The Relationship Pact (Kings of Football, #3)

by Adriana Locke

It’s my thing. It’s the one thing I have all to myself. It’s the only thing not jaded by my position on campus or the fact that I’m an athlete or that my abs are awesome.

They say doing the same things while expecting a different result is ridiculous. That’s what I’ve been doing. Dating different packages of the same contents over and over again. And somehow, I expect it to work.

“You’re going to eat him up and spit him out,” I tell her. “I always spit them out.” She tosses me a wink. “Swallowing is gross and reserved for the men who deserve it. That has yet to be proven.”

This girl is no vixen. There’s too much innocence about her for that. But she’s not naïve either. She assesses me too carefully for that to be true.

“I can’t wait to take this dress off you later,” I whisper loud enough for Sebastian to hear. Her jaw hangs open as a giggle of disbelief escapes from it. “Don’t act all innocent,” I tease her. “I have the texts you sent me earlier, you dirty girl.”

Songs are written about smiles like the one on her face. It’s a picture of a split second in time without worry—clear of any reservations or stress.

“You are a handful,” she tells me. “You could find out …”

“Did you hear that?” “What?” “The sound of my eyes rolling into the back of my head,” I say.

You’re Jack’s wife. It’s his schtick. I’m his stepdaughter—” “There are no steps in our family, Larissa.”

“Why does the idea of sitting alone bother you so much? It doesn’t bother me. I’m great company. You should hear the conversations I have with myself.”

“I’m twenty-four. My job is to live my life and make mistakes so I can learn from them. I think maybe you didn’t realize that when you were young.”

Jack does love her. He’s a saint for how much he indulges her. But Jack loves baseball as much as he loves my mother, and that’s a platform she doesn’t want to share. I don’t blame her for that.

“Well, she’s wrong. Society has drilled into our heads—into her head—that women need a man. We don’t. I mean, maybe for procreation, but there are sperm banks for that. Procreation is even a moot point now that I think about it.”

“You aren’t going to solve this situation with your mother overnight, so you need to pick your battles with her.” “I pick this.” She sits back in her chair. “Then go hard, little girl. If it means that much to you, fight with her. Stand your ground. Refuse to go and dig in your heels.”

And if there’s one thing I know from lots of past experiences, it’s to go with Crew’s advice. He’s never led me astray. River, though? Found myself naked and covered in strawberry-flavored lube once, thanks to him.

I want something wild yet stable. I’m after a connection to someone who extends beyond attraction or social circles. I want a love like Bellamy’s grandparents, and a marriage like Aunt Siggy’s and Uncle Rodney’s. I want something that’s going to last forever. And that terrifies me.

“Because maybe she’s tired of being burned. Maybe she’s sick of finding herself in the same situations over and over with men who seem good at the start and then end up … tolerating her instead of loving her. Maybe she just wants to be alone for a while and break her bad habits so she can pick a guy with mental clarity, for once.”

“Want me to go?” “Didn’t you have some lewd love affair with Jack’s partner’s daughter or something a few years ago?” He pauses. “I don’t remember. Possibly. Sounds like it could be true.”

“Okay. I just wanted to make sure a list of women didn’t turn you down.” “Sweetheart, no one ever turns me down.”

“So I need a date, a fake one I won’t actually fall in love with, to save me from an arranged marriage.”

“Your naivete is adorable.” “And your confidence is admirable.”

“If I do start to fall in love with that wicked charm of yours, all I’ll have to do is remember this conversation, and I’m sure I’ll be able to deal,” she says. “Yeah, well, women usually take it as a challenge.” “Not me. I’m challenged out. Just looking for the easy road from here on out.”

I wish I could ask her to stand still, to never leave that spot just so I could stay right here and feel this … balance. This calm before what I’m afraid might be a storm because there’s always a storm brewing. It’s a fact of life.

“The gentleman in me wants to say that you look beautiful.” He smirks. “But the man in me wants to tell you that you look fucking hot.”

I turn as he blows a bubble. As it snaps, he winks. Shit.

There was something extraordinary about their relationship. There was something special about their family as a whole. And the whole memory of them feels like a stake being shoved right through my heart.

“Let me guess, minor in communication?” “Music appreciation, actually. I try not to communicate with anyone I don’t have to.”

A strand of hair has fallen out of the high ponytail she had it in, and I’m jealous of the way it flirts against her lips.

I can’t sit here and share that the last time I saw my father was a rainy morning when I was six years old, and the last time I saw the woman who gave birth to me involved a couple of ounces of dope.

“Someone really burned you, didn’t they?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. He narrows his back at me. He pauses before pulling his attention back to the road. “Yes. They did.”

He’s beautifully confusing. What you see isn’t all you get.

“You’ve left me speechless,” I tell her with a laugh. “Story of my life. I’ve been leaving men speechless for seventy-five years.”

“Well, I played house with my husband for fifty years, and it always felt like we were playing pretend. He was always so much fun, my dear Ronnie. You just never knew what that man was going to say. I woke up every morning for fifty years, and every day felt like the first one.”

“Oh, child. Because that’s what you are—a child. You couldn’t handle this old woman.” “I don’t know about that,” I tease. “I’ll have you know that I’ve handled my fair share of women.” She lifts her chin. “That’s what my last boyfriend said. He couldn’t keep up with me.”

“I think he thought I was old and done. Heck, there might be snow on the roof, but that doesn’t mean there’s not a fire in the furnace if you know what I mean.”

OMG please don’t let this be Judy’s only scene in this book!

“Can I get a check?” “No, but you can answer my question.” I lean forward. “What if I don’t want to?” “Then I’ll swat your behind.” She grins. “Go ahead and don’t answer me. I might like it.”

I actually like that they both actively and regularly talk to themselves....it’s something so normal that is rarely featured in books.

“Just avoid him,” Boone tells her. “Trust me. I try. I avoid him like the fucking plague, but he is the fucking plague. I’d rather just avoid him from my house.”

“If you get Cheez-Its on this dress ….” I warn her. “I hope that’s not all that gets all over this dress tonight,” she whispers in my ear.

“If she’s after cute grandkids, you’re in trouble. One look at me, and she’s going to think about how she hopes her daughter breeds some of these genes into your gene pool.” “Breeding your genes into my gene pool?” She lifts a brow. “When you say it like that, it’s such a turn-on.”

Sex is different. It’s an exchange. Kissing, though, is a connection. You can fuck someone and not have to face them. You do what you want to the other person’s body, but it has nothing to do with them as a person. Intercourse is a pleasure transaction. Kissing is a communication, an intentional decision to face someone and form a personal connection.

“Would you rather I demonstrate?” I ask. She tries to hide her smile. “Does that mean you’re thinking about kissing me again?” “This isn’t about me,” I tell her, lowering my face toward hers. “This is about what suits you right now.”

Her attention to detail is awe-inspiring. Judging by their contented expressions, each person walks away feeling like the most important person in the room.

“Just thank you for coming tonight. I hope we can have dinner soon.” “I would love that,” I lie. “But I’ll be going back to school soon. I need to finish my education so I can be worthy of your daughter.”

I’m fairly certain that it would always feel like a level of heaven to have her—a woman so beautiful and funny and smart and classy—up against me.

“I’m warning you,” I tell her. “Warnings are for chumps.” I chuckle. “Is that so?” “People only issue warnings if they don't want to have to follow through.” She shrugs cockily. “I don't know what you're warning me about, Hollis, but I hope it doesn't mean that you're taking options off the table.”

But you, Mr. Hudson, are a special kind of trouble.”

If she wants me to act like I’ll fuck her, I will. And if she wants me to actually fuck her, I'll do that too.

“You're playing a dangerous game,” I tell her. “And why is that?” I run my nose down the side of her cheek. She holds her breath as I smile against her skin. It’s pure torture for me, but she deserves a little payback since her touches have been driving me insane for a while now. “Because if you don't stop,” I say, lowering my voice, “I will find a place, and I will fuck you. Hard.”

This entire exchange is a course on writing the highest level of the sexual build up.....complete and utter turn on.

“Do you want to be fucked, Miss Mason?”