people meet is a spectator sport here. I prefer to prove myself on the field, so none of this attention is comfortable for me. My back itches and the chair feels two sizes too small.