Page 2 of Set Play

Dumbass.

“Uh, thanks, but no. My boyfriend is waiting for me, and he isn’t one to share.” Okay, so that’s a fucking lie. I don’t have a boyfriend. Hell, the number of people in this city I know is limited to my coworkers at the clinic and Niamh, but this sleazeball doesn’t need to know that.

The look he gives me is one of complete disbelief. “Pretty girl,” he coos in what I’m sure he thinks is a sexy drawl. “I’ve been watching you from the second your perky ass walked in, and I know for a fact that no man came in with you. So how about you quit playing hard to get and let me show you a good time?”

Fighting the urge to gag, I try to back away even further, but he manages to grab my arm, using it to pull me into his chest. “Even if you do have a boyfriend, I bet he’s a real pussy who doesn’t know how to please you the way I can,” he whispers against my hair as he roughly grabs my ass.

Using every bit of strength I have, I shove him away and narrow my eyes at him in what Henri calls my “ball buster glare.”

“Do not fucking touch me. What part of ‘no’ do you not understand?” I take a step back and immediately run into a solid chest of muscle. Before I can turn around and apologize, a strong arm wraps around my waist and pulls me back firmly. The intricate tattoo that decorates the entirety of exposed skin catches my attention as the muscles flex with the movement; I strain my eyes to see the sleeve tattoo better in the dim lighting but can’t quite make out the details.

A dark hypnotic voice rumbles against my back as warm lips press against my temple, sending shivers down my spine. “I believe my girlfriend told you to beat it, cabrón. Didn’t your mother ever teach you to respect a lady?”

The malicious rumble behind the words is in direct contrast to the gentle kiss in a way that should probably scare me. Instead, I find myself relaxing in his hold. Distantly, his voice tugs a thread of recognition. I swear I know him. I shake the feeling off, convinced that I’m imagining things.

Silently thanking him for the save, I squeeze the forearm still locked around my stomach before turning my attention back to the jackass with a hearing problem.

“Listen, you Stetson reject, I wouldn’t touch you with my worst enemy’s pussy. I’d say go find some other poor girl to pester, but I doubt that’d work out any better for you. Now, leave me alone so I can enjoy the night with my boyfriend.”

Apparently, still convinced that he has a chance, the creep reaches out toward me again, a mixture of lust and fury darkening his eyes. In the blink of an eye, my stranger’s free hand whips out to block the unwelcome touch.

“You ought to remember your momma’s lessons and listen to my girl. She’s definitely the nicer of the two of us. If I have to tell you again, you won’t like what happens.”

If I thought his first warning was filled with malice, this one is downright venomous. I’m abruptly sure that if this idiot doesn’t walk away, my savior will make sure he needs to be carried away. Again, that feeling of familiarity niggles at me, but again, I ignore it in favor of dealing with the idiot in front of me. The insistent cowboy stands there and stares at us, like he’s trying to see through our lie.

Merde.1

My stranger releases a menacing chuckle that makes my body shake briefly before falling deathly still. When he speaks again, his words are low and even. Something about the tone leaves me intimately aware of where our bodies are touching. “Did you need something or are you sticking around for a show? If it’s all the same to you, we have plans that are not audience friendly, and I’d like to get to that bit of my evening.”

Mon dieu!2

I fight the urge to squirm as visions of what he’s implying fly through my mind. My cheeks heat as my inappropriate thoughts clash with my frustration at this idiot. Why is he still here? Biting the inside of my cheek, I try to talk myself out of opening my mouth and potentially making things even worse. Luckily, I don’t get the chance.

My stranger snorts before tilting my face to the side and up toward him with a gentle grip on my chin. “It seems our Wrangler fanatic doesn’t believe me, Chispita.3 You know I don’t take kindly to men trying to take what’s mine. I don’t share.” As the last sentence falls from his mouth, he lowers his gaze and gives me a clear view of the most captivating blue eyes I’ve ever seen.

Damn. It’s like someone captured a storm and locked it away in his eyes.

The color of his irises is so distracting, my brain doesn’t immediately register the rest of his features or the fact that he’s leaning down toward me. Or maybe it does and just decides to not pass on the message on account of his hotness. Not until it’s too late.

Just as he slams his lips to mine in a searing hot kiss, the puzzle pieces click into place, and I realize why his voice is so familiar.

Fuck, I can’t believe I didn’t recognize him earlier!

I’ve only heard that voice talk shit about my brother for the last six years.

The universe must think this is hilarious.

Because of course, it’s him.

Of course, out of every man in this bar, Mateo fucking Reyes stepped in to help me with the creepy cowboy.

Of course, I’m kissing the star midfielder for the Memphis Storm and my brother’s biggest rival.

Fuck, Henri will kill me if he ever finds out about this.

So why aren’t you stopping?

I’m so busy panicking over the reality of who I am kissing that I don’t notice him moving to deepen the kiss until he nips my lower lip which forces a gasp from my lips. As his tongue slips into my mouth, I unconsciously press myself further against him, grinding my hips against the hardening length pressing into my lower back.