Broken Play Read online

“Why tonight?”

  “Because I’m trying to be good.”

  I shake my head, bringing my glass to my lips. I’d almost forgotten I had it, and now that I’ve remembered, I’m parched. “I’d hate to you see being bad.”

  “You’re missing out.”

  “I’ll probably live longer because of it.”

  “What’s the point? You’re already a hundred.”

  I laugh into my hand, surprised by the jab. “That’s cold.”

  “And offering me a sippy cup isn’t?” she chuckles.

  “That might have been low.”

  “Low low. Like subbasement low. Danny DeVito low.”

  “Okay, I get it. It—”

  “Finding fossils low.” She stops, her eyes going wide with feigned innocence. “Oh. Was that too far? I shouldn’t shit talk your brothers like that.”

  “‘Cause I’m a dinosaur,” I surmise blandly. “Funny.”

  “Were you there when the Roman Empire fell or did you just hear about it?”

  “Keep going. This is hilarious.”

  “What was Jesus like?” she asks excitedly.

  “Are those all your baby teeth or have some permanent ones come in already?”

  “Which side of the Civil War did you fight on?”

  I stop, looking at her hard. “For real?”

  Mila smiles. “Confederacy forever?”

  “I think we’re done here.”

  “It doesn’t feel like it.”

  She’s right; it doesn’t. It feels like we’re just getting started.

  It feels good.

  I nod to her costume. “Did Daddy let you leave the house like that or did you sneak out?”

  She smooths her hands over her thighs, making the green sequins wink like stars. “He didn’t see. I don’t live at home.”

  “Big girl got her own apartment?”

  “Dorm room.”

  “Where?”

  “UCLA.”

  I wrinkle my nose in disgust. “Fuckin’ Bruin. Perfect.” I take a sip of my drink, savoring her body in that dress. “What would your old man have said about this costume if he saw it?”

  “Not a word. He’d be thrilled it’s better than last year’s.”

  “What was last year’s costume?”

  “Scandalous,” is all she gives me.

  I pull out my phone, swiping the screen to life. “I’m Googling it.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m embarrassed by it.”

  I snort, starting to laugh, but I stop short when I read her face.

  It’s dead serious; no jokes.

  “I didn’t think you were the kind of girl who gets embarrassed,” I tell her, lowering my phone.

  “Very rarely.”

  “And last year’s costume is one of those times?”

  “Last year is one of those times.”

  I nod, sliding my phone back into my pocket. “You do know that everything you’re saying is only making me more likely to look it up?”

  “I know.”

  “But you don’t want me to?”

  “No. But will you?”

  “No.”

  She smiles faintly, hesitantly. It’s the first unsure gesture I’ve seen her use. It makes her look her age. “Just like that?”

  “If you don’t want me to know, I don’t need to know.”

  “Such a gentleman.”

  “Weren’t expecting that, were you?” I ask with a wink, taking a deep pull from my glass. I’ve almost drained it. I need to slow down before I get sloppy.

  “No, not really.”

  “I’m full of surprises.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping.”

  I roll my tongue in my mouth, debating her and everything else in the world that’s connected to her. This girl is a problem. She’s sin from head to toe; from her hair like dark satin to her toenails painted racing red. She’s everything I can’t have and everything I wish I could sink my teeth into. I can’t stop the fantasy of her spread out on my bed on her back, her hair a mess, her lipstick smeared, her breath desperate and gasping. Her body like lava under my hands. Against my mouth.

  She’d taste like trouble, I know that without a doubt. She’d burn me clean through, but it’d be worth it while it lasted.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” I tell her seriously.

  She nods. “I know.”

  “Then why are you?”

  “Because we both wanted me to be.”

  I suck my lips hard against my teeth. “Yeah, you’re right.”

  “Do you want me to go?”

  “Yeah. No.”

  She smiles faintly. “Me too.”

  “I can’t get to know you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the more I get to know you, the more I’m gonna like you, and I sure as shit can’t like you, Mila Greene.”

  “Not the way you want to, right?”

  “No.” I set my glass down on the table, sitting back away from her. “Not in any way. You gotta go.”

  She shakes her head stubbornly. “I don’t want to.”

  “I’m not asking.”

  “You’re telling. I know. And I’m not listening. I’m stubborn like that.”

  “Where do you see this going?”

  Her smile changes, the mischief in her eyes running down along her lips like nectar, making me hungry. “Where do you want it to go?”

  “Don’t do that,” I tell her sternly. “Don’t fuck with me like I’m some kid. Be real with me.”

  “It’s Halloween. Nothing is real tonight.”

  I stare at her blankly, waiting.

  Eventually, her face softens. She takes my question seriously, answering it like an adult. “I see it ending badly, for both of us. I see you getting in deep shit with my dad and I see myself losing pretty much everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

  “It ain’t worth it. It’d be hot, I’m not denying that, but there’s no way one night would be worth all that. You know what I’m saying, right?”

  “One night, huh?”

  “Don’t play.”

  “Don’t be a dick,” she fires back. “We’re not talking about one night and you know it.”

  I look her over because I can’t help it. I can’t stop the feeling she gives me in my gut, the one that’s calm and crazy at the same time. Like I’m losing my mind but I like it. “No, baby,” I admit gently. “It wouldn’t be just one night. But it still ain’t worth it.”

  “Holy shit,” Colt breathes behind me. He and Lilly are standing over us, staring down at Mila and me. Colt’s eyes are wide with surprise. “What the fuck is happening here?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MILA

  “Nothin’,” Tyus tells him calmly. He gestures to me with a vague wave of his hand that clearly indicates the distance between us on the couch. “We were just talking.”

  Colt looks between us slowly. “You know who she is, right?”

  “Mila Greene,” I reply without hesitation. I offer Colt my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Avery.”

  “Nice to meet you too, Bill Greene’s daughter.”

  I make a show of pouting dramatically. “Not a fan of that title.”

  “Sorry. Just thought I should call out the elephant in the room.”

  “And now you’ve called me an elephant. I’ve gotta say, I’ve heard a lot about how charming you are but I’m not really seeing it.”

  “He’s usually better,” his fiancé promises.

  “Little stunned to find you here with my boy,” Colt adds.

  I settle back into my seat in the corner of the couch. “We’re just talking.”

  “Cool. Cool.” Colt looks to Tyus with his big, blue eyes. The man is seriously good looking in a romance cover kind of way. “So super cool.”

  “You said that,” Tyus tells him. “A couple of times.”

  “I did because it’s just so fucking cool that you guys
are here together.”

  “Not together,” I point out clearly.

  “Yeah, tell it to the tabloids in the morning.”

  Tyus shakes his head. “There are no photographers in the club.”

  “There are cell phones.”

  “Why are you so worried about this?”

  “Because we just got you back and now you’re doing wild shit that could get you kicked off the team for good. That’s why.”

  “Holy shit, what is this?” Behind Colt is a beautiful blond woman in a Grecian dress. She appears on the stairs wearing the same shocked expression Colt first gave us.

  “Jesus Christ,” Tyus mutters.

  I wave to her with a winning smile. “Hi. I’m Mila.”

  “I know,” she replies dryly. “I’m Sloane.”

  “I love your costume. Very Aphrodite.”

  “I was going for Athena but the bitches at the door made me ditch my bow and arrow.”

  “Assholes.”

  “Right? I know.” Sloane looks me over appraisingly. “So, what’s your deal? Are you rolling with us tonight?”

  “I wish I could, but I can’t,” I tell her, standing to make my exit. I can feel Tyus’ eyes carefully avoiding me. This just got real for him. People have seen us together and Colt is right, there are cell phones with cameras everywhere. It would only take one picture published in the right place to bring everything crashing down around us. I’m not supposed to speak to him and I’m definitely not supposed to be out ‘partying’, especially only an hour after Daddy and I had a talk about me taking my studies and my life seriously.

  It’s amazing how it’s only just now occurring to me how stupid this was, but that’s impulse control for you. If you don’t have it, you don’t have it. You do shit and you let the chips fall where they may, even if that means they fall on your head and crush your dreams.

  I wave to the small group, backing away from the couch. “It was nice to meet you all.”

  “Who’s this?” Trey Domata asks from behind Sloane.

  Behind him is Lowry, another O-Liner.

  There’s a million of them apparently. I walked right into a party of pro football players, and while normally I’d be geeking out over finally meeting all of them for the first time, I’m feeling weighted by the heaviness of Tyus’ stare. He’s silently begging me to bail and I’m trying my hardest to make that happen.

  “Mila,” Sloane answers him evenly. “Big Bill Greene’s daughter.”

  “Oh shit,” Lowry laughs into his hand. “We’re rolling with Big Bill’s kid tonight?”

  Tyus stands, shaking his head. “No. She was just leaving. And keep quiet about it. This isn’t getting out, do you hear me?”

  “It’s not even midnight,” Lowry complains. “She can’t bail before midnight.”

  “Why not?” Lilly asks. “It’s not New Year’s.”

  Colt frowns at her. “You’re not gonna bail too, are you?”

  “I have to be at the bakery at five in the morning. Yes. I am bailing soon.”

  Colt keeps his mouth shut but his eyes are obvious; he’s bummed. He’s like a big kid with a big bank account and probably a big… heart. Lilly is a lucky girl, that’s all I’m saying.

  “You should walk her out, Tyus,” Sloane tells him evenly. “Take the side door, away from the line of cabs out front.”

  Tyus’ eyes snap to mine. I watch him patiently. The entire balcony is watching him look at me, waiting to see what he’ll do. What he’ll say.

  Will he be smart? Will he be stupid? Will he follow his head or his hard on?

  I honestly don’t know what I’m hoping for. I want him to walk me out. I want him to touch me. I want him to kiss me, devour me, fuck me, but I also want him to respect me. I want him to want me but I want him to be better than most men. I want him to make good choices, for both of our sakes because I can’t be trusted. I need someone I can count on to do right when all I want is to be wrong.

  He reaches down for his drink. It’s almost empty. He tips it back in one smooth, burning gulp before nodding to me with unreadable eyes.

  “Yeah,” he tells me, answering the questions I can’t ask out loud. “I got you.”

  They watch us as we leave. Lilly smiles at me, tells me to have a good night. I’m pretty sure Lowry checks out my ass. Trey slings his arm around Sloane, nodding with a discreet smile. Sloane and Colt are the only ones who give no response to my exit, and I think that’s very telling. Now that I know her name, I know who Sloane is. She’s a sports agent. Her dad is a big deal in this town and she defected from his company about a year ago to create her own agency with a couple of friends. It’s doing well. She represents Colt and a few other football players. Her partner represents Kurtis Matthews, my childhood crush. She takes a player’s image very seriously, and being seen walking out of a club with Big Bill Greene’s underage daughter is not something she wants for Tyus, whether he’s her paycheck or not. I get the feeling Colt sees me the same way she does – as a potential problem.

  Tyus’ hand is under my arm as we walk down the stairs together. It moves to my hip when we hit the ground floor and he guides me toward the coat check, not the front door. He nods to the girl behind the counter. She hits a button under the distressed, dark wood. A light buzz emits from my right and a portion of the wall snaps cleanly away, opening to a dark hallway. As he leads me into it, closing the wall behind us with a sharp snap, I wonder how often he takes this exit. They obviously know him here and there have to be nights when he doesn’t want to deal with the press outside, because they are almost always outside. They’re always waiting for these guys to do something drunk and stupid that they can blast all over the internet, but Tyus rarely gives them anything. He’s always been very laid back. Super low key. Except when he’s on the field. Then he’s something else entirely. On the field, he’s alive and vivid. He’s lightning.

  “You want a cab or an Uber?” he asks me, the glow of his phone lighting up on my right. The blue light feels harsh compared to the yellow glow of the overheads in the hallway. Those are dimmed low, flickering romantically like candlelight. “Or should I summon a helicopter?”

  “Is there a landing pad on this roof?”

  His voice is deep and so, so close when he replies, “You’d know better than I would.”

  “Are you implying I’m rich?”

  “If the glass slipper fits.”

  “I’m not sure how well that reference works, but if you’re making a joke about how spoiled I am, you can save it. As of this evening, I’m broke.”

  He stops, pulling me to a stop with him. I turn to face him in the tight space. His face is made harsh and somehow more handsome by the shadows casting down over his features. The walls thump with the muffled sound of the music in the club that’s close by but feels impossibly far away. “What are you talking about, you’re broke?”

  I shrug with a careless smile that feels tighter than it should. “I’m cut off.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I asked to be. Sort of.”

  “No one asks to be cut off from billions of dollars.”

  “Some do. I did. I’m trying to prove something to Daddy.”

  His lips twitch with amusement. “‘Daddy’?” he asks sarcastically.

  I swat at him. My hand connects with hard muscles. Six of them, all neatly in a row along his stomach. “Stop. We’re Southern. It’s what girls call their fathers.”

  “I’m from Texarkana and I never called my dad ‘daddy’.”

  “Well, you weren’t his little girl.” I hesitate, not sure if I should ask but unable to stop that creature inside me that always has to know. “What about your mama?”

  That twitch in his lips becomes a full-on grin. “I never called her ‘mama’.”

  “Your mom, then. My God.”

  “She’s dead.”

  I feel instantly deflated. Like mushed shit under his shoe even though he’s still smiling. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

&
nbsp; “Don’t be. She died young. Cancer.”

  “Didn’t your sister—”

  “She got it too,” he answers before I can ask. “She beat it, though. Medicine’s better now than when mom had it. My sister had a fighting chance and she kicked its ass.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Me too.”

  “When I was eight my mom had surgery. She told me it was to remove breast cancer. I was so fucking scared. I thought she was going to die.”

  His smile fades, his brow dropping with concern. “She made it, though?”

  “Yeah. Turns out she was lying. It wasn’t cancer. It was a boob job. She just told me it was cancer so I wouldn’t go blabbing to the world that she had her tits done.”

  “That’s fucked up.”

  I shrug, turning to move farther down the hall. “That’s Mama.”

  “Are you guys tight?”

  “Nope. Never have been. I’m good with Daddy though.”

  “Always have been?”

  “Always. What about you and your dad?”

  “He’s out there somewhere. I see him on holidays. He was always traveling for work when I was a kid. I didn’t see him much then so I don’t get the point in seeing him now. My sister raised me more than anyone.”

  “You love your sister?”

  “Yeah, of course. You got any siblings?”

  “I’m an only child.”

  “It shows.”

  “Fuck you,” I laugh.

  I hear him chuckle behind me. I imagine him close, so close I can almost feel his heat at my back. So close I can almost feel his breath on my neck; warm and wet.

  “So your ride,” he reminds me. “Uber or—”

  “Uber is good, but I can take care of it.”

  “Nah, Mila. I said I got you. That means I got you.”

  We reach the end of the hallway. It looks like a dead end, but Tyus knocks on it three times in a stuttered rhythm and it swings open. On the other side is a dark room with all black furniture, black chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and shining black floors that look like glass. There’s a small bar against one wall, big chairs and long leather couches against another. There’s no one in here but a bartender and the bouncer who opened the door for us.

  “Mr. Anthony,” the man greets us mutedly.

  Music is coming from unseen speakers in the ceiling, but it’s not like the club music in the main part of the building. It’s softer. Jazz that’s not as corny as it should be. I walk into the room and I’m surprised it’s quiet enough for me to hear my heels clicking against the mirrored floors. I look down to make sure you can’t see up my dress in their reflection, but everything is blurred beyond recognition.