Consider Me (Playing For Keeps, #1)

by Becka Mack

“Can I stay here tonight?” she finally asks. Ah, fuck. This question again. I get it every time. Is it because she genuinely wants to stay, or because she’s secretly holding out hope she’ll be the one to change Carter Beckett’s ways, to make him want to settle down? Sometimes I think there’s a pool going with a prize for whoever the winning girl is. Oh, wait; there is. The prize is the captain of the Vancouver Vipers’ eight-figure salary. My answer is the same every time: “I don’t do sleepovers.”

“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.”

I watch her twirl, sweeping her silky waist-length golden locks over her shoulder, my eyes following the curve of her spine down to her round ass. Backless dress. Nice. Look, she’s one of my best friend’s girls. I’d never, ever touch her, but I’m a man with two eyes on my face. I can appreciate a good-looking woman without a desire to act on it.

“Captain of the Vancouver Vipers. And you can take that ‘sweetheart’ and stuff it up your ass.”

“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.” My forehead crumples as she steps out of reach. “What?” “Enjoy the rest of your night,” she calls over her shoulder before she squeezes through the crowd, disappearing, and Jesus Christ, I’m actually gonna have to go home and do what she told me to: fuck myself. Well, fuck. I don’t like this.

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.

Today is one of those days where it’s me versus the volleyball net. The noises I’m making are bordering on the edge of sounds I reserve for when I’m alone in my bedroom with my vibrating pocket boyfriend, and I keep glancing over my shoulder toward my office at one end of the gym. I can see the damn step stool right there, holding the freaking door open so I wouldn’t forget it.

“You know, my birthday’s January third. When we get back from Christmas vacation, I’ll be eighteen.” And I’ll still be twenty-five, his teacher, and super uninterested. “Good for you.” I slam the door down, slide the lock in place, and stalk off toward my office, tossing, “Merry Christmas, Brad,” over my shoulder.

But Brad doesn’t take the hint—he rarely does—and follows behind me like a lost puppy. “Will you ever stop playing hard to get?” “Are you my student?” “Yes.” “Then no.” “Fine. But in six-and-a-half months I won’t be your student anymore!”

“Ah, c’mon, Ol. Don’t you remember how much fun we had last weekend? You’re on vacation! Let’s party!” Do I remember how much fun I had? Which part? Grinding all over Cara because being a respectable human five days a week is exhausting and I desperately needed to let loose? Or Carter Beckett telling me he wanted to fuck me silly and buy me breakfast? Maybe it was the two-hour post-pizza-and-Carter nap, followed by three hours of Brooklyn 99 reruns after I got home from my brother’s house Sunday night. I guess it was kinda fun.

Even if we were, one-night stands and polygamy aren’t my thing, and neither is the high risk of catching a venereal disease if we get too close and accidentally do the no-pants dance. I’ve already mentioned I sometimes don’t make the best decisions under the influence of alcohol.

I’m not interested in dating for the sake of not being alone, and I’m not interested in fucking just for the sake of feeling good. That’s what battery-powered boyfriends are for, and I keep mine in a drawer at home. In fact, I pulled it out as soon as I got home Sunday afternoon after leaving Carter with his jaw dangling. And yes, I thought of his stupid, hot face while I used it. I’m not ashamed. I’ll never tell anyone.

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.”

Carter knows what he does to me, and that right there will be my downfall.

“Oh, he’s definitely bad news. I love him to bits, but if I were a single female, I’d probably want to rip his dick off and ram it down his own throat.” She motions at her crotch before pretending to stab an imaginary dick into her mouth.

Cara’s sitting beside me screeching at every play. She didn’t know a thing about hockey before she met Emmett, and now she never stops berating the refs. “Oh come on, ref!” She bangs the glass with her fist. “Don’t you have a wife to go home and screw? Quit screwing my boys!”

He jumps onto the bench, gloves pressed to the glass, grinning down at me. “You like that, Olivia?” he hollers. “That was for you!” By far the worst part, though? My crimson face all over the motherfucking jumbotron.

“You mean when you landed my face on the jumbotron? When everybody around me started wondering who I was and if you’d finally decided to settle down? Or when Sportsnet said I was pretty enough but not the typical swimsuit models you fuck?” His eyes hood. “You could be a swimsuit model if you wanted to.” He’s just not getting it.

“What I lack in height I make up for in attitude.” That’s what my dad says, anyway, and I tend to agree with him. “You don’t fucking say,” Carter muses sarcastically. “How tall are you?” “Five-three,” I lie. “Bull-fucking-shit.” He chuckles, pulling back to take me in. “I’m giving you five-one.” A growl rumbles in my throat. “Damn it.”

“Twenty-five? You’re a baby!” “I am not. Your birthday’s in February, so you’re not even three—” I squeeze my lips together as the implication behind my words sinks in. Carter grins triumphantly. “Oh shit.” “You Googled the fuck out of me, Miss Parker.” “No.” Obviously. Call it morbid curiosity. “What else did you find?” Other than confirmation that his smile is permanently dazzling and dimple-popping? “That you really like women.”

“Eh, Woody.” I nudge Adam in the arm. “Next year maybe think about hosting this in the summer so we’re not at risk of losing our balls.” He laughs, surveying the packed park. “This is when they need the money the most. Put a sock on your cock if you’re that worried.” I snicker. “Sock on your cock.”

The tallest man in the group turns around, and I recognize him immediately as Adam Lockwood, Vancouver’s superstar goalie. He spreads his arms wide, stepping in our direction. “Where’d you go? I thought maybe you went to buy a cock …” His eyes slide my way, and his cheeks flush. “Sock …” He clears his throat and gives me a shy wave. “Hi. Me Adam. No. Fuck.” He claps a hand to his face before offering it to me. “Adam. I’m Adam. I’m sorry. I’m just embarrassed because I don’t know you but I said cock sock in front of you.” Oh my God, he’s adorable.

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!”

“How do you know I’m looking at anything, old man?” Hank is eighty-three years young and began losing his vision at fifteen due to Leber hereditary optic neuropathy. It affected his left eye first, and a few months later his right. Though he can perceive shadows, he’s been legally blind since before his sixteenth birthday. Hank taps the spot between his eyes with two fingers. “Third eye. Some people call it mother’s intuition.” “You’re not a mother,” I remind him, in case he’s forgotten.

“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 don’t have a girlfriend.” Jennie lands a punch to my gut, then flips her braid over her shoulder. “That’s what I said. Nobody would ever want to date you.” “Please. I’m a hot commodity. Everyone wants a piece of me.” She rolls her eyes as she greets Hank with a hug. “Yeah, it’s called alimony.” She barks a loud laugh in my face

“How are you doing today, Mom?” “I’m okay.” A staggered inhale followed by a raspy exhale that hints at the lie. “I miss your dad, Carter. I miss him so much.” My eyelids fall shut as if that’ll stop the pain. It won’t. My mom’s pain is my own. “I know, Mom. I miss him too.”

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.”

“You can’t kiss my not-a-real-date-but-actually-is-a-real-date at midnight!”

“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. With Olivia, the ache doesn’t feel so startlingly empty. I don’t know why, and the thought alone scares the shit out of me.

As I sink down to the cushion beside her, I find myself wondering if everything is always going to be until Olivia, if this is that point in my life where everything changes. The thought is as thrilling as it is confusing and frightening.

“I’ve only had sex with two people,” I blurt out. “I only sleep with people I care about.” If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he cups my cheek, kisses me softly, and says, “I’m sorry I can’t say the same. But I can tell you honestly if I only had sex with people I cared about, I’d be losing my virginity tonight at the age of twenty-seven.” Surely that can’t be right. There’s no way I’m the only person he’s ever—

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. Never, Ollie. I just want you to consider … consider giving me a shot. Consider me. That’s all I want, Ol. A chance with you.”

Her wide eyes lock on mine, cheeks blazing, hand hanging there in midair, holding on to a … A goddamn Oreo. Woman’s my fucking soul mate.

“Oh, and Carter? You can’t fix your past, but if you want a different future, all you have to do is choose it.”

Cara snorts and pulls out her phone, showing me a text thread with a contact labeled World’s Most Annoying Man. is ollie ok? i don’t want her 2 be upset about that girl. does she hate me? do u think she wants to talk maybe 1 day soon? maybe i could send her flowers???? roses? sunflowers? seems like a bright flower kinda girl. i think i miss her, care. this sucks.

Jemmy is her little brother Jeremy. Yes, my brother named his son after himself. I call my nephew Jem, and most of the time, my brother Asshole.

Carter told me you coach the girls’ volleyball team at your school.” “He talks about me?” “When he’s not being a mopey ballsack? Yeah, he talks about you all the time.” I can’t imagine a mopey version of Carter. He’s so upbeat all the time, charismatic and boisterous. A sudden wave of guilt rushes over me. “Yeah.” Garrett taps the corner of my frown. “That’s exactly how he looked. You two are made for each other.”

Fuck control and fuck slow. I just want him to fuck me.

“Control? You? A man?” He slaps a palm down on the table. “Carter, let me tell ya something, son. In a relationship, the only person ever in control is the woman. She always—always, always, always—has the power. She owns you and those dangly things between your legs.” He cups both hands side by side, around imaginary balls, I presume. “The sooner you realize that the better.”

“Carter?” she calls suddenly, the words thick with sleep. Her eyes are still closed, and I think she might be dreaming. “Yeah, princess?” “What if I fall in love with you?” “Then I’ll fall with you, too, Ollie girl.”

“You’re enough, Ollie. So enough you leave me overflowing. And I don’t think a good measure of confidence is whether you compare yourself to others. It’s only natural. I think it’s about showing each other what we mean to the other and being confident in what we have together. That’s where that feeling of enough comes from.”

“My heart chooses you because you’re feisty and fierce. You’re sarcastic and you know how to clap back at me, and I love those bits of confidence. But I love when you show me your sensitive side, too, and I love that you think you hide it so well but actually wear it on your

“You have a big heart, Ollie, and with a big heart comes big emotions. Some of those are fears, insecurities, and that’s okay.”

“I can’t change my past, but if you give me the chance, I can change my future. But I need all of you, Ollie. Not half of you.” I watch the scrape of my thumb along her lower lip. “I know I flip your world upside down. You fucking demolish mine. Please, let me in. Let me see you. Let me have you. All of you.”

“If you want obsession, fierce appreciation, wild, unrestrained passion … If you want fucking magic, Ollie, then it’s me. Let it be me.” The soft brush of our lips sends a thrill down my spine. “Let’s be scared together.”

Ever let someone blindfold you and fuck you into oblivion? If it’s not on your bucket list, add it right now. Trust me.

“You’re my favorite everything, Ollie.”

“I never thought about marriage before Olivia.” “But you think about it now. With her.” Yeah. I do. All the time. “I can’t imagine my world without her in it.” “That sounds a whole lot like a soon to me, son.” Real soon.

I’m gonna eat you like the last slice of pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving when you get home.