Free Playing Hard: A Bad Boy Sports Romance by Eve Maddox Page B

amounts.
    Grabbing a beer out of the cooler stationed on the front steps, I crack it open and enter the house.
    Inside, the music is pumping, practically making the walls vibrate. There’s smoke hanging in the air and I can definitely smell pot — too bad I can’t have any. The football team gets tested regularly, and Coach is a demon about it. I’m not fucking up my future for one toke, even if I’m sure these guys can afford the best weed on the market.
    Instead, I throw back my beer and head over to where there’s clearly a drinking game going on in the lounge, shots laid out in front of every player, a huge bottle of tequila in the middle of the table.
    “Hey Riley!” Bryce shouts across the room when I enter, a beer in one hand and some smokin’ hot blonde under his arm. “Glad you could make it — word is you’ve been kind of whipped lately.”
    I sneer. “C’mon Bryce,” I say. “You of all people should know you can’t believe everything you read. Or can you?”
    Bryce’s expression instantly sours. He knows what I’m talking about — some girl accused him of slipping a roofie in her drink last year, and he almost got kicked out over it. The only reason he didn’t was because the girl’s friends pulled her out of the party when she told them she felt weird — that, and Bryce’s parents are richer than God, and he’s never had to face a single consequence in his entire fucking life.
    It all blew over after a month or so, but I’ve hated him ever since, and I wasn’t his biggest fan to begin with. There’s just something about him that puts me off. Not to mention he’s the kind of lowlife that would drug a girl to get her into bed. If you can’t get a chick on your own merits, you don’t deserve to have any.
    “You watch your drink around this guy,” I tell the blonde under his arm, winking at her. “You never know what he’ll do next.”
    I keep my tone light, as if I’m joking, even though I’m totally not. The girl pursues her lips a little, before subtly moving away from him.
    “I’m gonna go get a refill,” she says, turning and walking back toward the kitchen.
    “Dude, what the fuck?” Bryce says to me as soon as she’s gone, anger making his face go red and his nostrils flare. “What’re you trying to do?”
    I laugh, but the sound is flat. “Not my fault you can’t keep a girl interested,” I say. “Maybe you should’ve shown her your one-inch cock. I’m sure that would’ve impressed her.”
    I keep laughing as Bryce, infuriated, lunges forward and grabs a handful of the front of my shirt. Bryce isn’t a small guy, but c’mon. I’m built like a tank, there’s no way he can hope to take me on.
    “You little piece of shit —” he starts to say, his voice a low snarl.
    Before he can get any further though, Reid is there, a hand on each of our shoulders, pulling us apart. “Guys, what the hell,” he says. “This is a fucking party. Be cool.”
    I ball my fists. Part of me still wants to hit Bryce in the face — though I don’t know why. He hasn’t done anything to me, and while he might be scum, punching guys like Bryce is never a good idea. Not now, not ever. And especially not when I’ve already got Coach breathing down my neck about reforming my reputation. He probably would be pissed I’m even at a party to begin with.
    Bryce continues to stare in my face, eyes crazy and nostrils flared for another five seconds or so, before he raises his hand and jabs me in the chest with his finger. “Watch yourself, you piece of shit,” he tells me. “It’s guys like me who’re paying for you to even be here. So don’t forget it.”
    With that, he shrugs off Reid’s hand and storms off to the other end of the room, probably going off to look for more gullible women he can work his ‘charm’ on. Hey baby, did you know my dad owns a yacht? Come upstairs and check out my real estate portfolio.
    Irritated, I shrug off Reid’s hand as well, trying to get