Page 8 of The Player

“Are you serious right now?” She was right in his face, jaw tight and breathing hard.

A few hours after the game, Phallon had shown up at the two-story house Drew rented with three of his teammates, knowing damn well she wasn’t supposed to just pop up like that. And then she’d asked if they could go to the party together, all official and shit. Yeah, right. Like he’d ever agree to that.

She didn’t take it well. Next thing he knew, she was asking a bunch of questions about their “relationship” that she already knew the answers to.

“What relationship?” he’d asked. And that was what got him slapped.

“Why do you have to be such an asshole?” She stomped her foot like a two-year-old.

“I’m the asshole?! You just slapped me.”

“Yeah, well. You had it coming!”

This chick was wicked crazy.

“For what? Being honest with you?”

“Aren’t you sick of screwing around? Why can’t you just . . . just⁠—”

“Just what? Be with only you?”

Phallon’s face crumpled, and her eyes went wet.

Fuck. Here we go. Phallon wasn’t the first girl to cry over him, but the tears got to him every damn time. They made him squirm, and all he ever wanted was to get the hell out of there.

“Hold up. I told you from the jump what this was. You didn’t want to hear it, or you figured you could change me. Either way, that’s not on me. That’s on you.”

“But we’re good together.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, but he shrugged her off, wincing when it pulled at his ribs. “Don’t you dare stand there and act like we’re not,” she said.

“I’m not the relationship type. You know this. And I told you we could keep having fun as long as nobody got too attached and tried to turn it into something it wasn’t.”

Nobody meaning her, because it damn sure wasn’t gonna be him. And come on. He knew what this was really about. Phallon wanted to be around when he went pro, the girl hanging on his arm on draft day. If she thought he was taking her with him into the NFL, she was out of her mind.

“But I thought . . .” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth.

Drew closed his eyes for a second, then looked at her again. “You thought what?”

“I thought you liked me.”

He stepped closer and set his hands on her shoulders. “I did like you.”

“Did?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

“Oh, fuck you.” She knocked his hands away.

Drew rolled his eyes. Whatever patience he’d started with was just about gone.

“You don’t want me?” she spat. “Fine. I don’t need you. Plenty of guys want me.”

“Cool.”

If she felt like fucking the entire football team, that was her business. From what a couple of the guys had told him, she’d gotten through a good chunk of them before she ever made it to him. He’d been with other girls the whole time they’d been messing around and had never once pretended otherwise.

Somewhere along the way, though, she’d started getting possessive, asking who else he’d been with, catching an attitude whenever she saw him talking to another girl, and wearing his number around campus like it gave her some kind of claim on him. Drew should’ve shut that shit down the first time it happened, but the sex was good and ignoring it had been easier.

But a couple of days ago, she’d walked up and kissed him in the middle of Waldenbooks with Nicole standing right there. Drew didn’t do PDA, and Phallon knew that better than anybody, so she’d caught him completely off guard. By the time he pulled away, Nicole was already walking off. Phallon pulling a stunt like that had pissed him off. Nicole seeing it—and missing the part where he stopped it—had pissed him off even more.