Dirty Filthy Boy (Chicago Outlaws #1) Page 8

  "Yeah, I got that," she says, biting into her hummus, tomato, and cucumber sandwich. "Why is that a problem?"

  "I'd known him for all of two days. I don't sleep with men two days after we meet."

  She dabs at her mouth with a napkin. "MacKenna, it happens. You fell for him. Hard. How could you not? The man has the body of a Greek god. Tell me. Is his dick as fine as the rest of him?"

  "Mar! For Pete's sake."

  "So after you did the deed, did he drive you home and kiss you goodnight?"

  "He didn't drive me home. I took a cab."

  She drops what remains of her sandwich on her plate. "That pig. You mean to tell me he didn't have the decency to drive you home after you screwed?"

  By now we've gotten the attention of everyone around us. Where's a hole to crawl into when you need one? I bury my head in my hands. "Would you please keep your voice down?"

  "What happened?" Steam's practically coming out of her ears.

  "I walked out while he was sleeping."

  She blinks a couple of times like she's having a hard time processing this. "Why?"

  "He doesn't sleep twice with the same woman. Remember? And I just couldn't face the 'See you later' look in his eyes."

  The cab had cost over forty dollars. Money I don't have. I'll need to dive into my sock drawer for my emergency stash to pay this month's rent.

  "Is that why you were in such a hurry to leave the Outlaws' compound?"

  "Yes. He saw me, and I'd just as soon avoid any further conversations with him."

  She picks up her sandwich and takes a bite out of it. "Aren't you supposed to be interviewing him?"

  "I got all the information I need to do a basic article." Of course, I wanted to dig deeper, but fat chance of doing that now.

  She does more damage to her sandwich, swirls a French fry into a mound of ketchup and pops it into her mouth. "Did he see you talking to Oliver Lyons?"

  "Yeah."

  "How did he look?"

  "Mad."

  She wipes her hands on the napkin and steeples them together. "If he was jealous of you talking to his teammates, I can't imagine how he feels about you being chummy with his smokin' hot boss."

  "What?"

  "Come on, MacKenna. Don't tell you didn't notice how gorgeous Oliver Lyons is? The man won Chicago's Hottest Businessman Award, for heaven's sake."

  "Oh, I noticed. When I was a teenager, I had a huge crush on him."

  "And now?" Her voice carries more than curiosity in it.

  I shrug. "Guess I got over it." Oliver's handsome but he doesn't hold a candle to Ty's earthy masculinity.

  "You might not be attracted to Oliver any longer, but you still have a problem."

  I have more than one, if truth be told. But I'll need her to explain. "What do you mean?"

  "Well, you slept with Ty Mathews, who seems to be a tad jealous with you talking to other men. Aaannnnd you were talking to his boss who invited you out on a date."

  "Ty doesn't know Oliver asked me out. Besides, it isn't a date. It's a catch up kind of a thing."

  "Sure it is. MacKenna." She thumps her elbows on the table. "It's a date. Plain and simple. If Ty sees you with Oliver Lyons at that charity event, fireworks will explode."

  She's right. If Ty went ballistic when I simply talked to Ryan Taylor, what's he going to do when he spots me with Oliver at a banquet? I drop my head into my hands. "Oh, God. What am I going to do?"

  Having finished all of her fries, Mar snags one of mine and bites down on it. "Well, I for one can't wait to find out."

  "I hate you."

  She smirks. "That's what best friends are for, isn't it?"

  Chapter 12

  Ty

  SATURDAY NIGHT I'm stuck at a charity event the Outlaws set up. I'm not in the best of moods. Not only does the rotator cuff brace restrict my mobility, but the over-the-counter meds aren't cutting it. My shoulder still throbs like a son of a bitch. And prescription drugs are not an option. Doc Latimer may have approved them, but I'm not taking them. Last thing I want is to get hooked on them. So for the next three weeks, I'll just have to deal with the pain.

  Monday night, I won't be able to play against the Texas Roughriders. Coach's working with Pedro Santiago, the UCLA boy wonder. The kid's good, better than good. But I'll be damned before I let a rookie take over my starting spot. So this shoulder damn well better heal pronto.

  And those are not my only problems. What was MacKenna Perkins doing talking to Oliver Lyons? Does she know him? They looked mighty chummy at the Outlaws' training facility. Maybe she's eager to interview him. I mean, why would she stop at football players when she could work her allure with the billionaire owner of the Outlaws' team?

  Agony streaks through me, and I grit my teeth. Damn it. I might be unwilling to take prescription drugs, but maybe a drink will help. On the way to bar, I spot MacKenna, dressed in a blue evening gown, her gorgeous breasts in splendid display. She's enough to take my breath away.

  A crowd of reporters interviewing one of our star wide receivers block my way to her. But I'll be damned before I let her get away. Skirting them, I step into her path, and she comes to an abrupt stop.

  "Ty! What a surprise. I didn't expect to see you here."

  The way she says it tells me she's lying. She totally expected to run into me.

  "PR event for the Outlaws."

  "Are you okay?" She brushes her hand across my arm before jerking it back to her.

  How does she know I'm hurting? And what does she care if my shoulder aches? She broke things off with me. It's probably just a public show which doesn't mean a thing. "I'm fine. Just a small tear in my shoulder. Nothing major. Should be back playing in no time."

  "That's good." Her patented smile rolls over her lips, the one that projects innocence.

  Fell for that once, but I'm not about to fall for it again. "What about you. Why are you here?" She can't afford the tickets to this gala. Someone had to have paid for her. Oliver Lyons. Maybe that's what they were talking about yesterday.

  "I came with a friend, Ty." She points to the young woman by her side.

  Her friend bought tickets to the charity function? Wouldn't know it by the way she's dressed, but then rich people can dress however they want. The woman's not as tall as MacKenna. She's tiny in fact, with pixie cut golden hair. Some would call her cute, but she doesn't hold a candle to MacKenna's beauty.

  "This is my friend, Marigold Thompson."

  "How do you do? I'm a big fan." Pixie cut says with a blinding smile. She's enjoying herself, that much is clear.

  I shake hands before I turn back to the woman I haven't stopped thinking about. Even after five days. Even after she made a fool out of me, my dick wants more of what she's dishing out. Right now, if it can be arranged. But I can't very well jump her in the middle of the ballroom floor which means I'll need to act civilized. "You look beautiful."

  MacKenna's cheeks turn a soft rose pink. "Thanks."

  How does she do that? How does she turn on that purer than undriven snow act when down deep she's nothing but a groupie. Not that I care. All I want to is to drag her somewhere where we can be alone so we can do all those dirty, filthy things we did before. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

  Before she has a chance to respond, a shadow descends upon us. "MacKenna. There you are."

  A flustered look rolls over her face. "Oliver."

  Oliver Lyons. Son of a bitch. Did he bring MacKenna to the charity function? Is he the 'friend' she referred to?

  He rests his hand on her arm, as if he has every right to do so, and I see red. "The hotel's so big, I worried you'd gotten lost, so I came looking for you."

  "No. Not lost. Ran into Ty. I'm interviewing him for the newspaper." She rushes to explain.

  I hiss out a broken breath.Yeah, that's all I am to her, a way to further her career. I don't care. My cock doesn't care. It wants to sink into her hot pussy again. "Yeah, about that interview. We never finished it. We can go somew
here and do that."

  Her eyes widen. "Now?"

  I struggle to get my anger under control. She won't come with me if she sees how pissed off I am. "No time like the present." I give her my most charming smile.

  "But I don't have anything to take notes with."

  "We'll find something. Let's go." I grab her free hand and pull. But we go nowhere. Oliver's holding on to her other hand.

  I turn toward him, and we square off like a couple of raging bulls, with MacKenna stuck in the middle in a game of pull and pull.

  A light flashes to our side. The three of us turn to stare at the camera which goes off again. Damn. A photographer snapping photos of the Outlaws' owner and his starting quarterback fighting over the same woman. This will make for a really, really bad publicity shot.

  But before the photographer can snap another picture, MacKenna's quick-thinking friend comes to the rescue, "Oliver, darling." She insinuates her body against Oliver's, effectively breaking his hold on MacKenna.

  "What?" Dumbstruck, Oliver glares at MacKenna's friend.

  She curls one arm around his neck and pulls him down to her level. And then she whispers something in his ear while her hand sinks to his crotch. Well, that's one way to get his attention.

  Whatever she says has him shifting the gears. He straightens and hauls her into him, lifting her clear off the floor. "Whatever you say, sweetheart."

  Her eyes grow wide before he plants a take-no-prisoners kiss on her ruby red lips.

  Knowing a good thing when he sees it, the photographer snaps another photo of the four of us. If this causes an uproar, it won't be my fault. I'm holding hands with MacKenna in a proper pose. Oliver, on the other hand, is going at it hot and heavy with Marigold, with one arm wrapped around her ass.

  "One more of just the two of you." The papparazzo points to MacKenna and me.

  "Of course." Grinning, I cradle her against me, her back to my front.

  After a couple of snaps, the photographer drifts away.

  Marigold and Oliver unclench long enough to come up for air. He shakes his head as if he's in a daze. More sure of herself, Marigold grabs Oliver by his tie and tugs. "Let's dance, lover. They're playing my tune."

  The music is some melody straight out of the 1940s American songbook.

  Oliver resists pixie cut's lure long enough to turn to MacKenna. "Wait. I can't leave MacKenna alone."

  "I'm not alone. I'm with Ty." She smiles at him as she points to the ballroom floor where people are swaying to the music. "Go dance with Marigold. I'm fine."

  As Marigold drags Oliver away, she tosses a glance over her shoulder and mouths "You're welcome."

  MacKenna laughs.

  "She's something else, your friend."

  "Yes, she is. Met her my first day in college. We've been best friends ever since."

  "I can see." Now that they're gone, I give in to the aching need to touch her and curl my hand around her jaw. "How do you know Oliver?"

  She neither protests nor pulls away. "He's an old friend. His cousins owned the farm next to ours in Iowa, and he visited one summer. I was surprised to run into him at the Outlaws' compound. I didn't know he owned the team."

  A muscle ticks in my jaw as I recall how close together they'd stood. "Why were you there?"

  "To get Ron's blessing on the piece I'd written on him. When I ran into Oliver, he invited me to this event so we could catch up." When my hand clenches around her chin, she hurries to say, "I hadn't seen him for years, Ty."

  I glance in the direction her friend and Oliver took before turning back to MacKenna. "Were you sweet on him?"

  She hitches up her chin. "Yes. I was."

  It hurts that admission. Maybe she's still attracted to him. The decent part of me wrestles with the caveman howling within. Much as I want to take her to a place where we can be alone, I can't force her if she'd rather be with her friends. "You want to go with them?" The question comes out as a growl.

  "No." She shakes her head, and her glorious auburn curls riot around her shoulders. "I'd rather be with you." She sounds shy and sweet, like she's not sure of her welcome. For a moment, doubt rises within me. Maybe she's not faking it. Maybe she wants to be with me. But then I recall the phone conversation. She's doing this to advance her career, nothing more. Once she writes her article for the newspaper, she'll want nothing to do with me. That's fine. I only need her for one thing as well—that tight pussy between her legs.

  "Good." Holding on to her hand, I head for the nearest exit. She trips along while holding up her evening gown.

  "Where are we going?" She sounds breathless. Can't tell because she's excited or the maddening pace I'm setting. Either works for me.

  "To my hotel room. We can be private there."

  "You have a room here?"

  "The Outlaws always get their athletes rooms at the hotel where team-sponsored events are held. Technically, when we're at one of these parties, we're still on the clock. Last thing they want is a player involved in a drunk driving accident or an incident involving substance abuse."

  "But you don't have an alcohol problem." She states it as a fact, like she already knows.

  She's right. Although I enjoy the occasional drink, I never drink to excess. "No. But others, yeah."

  "Like who?"

  Not a casual question. She's a journalist, after all. "Sorry. Not my place to tell."

  When we reach the bank of elevators, I press the up button. Amazingly, one set of door slides open. We climb in, and I press 27. We're the only occupants in the car, so I turn and drive her against the side of the elevator. "You're fucking gorgeous tonight."

  Her eyes grow wide, like she wasn't expecting my move. "Th-thank you."

  "New dress?"

  "Oh, no. I can't af—No."

  She can't afford a new dress. That's what she meant to say. Not that she needs to mention it. Since her apartment and junker pretty much told me what I need to know about the state of her finances.

  A fruit basket and two bottles of champagne wait for me in my room. Standard operating procedure from the Outlaws PR. "Would you like something to drink?"

  "Not now. Thank you."

  I remove my jacket and toss it on the couch. "Where's your coat?"

  "Downstairs in the coat check."

  "We'll get it tomorrow when we leave."

  "T-tomorrow?"

  "Yes. You're spending the night with me." Fuck if I'm going to ask her if she wants to stay. She wouldn't be here unless she did.

  She glances around the luxury suite, bites down on her thumbnail. Her nails have been bitten right down to the quick. "But I thought . . ."

  "What did you think?" I tear off my bow tie, throw it on top of my jacket, and start unbuttoning my shirt. I know what she wants. The same thing I do.

  Her wide-eyed glance takes me in. "That we were going to continue your interview."

  "In my room, in a hotel, late at night? No, MacKenna. I asked you here to fuck you."

  Her brow wrinkles, as if she finds my language offensive. "But that's not. But you don't . . ."

  Finished with the shirt, I wrangle it off with my good arm, and toss it on the growing pile. "I don't what?"

  "You never have sex with the same woman twice." Her voice grows breathless as she stares at me. "What are you wearing?"

  "A rotator cuff brace. It'll stabilize the shoulder."

  "Does it hurt? Your shoulder I mean?"

  "A little." I'm not about to tell her it throbs like a bitch. She's a reporter after all. "Who told you I don't fuck the same woman twice?"

  "Marigold. Plus I did some research on you, Ty. You have quite a reputation as a player. And I'm not talking about football."

  Her words manage to make their way through the fog-induced lust, and a light glimmers in the recesses of my mind. "Did you know this before you came to my house?"

  "Before you dragged me there, you mean? Yes. I knew."

  "Is that why you walked out on me? Because you thought I wou
ldn't want to make love to you again?"

  "That was part of it, but the other part was I don't do that."

  I prop one hand on my hip. "Don't do what?"

  "Have one-night stands."

  "Never?"

  "Never. And we didn't make love. We had sex. I may not know much, but I know the difference."

  Fuck. She's everything I thought she was. A wide-eyed innocent, trying to make her way in the world. And here she'd run into the big, bad wolf, who didn't waste a second gobbling her up. "God. I've been such an idiot."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I thought I'd been taken in by a groupie. When in reality, you're exactly what you appear to be. Sunshine and rainbows and unicorns and lollipops."

  She hitches up her chin. "I don't believe in unicorns."

  Maybe not unicorns, but she's everything that is good and sweet in this world.

  I twist a finger around one of her glorious curls, breathe it in. "We made love, MacKenna. Trust me. I know the difference."

  "We couldn't have."

  "I wanted you like no other woman, so determined to get you in my bed. And once I got you there, I made sure you enjoyed it."

  "You don't do that with . . . the others?"

  "They get what they need from me, and then they're gone. Not you, though. Not ever you."

  Tears swim in her eyes. "That can't be, Ty. That just can't be."

  "Oh, yeah. Then tell me, why am I still hung up on you? Why can't I sleep? Why does my entire house smell of lavender and roses even after the cleaning service been in twice?"

  Her gaze grows more luminous. "Does it?"

  I pull her against me, and my hand rides down her back to her ass. No way can she miss how much I want her. I'm hard as stone. "Yes."

  Chapter 13

  MacKenna

  CONFUSED AS HELL, I spin and take a couple of steps away from him. I can't think when I'm mashed up against him, his shaft practically imprinted on my skin. "What do you want from me, Ty?"

  He brushes a thumb across my cheek. "Right now I want to make love to you."