Exploring the Rules: An Enemies-to-Lovers Sports Romance Standalone Read online

  Nessie’s hair is straight as pins while mine is in waves, but hair and dress differences aside, I still hear whispers of twins nearly always followed up with a crude remark that has me regretting the tiny dress and craving the comfort of my sweatpants again.

  “They’re gross. Ignore them,” Nessie says, linking her arm with mine. “Don’t let it get in your head. You’re gorgeous and sexy, and you should own it tonight. Forget stupid boys, forget all your rules, and just have fun.”

  She’s right, of course. My thoughts are still stuck on details, wondering what others think of me rather than on the here and now and having a good time. I square my shoulders, and when a guy turns to leer at us, I stare at him with a challenge that has him ducking his head.

  I expel a deep breath, confidence radiating from me as we make the long walk to the hotel the club is in, and I don’t waste another second thinking or caring about anyone else as we explore the casinos, talking about which ones we want to come back and explore more of tomorrow.

  “Are we really going to cut the line again?” I ask.

  Cooper grins. “Party like a rockstar.”

  Nessie laughs. “It’s crazy to think in a couple of weeks we’re going to be going back to work and school and eating Top Ramen again.”

  Before we can reply, the bouncer at the door looks at us. He’s well over six feet and solid, likely intended to look like a threat, or at least make people question doing something stupid. His bald head shines with sweat as he greets us with a straight face. Cooper shows him his ID, and the bouncer looks over a shortlist on a clipboard and then nods, beckoning us forward. He places bright pink bracelets around our wrists. “My friend Angel is going to show you guys around. Please let us know if you need anything.”

  It’s obvious that Tyler called ahead because there are three shots on the table when we reach the private VIP room: slippery nipples.

  Cooper laughs, damning him before he takes the shot and downs it. “Let’s go have fun.”

  I lose the rest of my thoughts to the music, the lick of alcohol still hot in my throat. The dance floor accepts us, swallowing us into the beats and writhing bodies. We’re so close together, and the lights are constantly changing and flashing, making it nearly impossible to tell who I’m dancing with and whose hands run over my body. I hardly care as I try to erase my thoughts of this week, the memory of Tyler’s cologne, and weight of his arm, the flash in his blue eyes whenever he smiles. I work to forget each detail—every new memory that I try to pry from my thoughts where they’re working to burrow far deeper.

  Nessie grips my arm, a smile splitting her face. She leans in, yelling over the noise of the club, “I need to pee.”

  Cooper stays on the floor as we use the buddy system to head to the restroom. The door is in sight when I see him: charcoal gray suit with a black dress shirt and attentive blue eyes. His intensity stops me in my tracks.

  Nessie notes my hesitation and glances around, spotting him. I hate that I noticed him so quickly when she had to work to spot him. It’s becoming a trend that I’ve been trying to ignore and avoid because it’s becoming increasingly obvious.

  “There’s an attendant at the door,” Nessie says. “I’ll be right back.” She waves to Tyler as he moves closer, and I’m torn between wishing she would stay and being grateful for her momentary absence as he finally looks at me.

  He stops in front of me, dropping his dilated eyes to my mouth, and for a second, I’m so sure he’s going to step forward and kiss me that I’d bet my private invitation to the planetarium next week on the fact. I’ve been on the receiving end of this look before, with the same guy. I’ve seen this exact brand of need and desire darkening his gaze when he invades my space and pushes every limit. I’m so confident he will kiss me that I tilt my chin up to receive him, regretting the instant that I do, because it’s not a thought or a need that dictates the movement—it’s him.

  He releases a quiet noise that sounds so much like a scoff. I instantly pull back, humiliation already tinting my cheeks.

  “Maybe next time you’ll get your wish.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell him.

  His eyes are sharp as they come down on me, a wolf smile. “You’re a terrible liar.” He turns on a heel and heads toward the stairs that lead to the VIP section, taking them two and three at a time.

  Anger quickly follows embarrassment like a shot of liquor, contorting the memory and making everything sting as I wait for Nessie to return.

  15

  Chloe

  “I’m too sober, and it’s too early,” Nessie says when she comes into the kitchen where I’m nursing my second cup of coffee and talking to Cooper. “We’re in Vegas. Where’s our tiger? Why isn’t anyone missing?”

  Cooper laughs. “Morning, babe.”

  I try not to respond to the pet names they’re beginning to use with each other, reminding myself this is my new normal.

  She pouts. “I’m kind of serious.”

  “We have two days to make bad decisions. Don’t get disappointed yet,” I tell her as Tyler comes down the stairs, another hiatus on shirts as he scrubs a hand across his bare chest.

  She points at me. “This is why you’re my favorite sister.”

  I smile at her, but the joke falls flat as my confidence wanes, the memories of dancing and having an amazing night with Vanessa and Cooper forgotten as my brief interaction with Tyler comes to the forefront of my mind.

  “We should get going so I can win my millions at the slot machines,” Nessie says.

  Cooper looks horrified, his brow knit and mouth parted. “You realize slots have your worst odds, right?”

  She grins. “Of course, but they’re fun.”

  Tyler shakes his head. “I’m going to a poker game this afternoon, but if you guys want to head out, we can go check out the Strip.”

  “You should take Chloe to play,” Nessie says. “She’s a poker shark.”

  Tyler looks at me, a teasing look that has me shaking my head. “That’s only when my competitors include Dad and Coop,” I tell her. “While you guys get ready, I’m going to head on down. There’s a doughnut shop that’s supposed to have a really long line, so they said to get there early.” I grab my purse.

  “Give me a minute. I’ll go with you,” Tyler says.

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to rush.”

  “I just have to grab a shirt,” he objects, already standing.

  “That’s a good idea. It’s probably best to stay in pairs while we’re here. There were some crazy people last night,” Nessie says.

  I want to remind her we’ve seen some shocking things in each city, but that doesn’t really seem like it’s going to help my argument, so instead, I finish the rest of my coffee and encourage her to hurry up and get ready.

  Tyler returns within moments, a clean V-neck tee that fits him too well, acting like his smile—fully distracting. “Frozen hot chocolate and doughnuts,” I remind Cooper and Nessie, realizing as I look between the two that they’re likely going to be up here for far longer than I’d prefer doing things I don’t want to think about.

  In the elevator, Tyler stands too close, forcing me to move forward to gain some space and breathe air that doesn’t smell of his cologne. Thankfully, his phone rings before he can make a joke about last night. This elevator is fancy but doesn’t have a couch like the one in New Orleans. Instead, the space is open, filled with mirrors that create a strange optical illusion that makes me dizzy when I focus on any one spot for too long.

  “I’m on my way down.” He sighs as he hangs up. “We have a quick pit stop.”

  Relief tickles my nerves. “That’s okay. You can go take care of whatever, and I’ll just meet you later.” I leave the when and where vague, hoping I don’t have to see him again until much later.

  The doors open, my relief spreading, and then his hand settles on my back like a flame, burning me. “It will only take a moment.”

  “Ok
ay, well, then I’ll see you in a few.”

  He pivots, standing in front of me and coming to a stop. “I’m not the possessive type, so don’t confuse this with those arseholes who think they can tell a woman what to wear or do or where they can go, but if you think you’re going to wander the Strip alone, you’ve clearly misunderstood my intentions. Half the people you’re going to encounter will still be drunk from last night, and the other half will be nursing a loss of money and or pride. And as fucked up as it is that someone might look at you as a consolation prize, they will, and then I’d burn this fucking city to the ground to find the scumbag.”

  I’m caught off balance by his words, trying to understand what he’s just told me and feeling fully dumbfounded.

  “Good morning, Mr. Banks,” a man wearing a navy-blue suit greets us before I can contemplate a response. “Sorry for the interruption.” He exudes confidence, his voice loud and clear, his stare unwavering. He reminds me of my mom’s brother, Ryan, who’s worked in sales his entire career.

  Tyler shakes his head, a tight smile pulling at his lips and my attention. I’ve never seen this expression. It exudes the same level of contradiction and lies that my heart currently is. He shifts so he’s beside me again, placing a hand on my lower back. “Chloe, this is Ken Avery. He works with the management company that oversees the hotels in the Southwestern and Eastern regions. Avery, this is my friend Chloe Robinson.”

  Appreciation dances in his gaze as he takes my hand, his handshake weak and cold. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Robinson.”

  “You as well.” I discreetly rub my hand across the denim of my shorts.

  “Perhaps we could sit and get some coffee?” Mr. Avery suggests, confusing me when his gaze remains on me as he poses the question.

  Tyler’s gaze quickly flashes to me, a sign of hesitation and annoyance. I can hear his thoughts, confirming I need to wait before heading to find doughnuts.

  I plaster a fake smile on my face, hating that I’m giving in so easily. “I’ll go back upstairs. Vanessa and Cooper should be ready soon.”

  “No. We’ll make it fast.” Tyler’s hand at my waist strokes up my side several inches, then travels down the same span, making my heart beat erratically as we follow Mr. Avery across the lobby and past the front desk, where a woman in a cream suit smiles kindly at us and then grows brighter as she recognizes Tyler.

  We stop at a door where Mr. Avery signals for someone to open it. Inside is a small room with a single round table and a row of windows along the top, too high to see out of.

  “I heard you have concerns regarding some of the hotels we oversee,” Mr. Avery says, smiling as he gestures to the table for Tyler and me to have a seat.

  Tyler remains still, his hand stilling at my waist. Then he takes a breath, and his hand slips from my side, reaching for the chair in front of me. He pulls it out for me and takes the seat to my left.

  Mr. Avery grins, revealing this is a posturing game—one for which I don’t understand the rules or purpose. “I wish you had called and let me know you were going to be here. We could have gone golfing or out to dinner.” Mr. Avery finally sits. “I’d like to discuss some of these questions you’ve been asking because you seem to be upsetting some people.”

  Tyler leans back in his chair and raises one hand to his jaw, where he runs his thumb along the underside of his chin, drawing my attention to the shadow from not having shaved this morning. It’s deliciously distracting. “Upsetting people? If my questions are upsetting people, it just confirms I’m on the right path, wouldn’t you agree?” He grins—all teeth.

  Mr. Avery glances at me as my attention volleys to him. His smile is equally threatening but a much better lie. “Our company has a long-standing relationship with your father. He allows us autonomy to conduct business as we see fit, and we both benefit.”

  I wish I could see Tyler’s expression because he’s silent for too long, leaving me to guess what’s going on. “Yet he was completely unaware that four of your locations were hemorrhaging money.”

  “Hemorrhaging?” Mr. Avery laughs. “This is a business. It has its ups and downs. The markets change, the needs change.”

  “Fantastic. Then get the information I’ve requested, and I’ll gladly leave you to continue managing.” Tyler pushes his chair back and stands, extending a hand to me.

  I take it and follow him around the table, glancing at Mr. Avery as he remains in his seat, fingers steepled as he feigns a smile.

  Tyler opens the door for me and only makes it a few steps before another man in a suit approaches him, asking for his signature on some documents he seems to be expecting. Tyler gives me an apologetic look. “It will take two minutes.”

  “It’s okay,” I assure him.

  He follows the man behind the counter, their heads bowed as they go over the documents.

  “Are you local, Ms. Robinson?” Mr. Avery asks, surprising me as my thoughts linger on Tyler.

  I shake my head, confused by his question. “No.”

  His eyes deliberately scan the front of me, his gaze predatory as it returns to mine. “Here’s my card. I’d love to hire you.” He offers me the business card he’d been holding, clearly anticipating this conversation.

  “Hire me?”

  “Do you charge by the hour or day?”

  My gaze narrows with realization, my shock so great I can’t respond.

  He reaches forward, tucking the card into my purse and turns, whistling as his dress shoes tap across the tiled lobby.

  It’s personal—toward Tyler, not me—I have no doubt. Still, my stomach sours, and for a moment I want to march over and show the evidence to Tyler before Mr. Avery leaves, but then doubt settles in my thoughts. Does Tyler hire prostitutes? I recall that woman he admitted to hiring in New Orleans. My blood drains from my face and goosebumps dance across my skin, making the chilled lobby feel arctic. I was mistaken for a prostitute!

  Do I look like a prostitute?

  I glance at my Chucks, denim shorts, and hot pink tee and feel myself spiraling with more doubt as Ricky’s words continue to haunt me: tease, uptight, prude.

  “Chloe?” I blink several times, pushing the thoughts to the back of my mind as Tyler stares at me, brows lowered with concern. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I answer too quickly.

  “The doughnut shop is this way. Come on.”

  I follow him, my appetite nonexistent as we step out into the morning heat. Tyler swears, glancing skyward as his hand returns to my waist again.

  Do I care if he’s hired prostitutes?

  Caring would insinuate it matters to me on a personal level.

  His fingers gently stroke my back, and he points at one of the hotels across the street. “We need to be sure to stop in there. You’ll love it, and they have a chocolate fountain that you guys will lose it over.”

  I glance at him, painfully aware of the pounding in my chest that happens whenever he’s near is becoming louder and stronger when he reminds me that despite how long we’ve both worked to avoid each other—he’s getting to know and understand me. I want to claim it’s new, but that would just be another lie sewn into our history because it’s been there since the first time I met him in downtown Seattle when Cooper and I thought he was late. Cooper apologized for his friend’s tardiness as Tyler showed up ten minutes late, but when we left an hour later, a homeless person thanked him again for buying him groceries. That was my first encounter with the sour and sweet balance that is Tyler Banks, that I strive so hard to understand and evade because everything about him is as confounding as it is intriguing and terrifying, and I knew with the scores of girls who have been chasing him since the first day of school, anything between us would only ever lead to heartache.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks when I don’t respond to his comment about the fountain from heaven.

  I shake my head, busying myself with staring at the expansive lobby of another hotel. “Nothing.”

  “Are you su
re?”

  I nod again, plastering on a smile as his blue gaze flickers to mine. “Is everything okay with the hotels?” I ask in an attempt to divert, run, and hide from these thoughts and the fact he’s sensing them.

  His fingers at my waist constrict, and he tips his chin, indicating we need to turn the opposite direction. “They’re fine, or rather, they will be. Something just isn’t adding up.”

  “What’s not adding up?”

  We round the corner and find a line fifty people deep that makes Tyler frown. “I could call the concierge. They can get you every doughnut you want, and we wouldn’t have to wait in line.”

  I scoff, moving to join the hungry patrons. “This is part of the experience. It will add to the satisfaction because you had to wait for them.”

  His eyes darken, and he licks his lips, and I feel that pounding in my chest that dares me to lean forward.

  I clear my throat. “You don’t trust the management company?”

  Tyler breathes in deeply through his nose. “I don’t know. Something’s amiss. Take the New Orleans hotel, for instance. It’s always been one of our busiest locations. It was sold out all three nights we were there, and yet the profit and loss statement doesn't reflect that."

  “What could create that kind of discrepancy?”

  He shakes his head. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. They’re telling me it’s upkeep costs and taxes, which,” his eyes round, “are admittedly high—too high—but it still doesn’t add up.”

  “You could talk to Nessie about it. She might have some ideas. She's an accounting major.”

  “I’m sure it’s just something I'm overlooking.” He stretches his shoulders, pulling them both back. “I’ve been around the hotels my entire life, learning the industry, but accounting was never something I spent time on. I preferred focusing on how our hotels interacted with the community and how we could give back while also remaining a sought-after experience.”