Fall With Me (Playing For Keeps Book 4)
Chapter 1

“Fucking on the beach, in our private pool, and on our deck. Bent over the bed, up against the wall, and on the bathroom counter.” I brush a long gold ponytail off a flushed neck. “I’ll spend the week fucking you any way you want, anywhere you want.”

Her blue eyes twinkle as she twists back and forth. “Your treat?”

“Of course, my treat. I’m rich, aren’t I?”

She bites back her grin. “That’s what Google says.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes, only because I rarely get time off during the hockey season. Despite her having clearly looked up my net worth, I still want to spend my limited vacation time buried in something hot and wet. I’m certain she’ll do the trick.

“You haven’t even asked my name.”

Oops. “Haven’t I?” I trail the tip of my finger along the strap of her sports bra, down to the dip in her cleavage. How is this flimsy thing holding those girls up? “Guess I just feel like I really know you, you know? It’s like you’ve always been a part of my life.” Fuck no, but I hear my friends say shit like this to their girls all the time. “You just fit.”

She bats thick, coated lashes. Mascara feels like a bad idea at the gym. Doesn’t that shit get in your eyes and burn? “You are so sweet, Jaxon Riley. I can’t believe they call you the NHL’s bad boy.”

I wink, sliding my hand down to palm her hip. “I’m not always sweet . . .”

She presses her chest against mine. “Brielle.”

“Huh?”

“Brielle. That’s my name.”

Oh. Right.

I hook a finger under her chin. “When you’re on my arm, I only plan on calling you mine.”

I swear to God, her pupils dilate at that four-letter word. “Okay. I’m in. I’ll go to Cabo with you.”

As if there was any chance of her saying no. I first saw her at the gym three weeks ago. She’d just finished trying out a Pilates class, and I commented on her flexibility. She told me she was a cheerleader in college, and five days later when I was back after an away series, she’d told me she’d missed seeing me through the studio window. That’s when she found out who I was, and now she just happens to be at the gym every time I’m here.

Is it uncomfy? Sure, a little, but it’s January on the west coast, my hockey team has a bye week starting in two days, and I can’t bear hanging around my friends for it. They’re fucking fantastic, but I’m tired of being the ninth wheel in their overbearing lovefest.

Brielle slips her hand in mine, towing me toward the locker rooms. I follow, even though I’m not done with my workout.

“I’ll have to pack, which normally takes me two to three weeks, but I can figure it out. And, oh! I’ll have to go shopping. I have time to go shopping, right? I wanna get a new bikini for you.” She spins into me, tossing her arms around my neck. “Maybe I’ll get a spray tan. That way I’ll have no tan lines.”

I’m about to ask her if it’ll rub off on me while I’m fucking her, because no way I wanna be orange, but she keeps going. Of fucking course she does. She talks a lot. It’s annoying, but not unbearable. If I keep her mouth busy most of the week, we’ll make it out just fine.

“Will you have room in your suitcase for my heels? I’ll want a different pair for all my outfits. Or can you pay for my extra baggage? I have to bring my hair dryer, and my straightener, and my curling iron, and my makeup bag; that alone will take up one suitcase. Then I need casual outfits for the beach, and fancy outfits for each meal.”

I wonder what Mittens is doing right now. He was sleeping in the window when I left, but I bet he’s looking for me now. He always misses me when I’m gone.

“We’ll go out, right? I want to show off, not be cooped up and eating room service all week. Do you think people will recognize you? I bet they will. People might even take pictures of us.”

He’s probably waiting on his back by the front door. He likes to do that, pudgy belly out, paws up. He pretends he’s dead when I’ve left him alone too long. Dramatic as fuck, just the way I like him.

“Do you mind if I document our trip on my Instagram? I’ll be subtle, like, tag you, but say nothing, you know? You can post pictures of me without any context too. People will speculate who I am and if we’re serious, which will create a buzz. Imagine? Me, being the one to tame Jaxon Riley? Trixie Forsyth will be so bitter when she sees. She was always a jealous bitch in high school, thought she was better than everyone.”

I’m gonna get him some catnip on my way home. He goes batshit over it; it’s my favorite thing to watch. Especially when I pull out the laser pointer after. It’s the only time he willingly exercises.

“Jaxon? Are you listening?”

“Mmm?” My eyes flick to hers. “Yeah, baby. Of course I’m listening.”

She melts, clasping my hand. “I was asking if we’re taking a limo to the airport.”

A limo? What the fuck for?

“Uh, I’ll just pick you up, leave my car at the airport.”

“Oh.” She frowns, rebounding quickly with a broad grin. “That’s okay.”

“Well, hey, you should probably get going. Get your tan on and all that.” I open the contacts on my phone, then drop it in her hand. “Gimme your number. I’ll text you the details tomorrow.”

Her fingers fly across my screen, then she presses my phone to my chest and pops up on her toes . . . rubbing the tip of her nose against mine. Huh. Don’t fucking like that.

“Bye, Jaxon,” she whispers against my lips. “See you in two days.”

It’s not until she disappears into the locker room and I amble back to the squat rack that I realize she’s typed Mine and a heart into her contact details.

“Shit.” I drop my ass to a bench, scratching a hand along my stubbled jaw. “What was her name again?”

I can’t believe I left my fucking cat for this.

“Stop looking at me that way!” the blonde shrieks at me from across our private deck.

“What way?” I scream back.

“With your eyes!”

“Sorry I have eyes on my face!”

She narrows her blue ones, aggressively drying off her body before chucking the towel to my feet. “I hate you! You’re so dry about everything!”

“Oh, sor-ry I’m not more enthusiastic about taking seventeen fucking thousand pictures of your goddamn ass from every angle just for your fucking Instagram!”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re exaggerating!”

I roll mine right back. “No fucking shit, I’m exaggerating!”

“And don’t think I don’t know the only reason you took me to Starbucks on the way to the airport is because you couldn’t remember my name!”

“Oh, here we go!”

“The barista asked the name for my drink and you looked at me and raised your eyebrows, Jaxon!”

“I’m a feminist! I don’t believe in answering questions for women!” When she only stares at me, arms crossed over her chest, I hurl mine in the air. “Am I supposed to be expected to remember the name of every person I meet?”

“The ones you bring on vacation, at least!”

“Well, I’m fucking regretting that right now, aren’t I? I haven’t had a goddamn minute of silence since you slid your ass into my car three days ago! Jaxon, can we listen to my drunk girl playlist? Jaxon, can you take a picture of me laughing but make it look not staged? Jaxon, does my ass look too big in this dress? Jaxon, how many carbs do you think are in this croissant?” I drag my hands down my face in slow motion. “Christ, Breanne, does it ever. Fucking. End?”

She gasps, and this is quite literally the first time I’ve been able to render her silent. Sweet fuck, do I ever savor the moment while it lasts.

Her hands ball into angry fists. “How. Many. Times. Do. I. Have. To. Tell. You. It’s. Bri-elle. Not. Bre-anne.”

I swallow my laughter, but our neighbor fails to, letting that snort out. My eyes flick to the villa next door where she sits on the edge of her deck, copper legs shining beneath the bright Mexican sun, toes dipped in her private dunk pool while she eavesdrops on our conversation.

“Right,” I mumble. “Brielle. I said that.”

“You said Breanne. Again. You’ve called me it at least five times in the last three days, despite the Starbucks!”

It’s hard to see from here, but I’m nearly positive our neighbor’s shoulders shake. She gathers her chestnut coils off her back, twists them around her hand, and secures them in some sort of clawlike contraption. The sun touches her shoulders and dances down her spine, guiding my gaze to the dip in her lower back, where her bikini bottom clings to an ass I know for a fact is round as fuck.

“Jaxon! You are not seriously checking out the girl next door right now!”

My eyes snap back to Bre—aahhh . . . elle. Brielle. “What? No? Obviously not.”

Brielle stomps her foot. “You’re not paying attention to me!”

“Oh my God, how much more attention do you need?” If I give her any more of it, I will simply pass away. “You’re worse than my fucking cat.”

Her face crumples with devastation. “You have a cat? But I’m allergic! How are we gonna make this work?”

“Make this work? Make what work?”

“Oh. My. God!” Our neighbor leaps to her feet, snatching her towel off her deck, glaring at us. “Would you two shut up? I can’t take it anymore! All you do is fight! I’m so fucking sick of hearing your voices!”

Brielle gasps, slapping a hand to her throat. “Jaxon, she told me to shut up!”

“Newsflash, Brielle! He’s been telling you to shut up for the last three days!” Our neighbor shakes her head, and that claw thing buried in her hair somehow detaches, clattering to her feet, where she stoops to pick it up, curls springing free and bouncing around her face. “I’m done. This is supposed to be my honeymoon, and you two are ruining it for me.”

“Honeymoon?” I lift a brow. “Honey, I hate to break it to you, but typically you bring your significant other on your honeymoon.” My gaze coasts down, then back up. She doesn’t look thoroughly fucked enough for my liking. If she were my bride, she’d be in bed all week on account of her legs no longer working. Instead, she’s been sunning on that deck for the past three days, tablet in her hands, curls piled on top of her head, buds in her ears, probably listening to some podcast about the art of homemaking or some boring shit.

Her mouth scrunches, gaze narrowing. “I’m requesting a new villa.”

“Good luck with that.” This place was sold out seven months ago, but maybe she can replace a . . . standard room. Shudder. “Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out, honey.”

“You’re a jerk.” She stomps to her sliding door, flings it open, and shoots me one last menacing glare. “And don’t call me honey.”

“Whatever you say, honey.” Huffing out a breath, I turn back to Breanne, cross my arms over my chest, and rock back on my heels. “Wild, huh?”

She rolls her eyes and stalks into our villa, opening her pink suitcase, throwing her clothes inside. I follow her, opening the bar fridge and cracking a beer.

“What’re you doing?”

“Leaving.”

I sip my beer, savoring the refreshing way it slides down my throat. “Leaving? Oh, no. Please stay.”

“You didn’t even tell her off for telling me to shut up. And you were totally checking her out.” She slams her suitcase closed, pouting. “And I asked you this morning if I looked sexy and you didn’t even look at me when you said yes. So yes, Jaxon, I’m leaving.”

I pick at the label on the beer bottle. “Well, if you think that’s best.”

“You know, I thought you were finally ready to settle down. All your friends are doing it.”

“You don’t know shit about my friends.”

“You’re the only single one left. It’s not a secret.”

My jaw tics, only because I’m tired of being compared to them. I’m nothing like them, and I don’t need the reminder that I’m the outlier.

I stand, sipping my beer before walking toward Breanne. Her breath hitches when I crowd her space, hopeful blue eyes holding mine. I could do it. I could say the word, only four letters. I could tell her to stay, and she’d toss that suitcase right to the floor, throw her arms around my neck, press her tits to my chest and her mouth to mine. I could spend the rest of the week fucking the hours away.

Or I could spend the rest of the week lying naked on my deck, all alone, getting drunk under the sun, every meal delivered to my doorstep.

“Breanne,” I whisper.

“Brielle,” she whispers back, licking her lips.

“Brielle.” I reach past her, scoop her thong off the table, and drop it on her suitcase. “Don’t forget this.”

She blinks at me, and I don’t need to savor the moment of silence. I’m about to have days of it.

“Urgh!” She stuffs her feet into those fluffy leopard-print sandals I hate, snatches her big purse out of the closet, drags her suitcase to the door, and scowls at me one last time. “You’re a jerk, Jaxon Riley. I’m switching gyms.”

“Safe flight, baby.”

The door slams behind her, and I stuff a handful of honey-roasted nuts into my mouth as I pick up the corded phone next to the king-size bed. I didn’t even know corded phones existed anymore.

“Good afternoon, Grand Siesta Paradise Suites. This is Maria at the front desk. How may I help you?”

“Hey, can I get a fridge restock and order some lunch?” I toss another handful of nuts into my mouth and follow it with a swig of beer. “I’m fucking starving.”