Consider Me (Playing For Keeps, #1)

by Becka Mack

He chuckles, tossing a controller into my lap. “One day, some girl is gonna walk into your life and flip your whole world upside down and you’re not gonna know what the fuck to do with yourself except drop to your knees and beg her to never leave.” My head bobs as I throw another cookie in my mouth. “And that’ll be the day I settle down.

Cara eyes the little pink bag in my hands, bouncing on her toes in her sky-high heels. “Oooh, gimme-gimme!” “Ah-ah,” I tsk, holding the bag away from her. “Where are your manners?” Her blue eyes roll as she pops a hip. “Gimme my fucking present, please.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. Is there something I can help you with?” I lift my drink to my lips. “Nope.” She twists in my direction, shoving my knees aside with her own. “No? You came over here to stare at me?” “Pretty much.”

“Oh, Mr. Beckett. You are as naïve as you are pretty.” She gives my chest a patronizing pat. “The very last place I’m going is home with you.”

“I have absolutely no desire,” she starts slowly, enunciating every word, for my benefit I’d guess, “to be another notch in your bedpost. I’m sure this whole messy hair, pretty green eyes, crooked smile bullshit you’ve got going on melts many panties, but not mine.”

“But I want you,” I whine playfully, catching her hand in mine. It’s soft and warm, tiny, mine swallowing hers right up. “I can’t take my eyes off you, you’re hockey-literate, you’ve told me to go fuck myself in at least three roundabout ways, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this attracted to someone.”

“Has anyone ever been able to tell you no?” she asks on a whisper. My chest puffs with pride. “Never.” She grins, and Christ, it’s a glorious sight. “Well, I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

There was a moment, a very brief one with my hand in his, his piercing emerald eyes holding mine, that I might have … considered it. Maybe. To be determined. Blame the alcohol for mistakes nearly made.

I’m about to tell him I’m not a slow eater, he’s just a garbage disposal, but the words get lost in my throat when he lifts my feet into his lap and pulls my socks off. His thumbs dig into my arch, and I’m eternally grateful Cara and I spent yesterday morning at the spa. Carter taps the crimson polish on my toes. “Pretty.” “What are you doing?” I finally ask, then moan when he works a particularly sore spot. “Cara said you needed a foot rub. So I’m giving you a foot rub.”

Carter grabs the lapels and hauls me into him. I’m momentarily terrified he’s going to try to kiss me, and more so that I won’t stop him, but instead he works the buttons of my wool peacoat.

With a hand on his chest, I ease him back a step. I smile him—extra syrupy—and his own grin grows, all dimples. He’s feeling pretty confident right now. I can’t wait to tear him down. My fingertip skims the neck of his T-shirt, my palm curving over the nape of his neck as I guide his face down to mine. He grips my hips as my lips graze his ear, and I hate how good he smells. There’s an irrational part of me that wants to lick him like a freaking ice cream cone. “It’s gonna be a no from me.” I watch that smug smile melt right off his handsome face before it disappears behind the door I slam. Damn, that felt good.

“Liv, Liv, Liv, Liv, Liv,” Carter chants, punctuating each call of my name with a tap on the glass. “What?” I whisper-yell, finally spinning his way, throwing my hands overhead. His grin is explosive, handsome, sexy, infuriating. Leaning over the boards, he stares down the length of his stick at me, the tip resting on top of the glass. “Hi.”

Two minutes later, he lines up for a face-off, bending over, stick across his knees, perfect hockey butt in the air. And he smiles at me. He skates by the bench. Smiling at me. Squirts water into his mouth. Smiling at me.

And his electric gaze locks with mine. His stick lifts in slow motion, pointing. At me. Carter Beckett points his damn stick right at me. And he winks. He fucking winks. For you, his perfect lips mouth to me.

Emmett elbows my side before I take off after her. “Behave.” I definitely could, but it’s not in my nature.

Thing is, though, I’m so far from being done with that woman. That’s why I’m only one step behind her as she stalks back to the booth. “Did you call me a manwhore?” I ask as I slide in beside her, catching the tail end of her conversation with Cara. “I would never call you something like that,” she insists, swiping her beer from my hand. “Yeah.” Cara accepts her own drink with a smile. “She called you Mr. Manwhore.” Olivia hides her guilty grin behind the rim of her glass. “It’s much more distinguished.”

“Do you turn down challenges, as well?” There it is, the bite of her teeth into her tempting bottom lip, that quirk in the corner of her mouth that gives way to a slow explosion, the grin that ignites her entire face. She slips her hand into mine, and I know. I’ve got her.

“I like it when you smile,” he murmurs. “It makes me want to smile too.”

She eyes me curiously. “What are you doing here, Carter?” I tip my head across the street. “Fundraiser.” “And what are you doing here?”

“I’m getting a pie to the face if we raise twenty thousand dollars, and I know Adam Lockwood is looking forward to delivering said pie.” Olivia snickers. “What if you don’t raise it all?” “Then I donate the rest of the money and get a pie to the face.” “How much do you think I’d have to pay Adam to let me do the honors?” I grin down at her, tugging her closer. “C’mon, pip-squeak.”

“Am I exceptionally small or are you friends exceptionally tall?” I whisper to Carter as we approach a group of his teammates. He’s currently digging into his second cinnamon bun, his fingers covered in frosting, but he does spare me an amused and lingering glance. “Both. Don’t worry. They won’t bite.” He winks. “I might, though.”

I cross my arms. “Pretty sure you have to ask someone on a date, Carter.” “Eh, whatever. Ask, drag; it’s all the same.” He threads his fingers through mine and hauls me forward. “C’mon, pip-squeak. Let’s go get our faces painted.” “I’m twenty-five. I’m not getting my face painted.” * * * I got my face painted. Honestly, I don’t want to talk about it. “You look so pretty.” “I have your damn jersey number on my cheek, Carter!”

And I guess that’s the thing: just because he’s got this sweet, goofy side doesn’t mean the playboy side doesn’t exist. You can be both, and you can have both. But if I’m going to have him, I don’t want both. The longer I stay, the more I see, the easier it becomes for me to fall. And I refuse to fall when nobody’s going to be waiting at the bottom to catch me.

“I have no desire to go on a date with you just to let you fuck me at the end of the night and then promptly watch you publicly parade around town with a different girl glued to your hip every other day of the week, leaving me feeling used and tossed aside.”

You can have anybody you want, Carter.” His laugh is hollow, long fingers skimming the sharp angle of his jaw. “I can’t, clearly. Because what I want is you.”

I’ll order you an Uber to take you home so you don’t have to worry about what might happen if we’re alone together in a dark car later.” “I’m not worried—” “You are. You’re fucking transparent, Ollie. ’Cause I’d probably try to kiss you, and you’d probably let me.” He leans back, blowing out a deep breath. “And who the fuck knows what happens after that.” A soft, easy smile. “So stay, please. No funny business, I promise.”

“It’s not a date,” I remind him quickly, poking his shoulder. He shakes his head, hands up. “Not a date.” He opens the door and gestures for me to climb in, and then proceeds to reach over and buckle me in.

“Shut up.” I smile up at him. “I’ll see you on New Year’s Eve.” He nods. “Not a date.” “Not a date,” I repeat. Then he shuts the door, hits me with two finger guns, and yells, “It’s a date!”

I loved everything about Christmas. But we lost my dad seven years ago and Christmas has never been the same.

“It’s hard, you know,” he starts softly, slipping his hand into mine while I guide him to Dublin’s lead. “Living without your soul mate. Holidays without them. New years and birthdays. Heck, listenin’ to the evening news without them is hard. It’s all hard, Carter.”

“I know that was Olivia, because that’s what you said in your interview, smart-ass! I want to know who Olivia is. You’ve never done that before, dedicate a goal to a girl.”

“The bins made it out this year.” “I couldn’t open them,” she admits. “Just sat there and stared at them. But … it’s a step, right? Even if it’s a small one?” “It’s a step, Mom.” As we stand there in the silence of the kitchen, holding onto each other while the Christmas music drifts all around us, I make her the only promise I know how to make. “If I find something like you and Dad had, the last thing I’ll do is let it get away from me.”

“Carter? Why do you have a condo if you don’t live there?” “Condo?” Garrett repeats, wrapping me in a hug as he moves by us. “You mean Carter’s Palace of—” He slams his jaw shut, eyes wide as his gaze ricochets between us. “Carter’s Palace of what?” I urge. “Don’t,” Carter warns him lowly. “Don’t you dare.” A beat of silence stretches between us, the tension palpable. “Love,” Garrett whispers. “Carter’s Palace of Love.” He cowers from Carter’s menacing stare before dashing down the hallway, calling his apology over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, okay? I don’t lie well under pressure! Don’t hurt me!”

Long fingers lacing through mine, he tugs me along behind him. “C’mon, pip-squeak. Let’s go have a drink.” I can’t think of a more awful, reckless, deliriously alluring idea. So naturally, I follow him.

Carter trails in behind us, hands tucked in his pockets, and I follow his glower to Garrett’s hand on my hip. Oh my. Mr. Beckett is jealous.

The group around us groans, as if they know something I don’t. Carter just grins, pulling those dimples right in. “Deal.” He brushes my curls off my face, tucking them behind my ear and gripping my neck. “Joke’s on you, Ol.” He touches a tender kiss to my jaw, making me tremble. “I love Disney movies and I get to take you on a date. Now I win, regardless of the outcome.” Carter is good, as expected. So are Adam and Garrett. But I’m better.

Adam chucks a ping-pong ball off the table. “Are you fucking kidding me, Beckett? You got distracted by an ass!” He drags both hands down his face before gesturing at me. “It’s one bangin’ ass!”

“Oh, Carter? I went a hundred and eight games undefeated in university.” Eyes locked on his, I send the ball soaring, grinning when I hear that plop as it sinks into his drink, the crowd around us exploding with cheers.

I’m not sure which one will win, but the bold part of me swings two arms around his neck and says, “How does it feel to lose, big boy?” Something daunting and feral flashes in his eyes, and when his fingers wrap tenderly around the base of my throat, pulling me closer, I know his next words are true. “Trust me. The last thing I’ve done is lost.”

“Leave my guy alone. He’s got a crush, that’s all.” A crush? My throat squeezes. “Psssh. No I don’t.” Do I? “You do, Carter. That’s why you haven’t left the bar with a single woman lately.” “Maybe I needed a break. I’ve been tired.” “That’s why you bought Olivia cinnamon buns and cheesecake and talked her into getting her face painted with you last week. That’s why you stood there with your arms around her during the tree lighting, just because she shivered, and that’s why you invited her to a party at your house, even though you never have meaningless hookups here. Because Olivia means something to you, and you, my friend, have a crush.” Well, shit. He might be right.

Carter. I mean, how many women have you slept with since we met?” “None,” I answer truthfully and without hesitation. A snort of disbelief. “Bullshit.” “What reason would I have to lie?” “To get me into bed.” The duh hangs heavy in the air between us. “I’ve never needed to lie to get a woman into bed before.”

“Because then maybe you could get past all the other shit and we could move forward.” She honestly could not look more confused. She’s also seriously lacking her sassy comebacks. Part of me worries I’ve broken her. “What in the world are you talking about?” I gesture between us. “This. Me and you.” I drive a hand through the air like an arrow. “Forward.” “Is there a me and you, Carter? A forward?” “I … I think so.”

A relationship is something two people try together, yes, but I’m not a test run to see if being in a relationship is something you actually desire. You need to decide what you want first before you go after the girl.” “What if the only thing I’m sure about wanting is you?” She sweeps her thumb over the indent in my chin. “Sometimes wanting something isn’t enough.”

For some reason, I know: no isn’t an option when she’s involved. Because I can do better, be better, and I can do it for Olivia. I want to do it for Olivia.

Olivia’s gazes crashes into mine. And suddenly there’s only thirty seconds to midnight. And I start moving.

“I-I … Carter, I—” “Relax, Ollie.” I rake my fingers through her soft curls, and when I bracket her jaw in my hand, I swear I hear her heart thumping. Five. My thumb skims her lower lip. Her eyes flicker. “Can I?” Four. Three. Two. One. “Yes.”

Because when I haul Olivia into me, when her hands slip up my arms, over my shoulders, fingers plunging into my hair, when our lips touch—fucking finally—my entire body comes alive. My world explodes with color, my hands on her face trembling with desire and need, with shock. I want more. Need more. I don’t see how I’ll ever get enough of this, of her, of us. She’s a drug, and I’m addicted off my very first hit.

Locating Olivia’s fingers in my hair, I twine them through mine and pull our hands to my chest, pressing one more kiss to her lips. And one last one. Okay, one more. Just for good measure, because fuck me, she tastes like the best kind of sin.

“You fucking kissed her,” he hisses. “She said I could,” I hiss back. He shoves my shoulder. “Do you like her?” I jam my elbow into his ribs. “Yes, I fucking like her.” “Shhh!” Clapping a hand across my mouth, Emmett pushes me against the wall. With a finger on his lips, he gestures down the hall, where Cara’s voice filters from. “You like him.” It’s more accusation than anything. “Of course I like him, Cara. He’s charming and funny and makes me smile in this irritating sort of way and I’m losing my damn mind because I’m totally falling for Carter Beckett.”

“Yes, Carter, endgame. What’s your plan?” “I want to …” I scratch my head. I want to see her again. I want to take her to that Disney movie. I want to kiss her some more, maybe snuggle on my couch while we watch TV in front of the fireplace and I play with her hair, ’cause it’s soft and it smells nice. “I want Olivia.” Plain and simple. “You want every girl.” “It’s not the same, Cara. Not with her.” It’s never really been about wanting so much as it’s been about satisfying an urge, slapping a temporary bandage over a void. Because the truth is, though I promised my mom I wouldn’t let a love like my parents’ get away, there’s a big part of me that not only expected to never find it, but didn’t want to either. When you love someone so wholly, it makes you weak. You risk pieces of yourself that you can’t afford to lose.