Playing to Win (The Players)
Playing to Win: Chapter 8

“You and Ace have a past thing we need to know about?” Gwen asks me as we march over to the sidelines, our phones clutched in our hands, ready for action.

Filming action, that is. Of the team on the field. Eric has his Nikon, already taking photos. He likes to use them in his video creations he makes in iMovie. I watched the videos he posted on the team’s Instagram account last night and they were great. His editing skills are top notch, everything syncing to the music perfectly. He’s talented.

“There’s no past thing between me and Ace,” I lie, keeping my gaze aimed on the field, purposely not looking at Ace. They’re not wearing their gear today so he’s got a T-shirt and shorts on, and when my eyes mistakenly landed on him only a minute ago, I caught a glimpse of his thick thigh muscles flexing.

Ugh. I can’t think about muscular thighs and six-pack abs and rock-hard biceps. I know Ace has all of that and more, but I can’t like any of it. Because I don’t like him.

He’s an asshole. So arrogant. Like I’ve actually fantasized about him.

No way.

“He openly flirted with you,” Gwen points out.

I turn to her. “Doesn’t he flirt with everyone?”

“Not me,” she’s quick to answer.

“No one flirts with you, G.” This comes from Eric, who has his back to us but must still be listening to our conversation. “You scare the shit out of every guy on campus.”

“I do not.”

“You kind of do,” I say quietly. She turns to glare at me and I shrug. “I barely know you and you terrify me.”

She looks away, her lips forming a straight line. “You need to be careful.”

“Why?”

“The agreement you signed, there’s a ‘no dating athletes’ clause.” Gwyneth’s gaze replaces mine once more. “You did read the agreement, right?”

Barely. More like I skimmed it. Nothing alarming stood out so I signed on the dotted line, so to speak. “You don’t have to worry about me dating an athlete. I’m not interested in any of them.”

“Good, because if you do, you’ll get fired,” Gwen says, her voice firm.

Oh shit. That’s serious.

“Hey!” We all turn to see Ace standing in the middle of the field, his hands cupped around his mouth. “We’re ready for you if you want to start filming.”

“Go ahead.” Gwen waves her hand toward the field. “I’ll let you film first.”

Great. This feels like a trial by fire. And she’s mad at me because I admitted she’s terrifying. Probably didn’t like the flirting part either, that’s why she brought it up. I signed the contract, meaning I have to abide by the rules.

No flirting with Ace Townsend allowed.

I go to Eric, fighting the panic growing inside me. “Gwen wants me to film.”

“You’ve got this.” The sincere glow in his eyes isn’t reassuring.

“What do you want me to do?”

“You and Gwen discussed it earlier. Just—go with what she said.” Eric shrugs.

The earlier discussion was Gwen telling me what she wanted to do for the season. There are a lot of accounts out there right now that really interact with the players. Introducing them, letting the casual viewer know who they are and what position they play. These accounts manage to show them at their best—and their silliest. Sometimes even their worst, which is always good for a laugh, but never at their expense.

Gwen wants to do something like that for the football team. She even wants them to mouth along with trending songs, maybe even do a dance here and there. Something lighthearted and fun, were her exact words earlier.

Meaning the complete opposite of Gwen’s behavior. Got it.

An irritated sound leaves me as I march out onto the field toward Ace, hating the butterflies that flap in my stomach at seeing that shit-eating grin on his face while he watches me approach. Am I wrong that it feels like he loves seeing my discomfort? It’s annoying. He’s annoying.

Though I can’t deny just how gorgeous he is. Because he so is.

Gorgeous.

Ugh. No. Football players are a no-go.

“Ready to film us, Maguire?” His teasing tone on anyone else I would think is cute, but on him, I sort of want to sock him in the gut. This has me thinking about his stomach and how ripped I’m sure it is and how my hand would probably ache after trying to punch him and now I can’t stop thinking about it.

“Not quite yet,” I say, keeping my voice cool. Downright blasé. He doesn’t affect me. I can’t let him get to me. “I need to look up a few things first.”

He rests his hands on his hips, glancing around. Feels like every member of the football team is out on the field and they’re all circling us like a pack of wolves, curious to what’s going to happen next. “Well, hurry up. We can only give you a few minutes before we need to get back to it.”

“I thought you were going to be supportive.”

“And I thought you had your shit together.” He grins, and while I’m stewing in anger over his remark, clearly, he’s just teasing me. “Take a couple minutes, babe. However long you need. We’ll be here making plays and securing wins.”

“Did you really just call me babe?” I roll my eyes, opening my camera on my phone and switching it to video. “I’m ready.”

He’d already started walking away from me and he comes to a stop, slowly turning to face me once more. “Really?”

“Yes.” I nod. “Are you?”

“You want to film me?” He glances around as if he’s shocked.

“I want you to make a pass, yep.” I hold my phone in front of me as if I’m ready to start recording him. “Let’s do this.”

“Hold on, hold on.” He jogs over to a couple of his teammates, their heads bent close as he discusses something with them. They all clap once at the same time and get into position just as I do the same, glancing around to make sure no one is going to run into me. “Ready, Maguire?”

I hate how he calls me by my last name, but it’s better than hearing him say my actual name with that sexy rumble of his, so I’ll deal. “Give it to me.” I give him a thumbs-up.

Ace gets into position with the offensive line and when the ball is hiked to him, he stands there like the quintessential quarterback god, his arm cocked back, squinting into the sun, his eyes shifting as he figures out who’s the best one to throw to. And when he does finally throw that ball, it goes long, a perfect spiral arcing through the air.

I capture it all with my phone, every single second and when the ball lands into a receiver’s open hands, the player tucks the ball to his chest and runs it into the end zone. Ace throws his arms above his head. “Nice one!”

“Perfect throw,” his teammate yells back at him.

I’d really hoped for a blooper, but damn it, he’s just that good.

“What do you think?” Ace asks, his focus all on me.

I don’t stop filming. “Pretty great.”

“Don’t you know it.”

“Are you always so confident?”

“Only for the camera.”

“I bet you’d say the same thing if I wasn’t filming.”

“Probably.” He rests his hands on his hips again. One of the coaches is blowing his whistle in short, quick jabs, screaming for the defensive line to join him and I glance over my shoulder to watch as Gwen follows them. “You going to shut that off?”

I hit the button and stop filming, my fingers literally itching to watch back what I just captured, but I restrain myself. “I’ll have to come up with a dance for you and your offensive line to do for me tomorrow.”

“You’ll be back out here tomorrow?” He actually sounds excited by it.

“We’ll be out here a lot this season. We need to film a lot of content.” Gwen’s goal is to grow the account by constantly posting, which means we probably need hours of film to work with. “We want to do a variety of things.”

“Like what?” He sounds genuinely curious and I realize my mistake.

I hate that we’re making casual conversation, and how it’s so easy to talk to him. Look at him. I should still be mad at what he did. How he ditched me for another girl.

But it’s hard to hold on to resentment when he’s being so friendly and he’s so freaking attractive. Makes me forget that he did me dirty in the first place.

“Interviews. Funny bits. Bloopers.”

He frowns. “I don’t like bloopers.”

“It keeps you guys real.” I roll my eyes. I feel like I do that a lot with him. “You can’t be perfect all the time.”

“I can if I try hard enough.” He chuckles.

I make this obnoxious snorting sound that’s not attractive whatsoever, but it’s like I can’t help myself. “Seriously, Ace. Making a mistake here and there, being able to laugh at yourself, keeps you human.”

“You said my name.” He rests his hand on his chest, full of drama. “Does this mean you forgive me?”

“What do I need to forgive you for?” My tone is overly-exaggerated and I’m blinking at him like I’m some sort of dumb doll.

He drops his hand at his side. “You know what I did. At that party.”

“Oh, how you kissed some other skank at midnight? After trying to feel me up in the bathroom?” I hate that I just called that woman a skank, but I do think she finagled getting Ace alone at midnight on purpose to get back at me for turning his attention away from her.

“Yeah. That.” His expression turns serious. “I feel bad about it.”

“It was nothing.” I wave my hand dismissively.

“Just to let you know, she kissed me first. I didn’t kiss her.” He levels his gaze on me, his expression dead serious.

I stare at him, hating the fact that hearing him admit she kissed him instead of the other way around makes me feel…relieved.

It shouldn’t matter, who kissed who first. I don’t own him. I don’t want him.

Seriously, I don’t.

“Oh.” I shrug, trying to play off what he just said.

“Does that make a difference about how you feel towards me?”

“Not really.” Yes, really.

“You sure about that?” He sounds like he doesn’t believe me.

“I’m sure.” I nod. “I don’t care.”

“About that. I like your shirt.” He waves a hand at my chest and I glance down, seeing the three letters stitched on the center of my T-shirt. “I don’t care?”

“Exactly.” I wore this shirt as a silent message for Gwyneth and her crappy attitude toward me. I was trying to show that she doesn’t affect me but looks like it came in handy for Ace too. “You like my shirt?”

“I love it. Fits you nice across the chest, if you know what I mean.” He’s grinning again, just before he turns away and rejoins his teammates on the field.

His words sink in only after he’s left me alone and I blow out a frustrated breath, heading for the sidelines. I should be disgusted that he’d so blatantly refer to my chest—aka my breasts—like he just did. I should think he’s a sexist asshole and want to steer clear from him as much as possible.

Instead, I can’t help but enjoy our conversation. Even if he was staring at my boobs while giving me compliments about my shirt. He’s flirtatious and there’s no way I can take anything he says seriously.

Nope. Can’t do that at all. I need to leave him alone.

But as I play back what I just filmed, I can’t help but let my gaze linger on his tall, strong form. The way his muscles rippled when he threw the ball. That look of pure satisfaction on his face as he watched it fly through the air. He knew it was a good one. He knew it would land in the receiver’s hands, and I wish I could’ve got his face on film when the ball was caught.

The camera loves him, that much is clear. The main reason Gwen wants to get so much footage of the team is because of Ace. She admitted as much to me earlier, when we were back in the office having our discussion while Eric was setting up his camera.

“He may be a cocky asshole, but Ace Townsend is gorgeous but like…in this unintimidating way? There’s something about him that makes women feel like he’s attainable, and Cam Fields never had that. Women loved him but he was really intense. But Ace? He seems—sweet.” Gwen’s nose scrunched up like she was disgusted by her assessment. “The women go nuts over him. Now don’t get me wrong, we’ll definitely focus on the games and all the normal football-type stuff, but we need to turn this into a fan account so girls can lose their minds over him. Over all of them, really.”

Her words linger in my head. My job is that I’m going to be filming Ace all season, so we can play him up as a sex symbol for the masses.

Gee, can’t wait.