Page 1 of Trick Play (Playing the Field #4)

PROLOGUE

Micah

I’ve been hurt before.

When it comes to relationships, I’m the kind of partner who gives one hundred and ten percent. I’ll tell you my secrets. My weaknesses. My fears. My hopes, dreams, and desires. I’ll snort when I laugh. I’ll sing every lyric I know—and the ones I don’t—without hitting the pitch even once. I’ll hold your hand in public and kiss you good night, and I’ll do it all only hours after you’ve shown the slightest bit of interest in me.

I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve. I serve it up on a silver platter to anyone willing to look at me twice. Dangle it on a hook like an offering for all the fish in the sea.

And after I’ve jumped in with both feet following my heart, and after I’ve bared myself shamelessly to a man who seems interested, he leaves. Every damn time.

So, yeah, I’ve been heartbroken before.

Several times, in fact.

The most recent has been the hardest. Yet also, in a way, not. Because I didn’t lose him, not really. I just prevented us from moving forward, so now we’re at a stalemate. I should have known from the very beginning that I wouldn’t be able to keep myself from falling for him, no matter how hard I tried.

Meeting Ezekiel Aleks was one of the best moments of my life.

As the starting quarterback for the Los Angeles Rubies, Zeke is a well-known public figure. He’s nationally known as a playboy, with even a nickname to emphasize his promiscuity. Everyone—fans, media, or teammate—calls him Kiss because he’s made it his personal mission to kiss anyone he can. It’s a part of his brand, part of his self , that he has carefully cultivated over the years of being a professional athlete.

I—stupidly—thought he would be safe. That I could hook up with a playboy and not catch feelings. I could prove to myself that I could protect my heart.

The first time I saw him, I felt that tug in my chest, but I convinced myself that I could be casual. I could get him between the sheets and leave without attachment. I made it a goal of mine.

It was a Halloween party at Zeke’s house when I got my chance.

We were drunk. So, so drunk.

I remember some of his oversized teammates playing Twister in the center of the catalogue-copycat game room, but we’d pushed two couches together in the corner to play a drinking game with our best friends—as if we needed more alcohol in our blood, but oh well. At that point in our lives, my best friend, Hendrix, was trying to figure out his feelings for Zeke’s bestie, Tahegin, and we were trying to subtly encourage them to get together. It made perfect sense for us to sequester those two lovebirds on their own couch while we took the other. It also gave me a chance to cuddle up to Zeke. Win-win.

I practically sat in Zeke’s lap, shamelessly draping myself all over him.

We’d all dressed for the occasion, even my grumpy, doesn’t-play-well-with-others best friend, though I’d only convinced Rix to wear a set of devil horns in his messy mop of dirty-blond hair. Small victories. Tahegin had gone all out in a cupid costume, complete with lipstick kisses placed by Zeke. I was totally jealous.

I’d also gone above and beyond with my outfit, thoughts of Zeke filling my head. My sexy bunny costume was to die for. My legs looked long and silky smooth under my shorts, and so did the bit of ass cheek the shorts exposed. My corset was expensive as shit but so worth it, even if it was ruined by the end of the night.

And Zeke . . . Well, that man is so attractive, he can pull off anything. The cherub costume featuring an adult diaper was . . . different, though he still looked amazing—all tall, dark, athletic, and handsome. A reporter once wrote that sculptors should be jealous of Zeke’s bold jawline and strong nose. I couldn’t wait until they found out about his abs.

Zeke and I had been edging closer and closer all night, and after a few more drinks during the game, I finally had the courage to shoot my shot and blurt, “Never have I ever kissed Ezekiel Aleks.”

I couldn’t breathe as I prepared for the worst and awaited his response, but then— “Never have I ever kissed a sexy bunny.” Yes . Yes!

“Never have I ever—” Our friends tried to continue the game, only for me to cut them off.

“Seen Aleks’ bedroom.” I smirked and gave him a look , as sultry as I could manage while being inebriated. The party, his teammates, our friends, all fell away. The air between us crackled with months of built-up tension. I knew that night would be the night it happened.

Staring directly at me, Zeke licked his lips and, with one perfectly worded sentence, invited me to see the aforementioned bedroom. “Never have I ever fucked you.”

The dam holding my carnal desires at bay imploded. I straddled Zeke’s thighs, shoved my fingers in his hair, and angled my lips toward his . . .

That was when our friends, being the best kind of guys, separated us long enough to make sure we were both capable of giving consent. Yes, yes, we’re so lucky to have them, but fuck were we ready to have each other already.

There had been teasing the other times we’d met, all of it building up to that night, and we were both lucid. We both wanted it. Not even our friends could stand in our way.

“Let’s go to my room, sexy bunny.”

And we did.

The tall, muscular athlete had no issues sweeping my much smaller body into his arms, my legs instinctually wrapping around his waist. Drunkenly, Zeke stumbled us to his bedroom, where, honestly, I remember very few physical details. Most of the actual act is fuzzy.

Vividly, though, I recall the important stuff.

With a nickname like Kiss and an extensive portfolio of lip-locking partners, it’s expected he’d be an excellent kisser. I don’t remember the feel of his mouth or tongue caressing mine, but I do recall the whispered words against my lips.

“Is this okay?” Yes.

“You feel amazing.” You do, too.

“Can I take this off?” Yes, please.

“Do you want to slow down?” No, never.

Zeke tasted like anticipation and desire and beer. He kissed like we’d never kiss again—which was entirely possible, so I gave as good as I got.

My delicate corset was ripped when the laces were too difficult for his large, clumsy-when-drunk fingers. The bunny ears nestled in my lavender-colored hair disappeared somewhere, replaced by his hand, and I never found them after.

It was hot and sloppy, but there was laughter when I pulled down his diaper to reveal skin reddened and irritated from the scratchy material. That didn’t stop us.

Nothing sexual stands out as particularly spectacular about that night. We were both too drunk to balance or coordinate well. I went down on him, but the first gag nearly had my earlier beer making a spontaneous reappearance, so we quickly nixed that idea.

Zeke prepped me with more enthusiasm than even the most sober of partners had given me. I rewarded that with about three minutes of me riding him before the taste of alcohol returned for both of us, and we collapsed on our sides, spooning as we fucked slowly to avoid vomiting.

We fell asleep on top of the sheets, the protection we’d used still stuck on his sweat-damp thigh. Not our finest moment.

I meant to leave before he woke, but a soft, warm touch had me blinking awake, squinting at my pounding head as much as at the light filtering in from the open curtains. He was cleaning me with a moistened cloth, and once I dragged myself out of his bed, I helped apply cream to the rash around his groin and ass.

Both of us were feeling the aftereffects of heavy drinking, but the air between us wasn’t awkward as he apologetically handed me the ruined corset along with one of his team T-shirts for me to wear instead. I slipped the well-worn Rubies shirt over my head while reminding myself this wasn’t anything more than it was. We were drunk and fucked. He’d ripped my top, so he let me wear one he wouldn’t miss. That was it. That was what it had to be, for my own good. I’d chosen him because he was a playboy who wouldn’t look for a relationship, especially not with a nobody like me.

Dressed, heels in hand, I stepped to the bedroom door, knowing I’d be dodging his passed-out teammates on my walk of shame out of the house.

“Micah.” His deep morning voice had me pausing. He didn’t continue until I turned to meet his soft smile, sultry bedroom eyes, and just-fucked hair. “Can I get your number?”

My heart leaped out of my chest, landed on the floor, and crawled to Zeke. His to take.

I gave him my number.

I knew I’d regret it.