Stealing Home: A Reverse Grumpy-Sunshine College Sports Romance (Beyond the Play Book 3)

WHEN EVENING ROLLS AROUND, I end up at Red’s. I have my fake ID in my wallet, but most of the time I don’t get carded; this is the sort of place that plays on the fact it’s a college bar.

I desperately need a drink. That’s the first objective of the evening.

After Sebastian helped me get my things into my car, I drove straight to the housing office and explained the situation. The response was, to put it bluntly, bullshit. Until they shuffle things around, I’m shit out of luck; they recommended staying at a motel, which I can’t afford, or crashing with a friend. Then, at the laundromat, half my clothes shrunk in the dryer. I didn’t budget for a wardrobe rebuild this summer, but between that and the clothes that were ruined by the flood, I barely have enough underwear to get me through the week.

At least my laptop is intact. I’ll need that to work on the code for Professor Santoro unless I want to spend every single moment of my time in the lab itself. And I might’ve lost my favorite pair of boots, but I still have my dignity.

Tonight, with most of the student population gone for the summer, it’s not too crowded. During the semester, a Saturday night would mean a line out the door. Locals in the town of Moorbridge hang out here too, so it’s not empty, just quiet. The Mets game plays on one television, the Yankees game on the other. There’s a hockey game on the third.

Before Penny started dating Cooper, I didn’t give a shit about hockey. Honestly, it still confuses me. Football confuses me too, although my father and brother are huge Eagles fans. Nonno enjoyed baseball, so I watched a fair bit of the Mets when I was younger, and I played softball in middle and high school. I choose a seat at the bar in front of that television and order a beer.

Objective two: find someone who will take me home for the night.

As I drove around earlier, I weighed my options. I could ask my parents to pay for a motel, but that would open the door to conversations I’m not interested in having right now. In terms of “friends,” as the McKee University housing office put it, Erin was the first person I thought of, but we’re not actually friends. I’m not desperate enough yet to ask Professor Santoro if she has a spare bedroom. I could call Penny and ask if she can check in with her dad, but his girlfriend just moved in, and anyway, she’s on a big romantic road trip with her boyfriend. Sebastian is not an option, even if he’s alone in a nice house with central air conditioning and a cuddly cat that happens to belong to my best friend. I would rather walk barefoot over broken glass than deal with the temptation when I can’t fucking have him and don’t deserve him in the first place.

That leaves a stranger as my best option.

I might be living in my car temporarily, but I managed to make myself look like a snack in the tiny, moldy laundromat bathroom, so as long as someone reasonably attractive and single walks through the door, I should be good to go. I don’t pull out this pink floral sundress that often; it’s too bright for my taste, but it’ll ensure that everyone who walks through the door notices me. Even if whoever it is sucks in bed, it’ll still be a bed. That’s better than sleeping in my car in the dorm parking lot and hoping that campus security doesn’t notice.

“Mets fan?”

A man, probably in his late twenties, slides into the chair next to mine. He gestures to the bartender. “I’ll have the same as her, and get her another.”

I force myself to smile. He’s not unattractive—just ordinary. Beard, brown hair curling over his collar, straight white teeth. The beginnings of a tan on his fair face. If he knows where the clitoris is, I’ll take that as a win. “Thanks.”

“No problem, darlin’.” He angles his body toward mine. He must’ve come from work; he’s wearing a navy suit with a white button-down. I glance at his hand, fingers drumming on the bar top, and nearly do a little dance when I don’t find a ring. “Are you here for the game, or the booze?”

I take a long pull of beer. The fizz burns going down. It’s not my first choice of drink, but I didn’t want to get into the hard alcohol when I’m supposed to be picking someone up. “Can’t it be both?”

He clinks his beer against mine. “A woman after my own heart.”

“You come from work?”

He nods, setting the beer down after taking a sip. “Finance, in the city. I just had to get out of Manhattan, you know? Don’t mind the commute if I have quiet at the end of the day.”

Finance. If he’s not lying to impress me, and I don’t think he is, given the quality of the suit, he must have a nice house. I tuck my hair behind my ear, angling my neck to the side. I chose a necklace long enough that the pendant, a simple gold bar, nestles in the hollow between my breasts, and by the way he glances down, I can tell that he’s into it. He scoots closer, heat in his gaze.

I pretend to ponder his words. “I get it. I like the quiet too. I’m a graduate student here at the university.”

“What’s your field of study? Not that you need to do much beyond flaunting that body.” He sets his hand on my thigh.

I nearly choke on my next sip of beer. I turn my surprise into a smile and say, “Chemistry.”

I made up my mind to lie before I even arrived, but after that, he definitely doesn’t get the truth. Let him think whatever, as long as he’s a good enough lay and doesn’t hurt me.

I don’t think he’s that kind of person—just a little forward. Forward isn’t a bad thing in this case.

“Chemistry,” he repeats. His grip gets a little more deliberate, bunching the fabric of my dress like he wants to push it up to get a glimpse of my panties. “Is it just me, or am I feeling a little chemistry right now?”

Yikes. Yes? No?

Whatever. A bed is a bed.

I duck in close, letting my breath wash over his ear. I don’t miss the way he shudders.

“I don’t know,” I purr. “I’d have to conduct a more thorough experiment.”

“There you are, sweetheart,” a voice says. “Sorry I’m late.”