Playing Hard to Get (The Players)

I CAN’T BELIEVE Cam convinced me to come to this hellhole.

We’re at Logan’s, and while it’s not as busy, thanks to it being a boring Tuesday night, there are still plenty of people here. Too many for my taste. Mostly athletes for some odd reason, with the occasional female here and there.

Thank Christ. I’m not in the mood to deal with a bunch of clingy women tonight.

Despite the crowd, I’m sitting by myself at a high-top table, nursing a beer and glaring at anyone who dares look my way, let alone tries to approach me. Meaning no one is coming my way, which is how I prefer it.

The only one who dares talk to me is the same asshole who brought me here.

“You’re being a dick.” Cam grins good-naturedly at me as he slams his glass on top of the table.

I stare at him, hoping I look as mean as I feel. “You’re the one who brought me here. I told you I didn’t want to come.”

“I had to get you out of there. I thought you needed a change of scenery.” He shakes his head, most likely remembering my surly attitude at practice and afterward, when we were back at our apartment, and he made the mistake of asking what he most likely thought was one simple question.

“What crawled up your ass and died?”

I proceeded to tell him everything. Yep, every single little detail, including how I got hot and heavy with Joanna in the meeting room not once, but twice. How I followed her into the bathroom of this very establishment last Saturday night. If I didn’t mention something, it’s only because I forgot, but when it comes to Joanna Sutton, I remember every single little thing about her.

Even the annoying parts.

The great thing about Cam is he didn’t judge me. He didn’t ask me to pay up either. He listened, he offered a few suggestions, I argued every single one of them and then he finally told me I needed to get out of the house.

And he brought me here.

Big mistake.

I am the good-time guy, and I always play the part willingly. That’s because I am that guy. I like to party, I like to talk, I like to flirt. I enjoy meeting new women, putting on the charm and convincing them I’m not such a bad guy. Because I’m not. I’m aware of their feelings and their worries and their—ahem—pleasure. I make sure everyone gets off when the hookup happens, and that they know it’s only for one night. I make sure she feels good about herself afterward, even when I have to reject them.

And it’s never a full-blown rejection. I turn it into my problem, not theirs. I’m the one who can’t commit, who’s out to have a good time, who refuses to be tied down. I’m the one who’ll buy you a drink, make you my friend and hopefully, make you feel special.

Not tonight. And definitely not with Joanna.

She makes me feel bad for what I do. What’s the big deal, not wanting Derek to know we’re hanging out? That guy will come for his money, and rightfully so. I made a commitment to myself, and I’m already about to toss it aside.

Just thinking about her right now has my gut twisted up in knots. I can’t eat either—just the idea of food disgusts me, which never fucking happens. But I can drink, which I’ve been doing since we showed up at the bar over an hour ago.

Meaning, I’ve got a serious buzz on, and I’m on my way to being good and drunk.

“I’d be drunk at home, and now I’m drunk here. I don’t think the change in scenery helped.” I take another gulp of my beer before I set the glass down. “At all.”

Cam swipes the glass away from me, earning a halfhearted “hey” for his efforts. He leaves me alone at the table, with no more beer, and his mostly empty glass sitting across from me.

Lunging across the table, I grab it and put it to my lips, tipping my head back, grimacing the moment the watered-down liquor slides down my throat.

Whiskey. That shit is nasty.

There’s a commotion at the front of the building, and I realize someone must’ve entered the bar. A buzz fills the room, the sound growing heightened with every second that passes and I lift my head, my senses on high alert.

The air shifts, becoming thick with awareness, and I swear goosebumps dot my skin. I rub the back of my neck, watching as the crowd slowly parts and two women appear, dressed to kill.

I inwardly groan. I know them. Fuck, one of them I want more than anyone else I’ve ever seen, despite how shitty she makes me feel.

It’s Joanna, accompanied by her friend and roommate, Natalie.

They’re dressed for a night out, not a casual pop-in at the local college bar, and I swear my eyes feel like they’re going to fall out of my head the longer I stare at Joanna. There’s a lot of skin on display. More than I’ve ever seen her reveal, at least in public.

The memory of my mouth on her tits smacks me hard in the chest, and I rub at it, trying to ease the ache.

Guys surround them—the ratio is in the women’s favor tonight—and I spot a few members of my football team. I’m tempted to go caveman on all of them and tell them to back the fuck off because that one belongs to me. Hell, I’m halfway out of my seat, ready to go stake my claim, but then I realize I’m thinking like a complete asshole and I don’t own anyone.

Especially Joanna, who basically told me to go eat shit and die.

“What the hell?”

I turn to find Derek standing directly behind me, his mouth hanging open like he’s trying to catch flies, his eyes roaming over both women. Anger curls in my belly and I turn on him, ready to tell him to stop staring, but then I realize he’s not looking at Joanna.

His attention is all on Natalie.

“Looks like your girl showed up,” I tell him, my voice snappy.

He sends me a questioning look. “She’s not my girl.”

“You got together with her Saturday night, right?”

“Well, yeah, but that was casual. You know how it is. Oh wait.” The sight of Derek’s shitty grin makes me want to smack it off of him. “You might’ve forgotten, considering you’re celibate and all.”

A disbelieving snort sounds and I glance to my right to find Cam standing there, his expression shifting to neutral the moment my gaze touches his smug face.

Sometimes, I hate my friends.

“Go talk to her,” Cam encourages Derek, tipping his head in Natalie’s direction.

Derek drains the glass that was in his hand, setting it on the table before he leaves us and makes his approach. We watch him, the way he strides right up to Natalie, his head bending toward hers, his smile slow, his hand reaching out to lightly touch her elbow.

She steps back, her eyes flashing, her mouth moving a mile a minute and that smile on Derek’s face fades.

Cam chuckles. “She’s telling him off.”

“He probably deserves it.” My attention returns to Joanna to find her watching me, but she looks away quickly, her cheeks turning red.

Busted.

“You going to approach Joanna?”

I shake my head. “And get a speech like Derek? No thanks.”

“Didn’t she already tell you off?”

I really wish I had another drink right now. “She’d probably take her opportunity to do it again.”

“Women,” Cam mutters, shaking his head.

“Right? They’re the worst.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Right now I do.” I grip the edge of the table, sliding off my chair. “I need another drink.”

“You should probably have some water first.”

“Stop trying to keep me sober. That’s not tonight’s goal.”

“Knox, come on…”

I walk away, not interested in hearing Cam talk about how he’s watching out for my best interests, and that while I’m allowed to be upset, I shouldn’t drown my sorrows in alcohol, especially when we have practice tomorrow.

I’ve heard this speech from him before, but it’s never been brought on due to these unique circumstances.

Approaching the bar, I smile when the bartender—a cute redhead—stops directly in front of me, a friendly smile on her face. “What can I get ya?”

“That local IP on tap and a shot of your best tequila.”

She grimaces. “You sure about that?”

What, now the bartender is trying to keep me from drinking? Is this some sort of conspiracy? “Are you really going to turn away business?”

Her friendly expression sours. “Tequila and beer isn’t the best combo.”

“I’ve got this handled.” I rap my knuckles on the counter. “You going to help me or not?”

She turns away from me, muttering prick under her breath, and I immediately feel like an asshole.

And I’m not that guy. I don’t care what Joanna says, or implies. I’m a decent human being.

Swear to God.

Within two minutes, the bartender is setting a tall glass of beer in front of me, along with a shot of tequila. I hear Derek laugh in the background, the sound of it making me wince, and I lean against the counter, tapping my finger atop the bartender’s hand.

“I’m sorry for being a jerk,” I tell her.

Her smile is faint, but her eyes are flat. She’s not buying it. “It’s okay. You want to pay now or should I start you a tab?”

“I already have one going. Put it under Knox Maguire.”

Her eyes go a little wide, recognizing my name, but I don’t acknowledge it, or her.

At least I apologized.

I settle my ass on the closest empty barstool and bring the shot glass to my lips, bracing myself before I toss it back. The alcohol slides down my throat in a fiery path, coursing through my blood before it settles in my belly, warming me from the inside. I consider ordering another but nurse the beer instead.

There’s more laughter coming from Derek—it’s easy to hear that annoying snort laugh above everything else—and I turn around on the barstool, watching as he continues to engage in conversation with both Natalie and Joanna.

Somehow he worked his charm on her and won her over, the lucky bastard. Natalie is just as flirtatious with him as she was last Saturday night, though now she’s in a hotter outfit and Derek can’t keep his eyes—or hands—off her. Joanna stands between them and a few steps back, her gaze ping-ponging back and forth as the couple flirts and laughs. She’s got a glass in her hand and when she brings it up to her lips, I catch her staring.

At me.

I don’t look away, leaning my elbows on the counter behind me, trying to look relaxed. Like I’ve got all night for her to approach me, but my heart is pounding and the blood is roaring in my ears.

Damn it, why won’t she come talk to me?

She never will. I realize quickly that she’s not going to approach me, so I spin around on the stool, grab the beer and down it before I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth. The bartender walks by me, stopping short when she spots my empty glass.

“You want another?”

“No thanks. Can we cash out?”

“Of course.” Her smile is polite as she turns to the register and rifles through the credit cards lying nearby. She picks mine up and starts adding up my drinks, printing out a receipt before she hands it over to me along with my card.

I sign the receipt with a flourish, making sure to give her a fat tip. “Thank you for putting up with me.”

“Night,” she calls absently as she heads over to another customer, who’s just come up to the bar.

I slide off my seat, slipping the credit card and my copy of the receipt into my wallet before I shove it into the back pocket of my jeans. I’ve got nothing to lose, I remind myself. Go talk to her.

Standing up straighter, mentally reminding myself that I’m Knox Fucking Maguire and no girl is going to make me feel down on myself, I head over to where Derek and the women are standing, stopping directly across from Joanna.

“Hey.” Derek smiles at me, and it takes everything I’ve got not to scowl at him. “What’s up, bro?”

“Wanted to say hi to Joanna.” My gaze never strays from hers.

The air ripples with tension as we stare at each other. To the point that Derek clears his throat while Natalie grins like a mad woman.

Clearly, she’s aware of our situation.

“You know Joanna?” Derek finally asks.

I glance over at him, wondering how much he remembers from Saturday night. Knowing him, it’s not much. “She’s my English tutor.”

Yep. I decided to lay it all out there.

Derek’s brows shoot up. “No shit? I didn’t know you were a tutor.”

“Yeah, I am.” She takes a sip from her drink, her gaze still on mine. “Knox is my student.”

I incline my head toward her, thankful for the acknowledgement.

Even more thankful Derek didn’t focus on the fact that I need a tutor.

“So we all know each other. That’s cool.” Derek bobs his head, looking like an idiot, and I open my mouth, ready to insult him when Natalie steps forward, grabs hold of Derek’s arm and steers him toward the bar.

“Buy me a drink, big D,” she teases.

“You’ve got it, gorgeous.”

I roll my eyes as they walk away. Big D? He wishes.

“I thought that was your nickname,” Joanna says once they’re gone.

I frown at her, confused. “Excuse me?”

“Big D. You know.” She tilts her head to the side, her long hair falling across one shoulder. “Because you’ve got such a big dick.”