Part-Time Player, page 1
Copyright © 2020 by Mandy Harbin
PART-TIME PLAYER
ISBN: 978-1-941467-48-0
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Edited by Katie Kenyhercz
This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any existing means without written permission from Mandy Harbin, M.W. Muse, Penning Princess Publishing, or Mandolin Park, LLC.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Also by Mandy Harbin
About the Author
Chapter One
Leigh’s feet were on fire, and not in the way a girl might describe a hot dress. Her platform stilettos were rubbing her little toes raw. Too much longer and she knew they’d start bleeding. She’d hoped by now her feet would be nothing but numb callouses.
Do I have blister pads in my locker?
She couldn’t remember if she’d used the last of the bandages the previous weekend.
Thank god Wal-Mart stayed open twenty-four hours a day. Then again, almost nothing in Miami ever closed, which worked out well for her and her schedule.
She grabbed the pole and twirled seductively as an older man sitting near the stage whistled at her. Five years ago, she would’ve been creeped out by a guy who was old enough to be her grandfather leering at her. Not that she knew who her grandfather was. Neither of them. But the idea of older men salivating at her used to be solidly in the gross category. Now, she didn’t care.
After shimmying closer to him and letting him tip her, she sashayed across the stage as her hands glanced off her sides.
Was she out of oatmeal? She needed to go to the grocery store when she got off work.
Work. Ha!
Other than her feet killing her, this wasn’t work. She could do these routines in her sleep. She’d cut her schedule down to only stripping on Friday and Saturday nights after she’d gotten her job at the hotel a few years ago. It wasn’t full-time, so she couldn’t afford to stop her weekend gig just yet.
Hopefully, that would be changing soon though. Her boss at the Ritz Spa and Hotel let it slip a couple of weeks ago that corporate had approved a new night manager position. She and Nikki had both started around the same time, so Leigh figured Nikki was her biggest competition for the new job. Of course, someone from the day crew might apply, but it took a special kind of person to work night shifts. She had that quality in the bag. She just needed to make sure she went above and beyond the call of duty to show how eager she was to get the promotion. She wasn’t sure how soon they’d be making a decision, but they had at least one important customer—someone the Miami Wind football organization had booked—with whom she could exhibit her stellar hospitality skills. She took pride in her work anyway, but with any luck, the powers-that-be would take notice if someone super important raved about his experience while in her care.
“Give it up for our own Heavenly Angel.” Catcalls echoed as Leigh scooped up the bills tossed toward her.
She quietly mumbled, “Heaven-Leigh,” as she took her leave, not that Buck ever pronounced it correctly. And it was better than just calling her Angel, as he did when she wasn’t on stage. The prick.
As soon as she was out of sight she bent over and took off her shoes, not caring if the floor was clean enough to walk on with her bare feet. The club was on the outskirts of the city, so Buck didn’t have to compete with the larger establishments in the heart of Miami. He didn’t care about the backstage as much as the public areas. A clean place for lap dances was one of the few perks of his place. If he ever had to step up his game to compete for business, they’d all be screwed. But for now, it was out of the hustle and bustle. The real draw for their clientele.
Seclusion.
Yeah, their customers came here because it wasn’t right in the middle of the party scene, but that also worked out well for her because that meant she didn’t have to worry about crossing paths with anyone from her other job. Not that Leigh was ashamed of stripping. She wasn’t living on the streets or off the government. No matter what she did to earn money, she took pride in her work. She’d busted ass to get where she was, and as long as she had her looks, she was grateful she could use them.
She plopped onto the chair at her makeup station, gripped her wig, and pulled it off. She’d begun this part of her life as a bleached blonde and had to start wearing a wig when she’d gone back to her natural, darker blonde hair color. It also afforded her a little more of the anonymity she sought here. Well, the wig and the heavy makeup. She groaned as she tugged on one of her false lashes.
Yeah, for the most part, stripping had been good to her—well, after one big mistake she’d made early on—but if she got the promotion at the Ritz, she’d gladly hang up her stilettos for good.
She glanced at her angry red feet.
And maybe never wear heels again.
Chapter Two
“Benjamin Bell. Abigail Roberts booked a rental for me,” Benji said to the man behind the desk as he dropped his gym bag beside the larger suitcase he’d had checked for the flight and fished out the confirmation number. Abigail had offered to have a Miami Wind jet routed to pick him up in Denver, but he’d thought better of it. Last thing he wanted was news leaking to the press another football team was courting him.
At least he’d assumed that was what this was all about. His agent had agreed the Wind was interested, which was shocking after his less than stellar season. But he’d been in Denver almost four years. His contract was up, and they hadn’t presented a new one yet. Kitt, his agent, had informed him it was all part of the process when a player became a “free agent”—not that it made the waiting and wondering any easier.
“Ah, yes, Mr. Bell. Just a moment.” The man entered something on his computer and pulled out a set of keys. “Follow me, sir,” he said as he walked around the counter. He paused, looking pointedly at Benji’s bags. “I can have your bags sent to your hotel, sir.” His voice tinged with confusion. Benji never felt comfortable having people do things like that for him. Not as long as he was capable of carrying his own bags. He’d come from humble beginnings, raised by his grandparents. He understood the value of a dollar, so much so that the thought of just how many of those he had sitting in various accounts left him feeling … well, weird. He knew he was rich, but he didn’t think about it. It made it easier.
“I can manage,” he said with a smile as he hoisted his duffle bag over his shoulder.
The man—Mike, his nametag said—stared at him, his mouth opening, shutting. Then he frowned. “I— Sir, the car Ms. Roberts booked for you is not exactly equipped with a lot of storage.” He said the last word slowly.
“It has a trunk, right?” Benji asked as he grabbed the handle to his rolling luggage.
“Technically.”
Benji blinked, processing the response. When he found his voice, he said, “What kind of car is it?”
“A Lamborghini, sir.”
Of course it was. He would’ve laughed if it wasn’t so ridiculous. He was well over six feet tall and two hundred and thirty pounds. Granted, he knew of some NBA players who were taller than he who drove sports cars like that, but Benji never felt comfortable driving something so cramped. Or low to the ground. No wonder the guy was gaping at him like he’d lost his mind.
Benji indicated the man’s nametag. “Mike, is it?” After the dude nodded, he continued. “Is it possible to exchange it for something larger? Maybe even an SUV?”
Mike scurried around the counter as he reassured Benji they would be able to find him something more to his liking. Jeez, now he felt bad for the guy rushing around and looking as if he were going to break out into a sweat.
“If not, it’s no problem. I just like a little room.” He chuckled as he indicated his massive size, hoping to ease whatever tension Mike was experiencing.
The guy laughed nervously. Since it wasn’t really the reaction Benji had hoped for, he stood quietly while Mike searched for a replacement.
“All right. We have a top-of-the-line Land Rover.” He picked up a phone and muttered something, so Benji looked away to give him some privacy. He didn’t care if the SUV was loaded or not. He just wanted something bigger.
Within fifteen minutes, Mike had the new rental pulled around front and Benji had tossed his own bags in the back before getting in. He yawned and decided he’d take the access road to look for a coffee shop before hitting the interstate. As he searched for any place where he could get some strong caffeine, he called his agent.
“How’s my favorite player doing?”
“Favorite, my ass. Did you know about the Lambo?”
“The what?” he asked before his muffled voice continued. Benji figured he’d covered the phone and was talking to his assistant.
“You heard me. I’m not driving a Lamborghini around town.” Jackpot. Or rather, Starbucks. He hit his blinker and quickly got into the turning lane.
“C’mon, Benji. Let the team woo you. This doesn’t happen often in a player’s career.”
“That goes beyond
“Let me do my job, and you do yours. Okay?”
Benji knew this wasn’t an argument he’d win. It was always the same with Kitt. “Yeah, okay. I’ll let you know how the meeting goes.” He killed the engine and got out.
“You do that. Don’t sign anything until I see it. Just go to the Wind Dome, meet Dawson Winthrop, and see what he has to say. But let me earn my money.”
He had no intention of jumping into any decisions. Besides, even if he didn’t feel at home in Denver, he owed it to his team to let them counter any offer. “I know the drill. Gotta go,” he said as he walked toward the door to the coffee shop. His agent ended the call without another word, and Benji pocketed his phone before opening the door.
His mind was so focused on his agent and his upcoming meeting that he felt soft skin collide with his roughness before he heard the softest of gasps. It happened so quickly he couldn’t stop himself from tripping up.
“Ahhh!”
“Oh shit!” He winced as hot coffee seeped through his shirtsleeve and a pool of blonde hair flew up in his face. Hunched over as he was, he blindly reached out for the woman he’d just run into.
She screeched. His hip met the small table by the door, but he was beyond feeling any pain. His adrenaline had kicked in as he gripped her waist, trying to keep them both from falling to the floor. The table shifted under his weight. Men bigger than him weren’t able to stop his momentum on the field. This flimsy table didn’t stand a chance.
“Ow!”
“Sorry, shit. Sorry,” he said as they tumbled. At the last second he whipped her around, using his body to break her fall. The whole thing probably lasted only a few seconds, but every action felt as if it were an eternity. “Are you okay?” he asked the woman now draped over him. He frantically wiped her hair out of her face as she struggled to get up. Some unknown protective instinct had him holding her to him. He needed to make sure he hadn’t hurt her, that she was okay.
“Let go of me,” she ground out, shoving against him, and he had to will his hands to move, to release her.
But not without helping her first.
He quickly pulled her up and reached to dust away any dirt that got on her pants. She slapped his hand away.
“What the hell’s wrong with you, you big oaf? Gah. My coffee!” She shook her empty cup, the contents now on the floor and the two of them. “My clothes.”
“I’m sorry. Let me buy you another one,” he said softly, bending some so they were closer to eye level, encouraging her to look up the rest of the way.
She did. Light brown eyes greeted him, stunning him as he stood before her. He’d have thought with blonde hair her eyes would be blue, or green like his. But the instant he saw their color, there was no other option that could do justice.
A few light freckles dotted her tiny nose. Her full lips pursed at him, showing him she wasn’t too pleased with his perusing.
Damn. She was beautiful. Ethereal even.
“I can get my own coffee.” She turned away, and he reached for her on impulse. “Don’t touch me,” she spat. “You’ve already had your hands and eyes all over me.”
Well, wasn’t she a little spitfire? He couldn’t help but smile at her. He didn’t like to brag, but women usually fawned all over themselves when he gave them attention. Not that he ever took advantage of his popularity, money, or looks. At least, not usually.
“Really? You’re smiling. Really?” She shook her head and started away from him again, so he jumped in front of her, keeping his hands to himself. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t let her be, but he knew better than to touch her again. The first time was to protect her. The second had been a completely different instinct he didn’t fully understand. Regardless, buying her coffee was the right thing to do. It was his fault she’d lost her last cup.
But he wouldn’t lie to himself and say it was the only reason. There was another one he felt building deep from within.
“Are you two all right?” one of the baristas asked as he rushed over and righted the table, knocking Benji out of whatever trance this women had put him under. He gave a short nod as his reply before quickly focusing his attention where he wanted it. Of course, she was still riled up, glaring at the mess he’d made. He needed to say something, anything, to defuse her.
“If you let me get you another cup, I promise not to throw you on the ground and spill it all over the place again. I’ll wait to trip over my own feet until after you’ve left.” If anybody at the Miami Wind or back in Denver got wind of this, they’d never let him live it down. He was a professional football player, so he should be packed with all kinds of agility. Okay, he was, but maybe that only counted if he was guarding the line of scrimmage and not smacking into a lady. Hopefully, poking a little fun at himself would ease her tension.
She cracked a smile before quickly dropping it.
The encouraging gesture had him continuing, “And I apologize for staring and touching.” He put his hand over his heart. “I’d never dream of purposefully insulting anybody, much less a beautiful woman who had the misfortune of having a mountain run over her.”
Their gazes remained locked for what felt like an eternity, but he was nothing if not patient. “Mountains don’t move.”
“I think we both know that’s not true,” he murmured with what he hoped was a little light humor coming through.
After a deep breath, she finally said, “Fine. Vanilla latte.”
He flashed a grin at her, not wanting to press his luck too much, and walked to the counter. But when he stepped up to the register, a barista handed him a drink. “Here you go.”
“What’s this?”
“Vanilla latte. We started another one after she … I mean, you … er, after the incident. What can we get you? It’s on the house.”
Before he could respond to the slightly panicked worker—did he think he’d blame the coffeehouse for the accident?— the blonde beauty plucked the drink out of his hand as she looked at the man behind the counter. “Thanks, Collin.”
“Sure thing, Leigh.”
“Well, thanks for the tumble,” she said to Benji and started for the door.
Damn. He wasn’t ready for her to be gone just yet. “Wait. I still need to make it up to you,” he said to her back, grasping onto the flimsy excuse.
She looked over her shoulder and said with a bit of sass, “I don’t need favors.”
He winked at her, really liking the mettle she possessed. “I’m not talking about a favor, angel, I’m talking about a date.”
Her eyes grew before she could check her body’s physical response to his suggestion. Was it heated interest or some other emotion?
“I don’t need that either,” she said coolly before storming out.
What the—?
Definitely not interest.
He could follow her, but the daggers she’d glared had stunned him stupid. Why did he feel the need to apologize again for something other than dousing her in hot java?
He ran a hand through his hair and tore his gaze away from the door.
Well hell, it was his first day in Miami and he was already screwing up. He couldn’t afford any more of those. Not when he had a meeting to go to that could redefine his career. It was in his best interest to forget about the angelic woman with the devilish temper and focus on his job. He was here for a reason and whatever just happened with her wasn’t one of them. After turning to the counter to place his order, he looked over his shoulder one last time to the now straightened table, remembering the feel of her skin, the smell of her hair before he tried to push it all out of his mind.
Yeah, he didn’t understand why, but he wasn’t likely to forget about her.
Not anytime soon.
“Thank you for agreeing to come on such short notice,” Dawson Winthrop said from across his desk after shaking Benji’s hand and taking his seat again.
