Page 23 of Playing to Win
“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.
NINE
ACE
We enterLogan’s Bar downtown and the crowd parts for us as soon as we walk into the building. Guys greet us by holding their hands up for a high five, lots of,looking good so fartype comments coming at us from all angles.
Plenty of women greet us too. All of them with hopeful expressions on their faces, their soft voices sounding almost frantic as they try to speak over each other, all of them vying for our attention.
It’s like this every time we come to Logan’s as a team, and tonight is no exception. It’s a Wednesday night. Our first game is Saturday and it’s an away game, though not too far and we plan on leaving first thing Saturday morning.
Practice today was rough. I know they’re going to put us through it again tomorrow. And the next day after that. Tonight, I just want to relax. Shoot the shit with my teammates. Flirt with some pretty women. Maybe even take one home—or wherever—and have a quick hookup. Nothing too complicated. A hand job in the bathroom? A blow job in the back seat of my car?
I’m definitely looking to release some tension.
The odds are in our favor this evening. I notice quick that the ratio of women to men is three to one and I nudge Derek in the ribs, who sends me an irritated look.
“What’s up with all the chicks?” I ask.
“Pretty sure they’re all members of your fan club, bro.” He laughs when I scowl. “It’s ladies’ night. They’re trying something new at Logan’s. Women get drinks for a cheaper price every Wednesday.”
“Fucking unfair,” I mutter as we head for the back of the bar, where we usually like to sit. Last year all I wanted to do was drink with my fake ID, and the bartenders and servers let me get away with it. Some of them had to know I was underage, but they always looked the other way. Plus, I had a really stellar fake driver’s license that cost me a pretty penny. I wanted to make sure and use that bitch every chance I got.
Now I’m legal, thanks to turning twenty-one back in June, and I can drink whenever I want, but this season, I’m trying to remain mostly sober. It’s not like I lose control when I drink or anything like that, but I’m trying to keep up a semi-healthy regimen here. There’s no need for me to get shit-faced all the time and besides, I don’t need the extra calories.
God, the team nutritionist would so be giving me a high five right now.
“Ladies’ night brings more women into the bar,” Derek points out as we settle into a booth. “Don’t think you’ll complain about that.”
Logan’s is already full of women any night of the week, but the estrogen is damn near overpowering tonight. “You drinking?” I ask Derek.
