Page 13 of Hard to Love

Is this Karma for boho chic chick? For leaving in the middle of the night and then ignoring her texts and calls?

“Fuck,” I groan when I’d rather be groaning for other reasons. I cross my arms over my chest and study the woman in my bed. To say she’s gorgeous is an understatement. She has long, brown hair—which I can assume isn’t natural since the carpet definitely doesn’t match the drapes—pouty, sensual lips, and a body that screams that she puts time in at the gym. She’s toned and tanned and hell if I wouldn’t have enjoyed my hands being all over her for the next hour or two.

But now I’m here and she’s there. “You’re being a creep,” I mutter to myself. How weird it is to be staring at a passed-out woman while thinking how much I’d have liked to fuck her.

Lucky for her, I’m who she set her sights on tonight and not some other guy who might take advantage of the situation.

I like my women willing, feisty—not comatose.

“C’mon, Scarlett,” I say, trying to shake and wake her again to no avail. I walk from one side of the hotel room to the other, weighing my options. Do I go back to the bar to see if her friends are still there and have them come get her? Do I let her sleep it off? Do I . . . fuck.

Something that was supposed to be uncomplicated has now turned more than.

With a quick walk back to the bathroom, I roll the unused condom off my now limp cock and throw it in the trash. Next, I find my pants, pull them on, before approaching the bed and removing Scarlett’s heels one by one, then moving her into a more comfortable position on the bed. Then I cover her with the comforter and stand there trying to figure out what to do next.

Get some work done while she sleeps it off? Fall asleep on the couch and deal with her in the morning? Go in the bathroom and jerk off and pretend?

The couch it is.

I’m not only unsatisfied, but now I’m suddenly exhausted. A long flight interrupted by a delay. A plate that’s more than full with an NFL quarterback who I’m trying to help get caught up to speed on his new team’s plays. A hothead MLB pitcher who got himself in trouble when he threw a punch at his catcher and oops, it just so happened to be caught on camera. Sure, it’s my everyday wrangling of personalities, but currently, the load is heavier than normal.

Add to that list coming to Vegas where I do not want to be right now. And Carson Vega is the last person I want to meet tomorrow.

But I’m a man of my word.

Especially when my mentor and the man who got me started in this competitive, ruthless, all-encompassing business of sports management is calling to cash in a long overdue IOU. An IOU that I really don’t have the time or desire to fulfill, but he is the one person who helped me gain my footing so I could be sitting where I am today.

Then again, that’s not saying much considering my current circumstances—sitting here with a woman in my bed instead of being on top of her.

And yet, I still owe him. More than I could ever repay, really.

The question is, is corralling his current client a fair trade for my debts?

I’ve seen the online posts, and frankly I don’t have time to deal with a prima donna, wild child. And that’s exactly what Stevie Lancaster appears to be by all accounts on social media as of late. She may be the best female tennis player in the past five years, but I don’t have time for her shit nor her drama.

But I’ll humor Carson. I’ll listen to his spiel, then tell him I don’t have the space on my client roster nor the time and patience to motivate Stevie to behave and get back on track.

Scarlett laughs. She’s still asleep and it’s a sleep-drugged slur, but she laughs in a way that has me regretting how this night ended.

With a sigh, I grab one of the extra pillows off the bed and am just about ready to make myself comfortable on the couch when something from our conversation earlier ghosts through my mind. This isn’t a game and I’m not a con artist.

“Shit,” I mutter as I push back up and look at my wallet on the desk beside my laptop and tablet. What if she is one and this is all a game? It was convenient timing for her to pass out. For all I know, her friends are sitting down the hallway waiting for me to fall asleep to come in and rob me blind. After all, what else makes men go blind to what’s going on around them than the idea of sex?

Paranoia getting the best of me, I grab everything I have of value in my room—including my key card—and place it in the hotel-provided safe in the closet.

And then of course, I feel like an idiot. But if Karma is a real thing, I best err on the side of caution.

I glance one last time at the woman sleeping in my bed before sinking onto the couch and falling asleep with my cell phone tucked into the waistband of my pants.

FINN

12 years ago

“CAN YOU BLAME HIM FOR benching your ass?”

I don’t lift my head from where it hangs, staring at the helmet in my hands between my knees. “Not now, Dad.”

“Not now?” he snorts. “If not now, then when exactly? After Coach has kicked you off the team for your piss-poor effort on the field? After you’ve lost your scholarship and you have to pay for your own damn education? You’re not exactly the most dependable son, so the last thing you need is to have your future depend on your own friggin’ shoulders.”