Playing Hard to Get: Chapter 4

HER PRETTY FACE is very familiar, but I can’t quite place it. From the irritated scowl she’s wearing, I’m guessing I should totally recognize her. And maybe I should, but…

I don’t.

That’s the problem with the women on this campus. They fully expect me to remember them from some fleeting moment at a bar, a brief encounter after a game, or maybe a quick hello as we pass each other on campus. I sound like an asshole, even in my own head, but I meet a lot of people.

A lot of women.

With the vast amount of people who talk to me almost every single day, I can’t be expected to remember them all. I’m already bad with names. It’s impossible to keep up.

“No, you definitely don’t know me.” She squirms, trying to get away, her pert ass doing things to my dick that could become embarrassing in about five seconds. I clamp my hands tighter on her waist, trying to keep her from moving so much, and she struggles even more. “Let me go.”

My hands spring away from her and she leaps off my lap as if I’m on fire. “Sorry.”

She whirls on me, her eyes blazing with anger. “You stole my chair.”

“I sat in it first.” I glance over at this girl’s friend, who’s watching us with an amused expression. “Right?”

The friend’s face turns solemn, and she nods, her gaze going to the girl with the nice ass. “He did sit down first.”

“It’s how you ended up on my lap,” I add, my gaze searching her face. It is familiar, I just can’t quite place…

Wait.

The bookstore.

I snap my fingers, pointing at her. “You helped me.”

“Oh really? How so?” the friend asks, looking intrigued.

“At the store,” the girl—woman—says to her friend, her voice full of irritation. She won’t even look at me.

Which is odd—again, I’m going to sound like an asshole—but women like to look at me. Usually with stars in their eyes.

It’s something a guy gets plenty used to, let me tell you.

“Oh. You never told me.” Her friend takes a sip from her drink, then glances over at me. “Be a homie and let her have the chair.”

“Oh shit.” I leap out of the chair and wave my hand toward it, indicating she can have it. “Sorry about that.”

Bookstore girl doesn’t say a word. She settles into the chair, her head inclined toward her friend’s before they both realize I’m just standing there like I’m waiting for something.

“You can go if you want,” her friend says with an encouraging smile.

I gape at the friend, then turn my attention to bookstore girl, shocked. “You want me to…leave?”

The friend nods. So does bookstore girl.

This is not normal. Women are usually eager for my attention, not trying to get rid of my ass.

“All right. That’s cool. It’s fine.” I’m sputtering as I rise to my feet, glancing around to find my friends have ditched me. They’re all clustered around one of those tall tables a few feet away, mugs of foamy beer already clutched in their hands, their voices loud in the already noisy bar. I didn’t even realize they found another table until this exact moment. “See you ladies around.”

“Bye,” the friend calls out as I walk away.

Bookstore girl doesn’t make a damn sound. Not even a polite goodbye.

Whatever.

I push my way between two teammates at the table, grabbing a full mug of beer someone poured from one of the two pitchers they ordered. Bringing it to my lips, I swallow half of it down before setting the glass on the table with a loud “aaah” sound.

“Thirsty much?” Cam asks me from across the table.

I shrug. “Annoyed.”

“Why?”

“Women.”

The guy standing next to me—Derek—busts out laughing. “Bro, you never complain about women.”

“He never has to,” someone else adds.

I scowl at all of them, annoyed that they’d bring up my player behavior.

Look, I know I’m a player. On and off the field, but I don’t like to brag about it. Or make a big deal about it. Or say anything about it at all really. My friends, my teammates—they know about my reputation and they love to give me shit, even though most of them are just as bad as me. Some of them are worse. My sisters know about my reputation as well, but they pretend they don’t because that is some awkward shit to talk about with your siblings.

Hell, my dad knows about my campus player status, and I’d bet Mom probably does too, though she chooses to never bring it up.

Thank God.

“What happened?” Cam asks, curious.

“Some girl got mad at me that I stole her chair.” I keep my gaze on the beer mug in front of me, tempted to polish it off, but I restrain myself.

“Ah, I witnessed that go down. We came to this table at the last second, but I don’t think you noticed,” Derek explains.

He’s a defensive lineman. Big dude. Scary looking dude but as sweet as a teddy bear.

“I didn’t notice. I sat down and so did she—right on my lap.”

“Nice one.” Derek grins.

“She got mad. Demanded I let her go.”

“You were touching her?” Cam’s eyebrows shoot up.

We have a rule. We don’t touch the groupies unless they touch us first. We don’t want to get in trouble, and we’re all about making sure a woman gives her consent before anything happens.

“She kept squirming on my lap.” I shrug, feeling stupid. “I needed her to stop, so I grabbed her waist.”

It was tiny. She’s tiny, but with a heart-shaped ass that felt pretty damn good, snug against my dick.

“Unavoidable boner action?” Derek chuckles.

Only he would come up with some stupid saying for what just happened. “I guess.”

“It’s common. I’m sure it was there and gone once you removed the distraction.”

“Who appointed you Doctor Dick?” Cam calls out to Derek, making the entire table explode with insults mixed with laughter.

I’m laughing too, making an “oooh” sound along with a few others when someone yells, “Sick burn.”

Derek starts calling them all names, taking the attention off of me, and I’m glad for it. I drain my glass and pour myself another one, ready to lose myself in booze for a little bit tonight while I sulk.

But not too much booze. Or sulking. Gotta keep my head on straight for practice and the game this Saturday.

We shoot the shit and drink beer for about an hour uninterrupted. There seems to be an unspoken rule at Logan’s, where the groupies tend to hang back and let us have some peace when we first get there before they pounce.

Eventually, a girl shows up at our table, her smile bright and friendly, her hand landing on one of the guy’s arms, staking her claim. Then another woman shows up. I think they’re friends. Maybe sisters? They have matching blonde hair and darkly tanned skin, and their tits are out. They know what they want and they aren’t afraid to ask for it, and while I loved that kind of girl the last couple of years, lately…

They don’t do it for me.

At all.

A sure thing is great when you’re looking to get laid, and there are plenty of football groupies who fit the bill. Who enjoy the prestige that comes with hanging out with us. With hooking up with us. They go back and tell all their friends to make them jealous, and man does that sounds awful, but it’s true.

And I’m used to it. I’ve been okay with it since I was a freshman and in shock that girls would throw themselves at us and expect nothing in return.

Absolutely nothing.

I had a couple of semi-serious girlfriends in high school, but no real hookups. I considered myself a devoted type of guy. Until I got to college and realized I didn’t need to commit myself to anyone. I could have my pick of women, choosing to be with a different one every week. Hell, every night if I was feeling ambitious.

Sometimes, especially in the early days, I felt pretty fucking ambitious.

“What’s your problem?”

I glance up to find that Cam moved and is now standing right next to me.

“Nothing.” I shrug, reaching for the fresh pitcher the server just brought over, only for Cam to slap my hand away like he’s a mean mama and I’m a bad child. “What the hell was that for?”

“It’s like you’re drowning your sorrows in beer and I don’t like it. Is something bothering you?” Cam leans his head closer to mine, his voice dropping. “I know you said you were fine earlier, but come on. You can tell me. I won’t say anything to any of the guys.”

He’s not wrong. Something is bothering me, but it’s hard for me to articulate exactly what it is, when I don’t understand it myself.

Maybe it’s the pressure that’s coming at me from all sides. Not just with football, but with school. With my future. I thought senior year was supposed to be fun. That last year in college before you’re faced with real life and all of the responsibilities that comes with it.

Instead, there are a ton of responsibilities weighing me down right now, and I don’t like it. Not at all. I’m normally the fun one on the team: the ‘easy-breezy, nothing bothers me’ guy, who’s always entertaining everyone.

“Just in a funk,” is how I finally respond to Cam when I realize he’s waiting for my answer. “I’m all right. Probably just need a good night’s rest.”

Cam’s dark gaze never wavers as he continues studying me. As if he’s looking for a crack in the façade, wondering if he’ll witness me breaking.

“If you say so.”

Both of our heads turn at the same time, taking in the scene happening around our table. Our area is completely overcrowded thanks to the women who’ve planted themselves next to the guys. Which is fine, since this is a common occurrence on a Monday night at Logan’s, but normally, I have a girl with me too.

Tonight, though, not a single one of them appeals to me.

“Do you ever get sick of playing this game?” I ask Cam with a weary sigh.

“Football? Hell no—”

“I’m not talking football,” I interrupt. “I mean with women. As in, a different woman every week or whatever.”

Cam chuckles. “You are definitely not feeling well.”

“Shut up,” I say, no viciousness in my tone. “I think I need a change.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe I should become celibate.” I rub my chin, processing the word over and over again in my brain.

Celibate.

Celibate.

As in no sex. No women. No distractions.

“What, so now you’re a nun?”

“Not quite. But women are a total distraction, one I don’t need this semester. Maybe even for the entire year.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“Maybe no women for just the football season then.” The more I think about it, the more appealing it sounds. Which is crazy, I can’t lie, but damn, I need to do something to alleviate the pressure that’s slowly but surely getting a stranglehold on me.

“Doesn’t having sex relieve some of that pressure for you?” Cam asks, appearing perplexed.

I get it. I’m not making much sense. I’m not acting like my usual self, but maybe that’s the problem.

I need to change it up. Become even more focused on the important things in my life. Football. School. I can’t fuck up. Too much is on the line.

Like my future.

“Hey.” Cam nudges Derek in the side, getting his attention. “Knox says he’s giving up women for the football season.”

Derek snorts, turning to face us, momentarily ignoring the clingy woman whose tits are pressed to his chest, her hand curled around the back of his neck. “Yeah right.”

“I’m serious.”

He gently pushes the girl away as he studies my expression, then starts nodding, his gaze finding Cam’s. “I think he is.”

“Bullshit,” Cam mutters.

“Naw, it’s true. I need to do something about this—” I wave a hand around me, “feeling I’ve been dealing with.”

“Eliminating sex from your schedule is pretty extreme,” Cam says.

“I can do it.” I lift my chin, vaguely offended Cam doesn’t believe in me. “It’s already been two months since I got laid.”

Derek and Cam’s mouths hang open at my confession.

“Two months?” Cam sputters, shaking his head.

I nod, crossing my arms. “Kind of forgot about it, if I’m being real right now.”

“You forgot about having sex with a beautiful woman? Something is clearly wrong with you.” Cam shoves at my shoulder, chuckling.

“Let’s make a bet.” Derek grins, hovering closer. “Thousand bucks says homeboy here won’t make it to week four.”

“Make it five and you’re on,” I throw back at him.

“Wait a minute—” Cam starts.

“Five thousand bucks?” Derek’s brows shoot up. “I can’t afford that.”

“Fine. Let’s make it three.” I shrug.

Cam is shaking his head while Derek contemplates me. I can practically see the cogs turning in his head. He knows me well enough to believe I’ll cave to the first hot woman who grabs my dick, and maybe he’s right.

Though I’m thinking he’s not. I’ve got this. I can resist a beautiful woman.

I can.

“Nah. Make it one thousand and we’ve got a deal.” Derek thrusts his hand out toward me and I shake it briefly. “You have to be real with us though, Maguire. Come clean when you slip up.”

“Are you doubting my integrity?”

“No,” he scoffs, “but I’d lie to save a grand. Wouldn’t you?”

“Nope.” I say it with such finality, they have to realize I’m telling the truth. “I give in and end up hooking up with a girl, I owe you. And if I abstain from women for the rest of the season, you owe me.”

I grin. So does Derek. Cam just shakes his head.

“You’re going to lose,” Cam tells me.

“Thanks for the support,” I say wryly, still annoyed he thinks I’ll cave.

I won’t.

Watch me.