Sneaking Around with the Player (Holiday with the Players Book 2), page 1
Copyright
© 2022 by Rebecca Jenshak
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without written permission from the author.
Rebecca Jenshak
www.rebeccajenshak.com
Cover Design by Lori Jackson Designs
Editing by Edits in Blue and Nancy Smay at Evident Ink
Proofreading by Fairest Reviews Editing Services and Sarah at All Encompassing Books
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Names, characters, places, and plots are a product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Excerpt from Tutoring the Player
Prologue
Chapter One
Also by Rebecca Jenshak
About the Author
Beau
“Yo, Ricci.” Aaron juts his chin in acknowledgment as we get to the gate for our flight. “A bunch of the guys are going to grab dinner. You in?”
I drop my backpack onto a seat by the window looking out at the runway and take the chair next to it. “Nah, I’m good.”
“Shake it off. We’ll get them next time.”
“Yeah.” Nodding, I give my buddy a playful smile that is all show. “Of course, we will.”
When my teammates are finally gone, I let out a breath and put on my headphones. I don’t feel like listening to music, but it helps drown out some of the airport noise.
We are catching a flight back to Colorado after a tough loss. All losses are tough, but this one stings especially bad for me because I should have stopped the final play, the one that let the other team take a one-point lead with three seconds left.
I’m a cornerback. THE cornerback. The best on my team, maybe in the entire conference. I’m known for my ability to anticipate plays, my quick reflexes, and my all-out, never-give-up mentality.
Once you get me started, there’s no stopping me. Some call me reckless or destructive. Some call me determined. I don’t know which is right. I’m just trying to do my best for my team and for my family cheering me on from home. It means everything to them that I’m playing college ball.
I see a new text from my dad, ignore it, and pull up Twitch to watch my favorite gamer. This guy is legit. He’s a world-class speedrunner on Super Mario. I wonder if his parents critique his every game. Probably not.
While I watch, the seats around me start to fill up. It’s the weekend before Thanksgiving, so there are a lot of families, just a lot of people in general.
A shadow falls over me and I glance up to find a girl looking at me with big, brown eyes, like she might have said something I didn’t hear.
“Sorry. Did you say something?” I ask as I move one headphone off my ear.
“Are you saving that for someone?” She points to the chair next to me, where my backpack sits.
“No. It’s all yours.” I move my bag to the floor in front of me and she drops into the chair.
“Thank you,” she says with a sigh. “You just saved me from watching my ex and his new girlfriend make out like they’re about to get on two different flights. Making out at the airport should be reserved for couples who are parting ways, or are reuniting, or I don’t know, anyone but them.”
I give her my attention, which prompts her to add, “That sounded mean, didn’t it?”
“A little, maybe.”
“Sorry. Ignore me.” She waves a hand and slumps in the chair. Without looking at me, she says, “Thank you for the seat.”
I do ignore her, for a moment. My hand goes to pull my headphone back over my ear, but then I stop. She’s more interesting than anything I have on my phone to kill the time. “But it’s also pretty insensitive to make out with someone in front of an ex that you know still likes you.”
“Oh, I don’t like him.” She undoes the braid in her hair. It’s a light red that could almost be confused as blonde, if the light from the window at our backs wasn’t hitting it just right. She finger combs it, and then begins to braid it again. “You don’t believe me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I could see it on your face,” she says. She pulls her feet up into the chair, crossing her legs like the airport chair is roomy—it is not. “I broke up with him.”
“Then why does it annoy you so much?”
She thinks for a second, which gives me a chance to check her out more closely. Her skin is fair, which makes her brown eyes and long, black lashes stand out. Her lips are shiny and pink, and as she thinks, she purses them slightly. The center of her top lip is wider than the bottom, making a perfect heart. She’s wearing a Valley U Swim & Dive Team sweatshirt with black athletic pants and sneakers.
“I think relationships require a mourning period when they’re over. A time to think about what went well, what went wrong, how that person was or wasn’t the right fit.”
“Yeah, I don’t know any guy that does that. Sorry. We pretty much live by the get-drunk-and-move-on-to-forget philosophy.”
She laughs, a soft sound that makes her lips pull apart to show off straight, white teeth. She has a great smile.
“Why’d you break up with him?” I find myself wanting to know more, to prolong this conversation. She’s a perfect distraction.
“You’re gonna think it’s dumb.”
“Well, now I definitely have to know.”
She angles her body toward me. “He whistles.”
My brows rise. “Whistles?”
“Yeah. Like all the freaking time. At first, I thought it was sort of endearing, but it’s all the time. While he’s watching TV, walking to class, in class, during sex.”
“He whistles during sex?” I bark a laugh, then cover it with a fist.
She nods adamantly. “If he wasn’t under the water or my mouth wasn’t plastered to his, then he’s whistling. And don’t get me wrong, I love kissing, but my lips were chapped, and I just couldn’t take it anymore.”
“Under the water?”
“He’s a swimmer.”
“Ah. Did you ask him about it?”
“He was like, ʻOh, yeah. I don’t even realize I’m doing it.ʼ” She grimaces. “And I realize it’s a stupid reason to break up with someone, but I couldn’t imagine myself getting used to it. Not with him. And I guess that’s really the thing. If it’s the right person, you shouldn’t want to choke them for their annoying, quirky habits, right?”
“Probably not.” I whistle, just to poke a little fun at her, but then laugh.
“See? It’s not annoying when you do it. Not yet at least.” She settles back into her chair.
“Not until we’re dating for a month or two and you’re looking for an excuse to break up with me?”
“You should be so lucky.” There’s a sassy glint in her eyes that makes my pulse kick up a notch.
“You’re a swimmer, too?” I ask, pointing at her sweatshirt. “Or still wearing his clothes even though you claim to be over him?”
“I am over him, and I’m a diver.”
“A diver. No shit? Like flipping in the air from a really high diving board?” I make a circular motion with my pointer finger.
Her mouth pulls into another big smile. “Yep. It’s called a platform or a springboard.”
“That’s awesome. How’d you get into that?”
“I did swim team every summer when I was a kid, and then in middle school, I started diving.” She shrugs.
“That’s really cool.” I move my headphones down around my neck. “You’re coming from a game? Meet? Competition? I just realized I don’t know what they call swimming events.”
“Meets. And yes. We were at UT and now we’re heading home.”
“Did you win?”
“We did,” she says proudly.
“Nice. Congrats.”
“Thanks. Do you go to CU?” She points to my sweatshirt with the college name written across the front.
“Yeah.”
“Are you heading home for Thanksgiving?”
“No, I—”
I’m cut off when she ducks low in her seat and mutters, “Oh, crap.”
I look around us to figure out why she’s freaking out, but everyone near us is minding their own business and perfectly calm. “Are you okay?”
“My ex,” she whispers. “Two o’clock. Blue hat, standing a foot above everyone else. Cute blonde attached to his hip.”
I find the guy. He is tall. Lean and lanky, making him seem even taller. I’m six foot one, and I doubt he’
“Are they gone?” she asks, still hiding.
“No.”
She sits up a little straighter and peers around me at the same moment he scans the crowd.
“What is he doing here?” She whisper-hisses and ducks back down, moving a little closer to me like she’s using me as a shield. She smells nice, like mint and flowers. “Our gate is all the way at the other end of the terminal.”
After a thorough glance around the gate (I’m half-convinced he’s looking for the girl hiding next to me), he walks in the opposite direction, hand in hand with his new girlfriend.
“They’re going,” I say.
She lets out a breath and sits tall, but still close to me. She has freckles across the bridge of her nose, and I’ve finally placed the minty smell—wintergreen gum. Her eyes lock on mine and we both freeze for a moment, before my phone captures her attention. “What are you watching?”
She moves away, but still stares down at the screen in my hand.
“Twitch.”
“Speedrunning?” she asks, still staring down.
“Yeah. You know it?”
“Beating games superfast.” She nods. “I’ve seen some of those. My brother was obsessed with it when we were younger. He used to drive me crazy when we’d play video games together because I’d be trying to get all the coins and check things out, and he was racing to the finish or finding glitches to skip levels.”
“You have a brother?”
“And sister. You?”
“No. Only child. Lots of cousins, though.”
“Can I creepily watch over your shoulder?”
“No need to creep,” I say, and angle my phone so she can watch. I take my headphones from around my neck and hold them between us.
With a smile, she leans closer, resting her ear to one side, while I listen through the other. And that’s how we kill the next twenty minutes.
It’s . . . nice. We only talk to comment on the stream, but I’m having a good time and can’t seem to stop stealing glances at her.
The lull of the airport noise around us just sort of fades away. After a game, I like to have space. I need time to get my head straight, digest the good and bad from the game, read through the texts my dad always sends with feedback (mostly criticism), and let it all drift away so I can go back to being the happy-go-lucky guy everyone expects. But right now, I’m not thinking about anything but the girl next to me.
When the attendant working the closest gate announces that we’re about to start boarding, we both snap out of our happy bubble.
“Looks like you’re about to leave.”
“Yeah,” I say, and swivel until I locate my teammates. They’re three rows over, a mass of red. “What time does your flight leave?”
She looks at her watch. “Oh crap. We started boarding fifteen minutes ago.”
While she scrambles to get her stuff together, I stand and wait for her. Something like disappointment tugs at me.
“Do you want me to AirDrop you the link to the stream?” It’s a weak attempt to prolong some sort of contact with her. She’s hot and I had a good time.
“Yeah. That’d be great. I have a feeling I’m going to need a distraction on the flight home.”
“Cool.”
“Thanks. This was fun.” She waves with a hand around the strap of her backpack and then starts to takes off for her gate.
I grab the link and am about to send it to her, when she pauses in her tracks. “Text it to me. I don’t have AirDrop turned on for non-contacts.” She rattles off her phone number.
I walk with her, since she really needs to get on her plane before it leaves, repeating her number back to her as I tap it into my phone.
“Got it.”
She smiles a little more timidly than she has since she walked up and asked to sit beside me. “Thanks. I really better hurry. It was nice hanging with you.”
“Yeah,” I agree.
I keep following, walking away from my gate, as she puts space between us to get to her flight. She looks over her shoulder and finds me still looking at her, then hits me with another smile.
“I didn’t even get your name,” I yell. “I’m Beau.”
“Stella.” She jogs backward. “Stella Walters.”
Stella
Me: I made it back. Thanks for the link. It provided a nice distraction. Guess who sat across the aisle from me on the plane?
Beau: Harry Styles?
Me: No. Why would I want a distraction from Harry Styles??!!
Beau: Good point. Must have been the whistling ex then. Hope everyone on the flight had ear plugs. I’m glad I could help.
I stare down at our text exchange, re-reading it again and wondering if I should text back. He was nice. Cute, too. Dark hair, square jaw, athletic build with trendy gold, circle-rimmed glasses that gave him a whole hot, studious, muscled-nerd vibe.
I think he was into me. If I’m totally honest, it was hard to read him. But I assume the whole asking to send me the link thing was a ploy to get my number. Although his text doesn’t leave a lot of room for a reply.
I got back to campus over an hour ago and came straight to my dorm to shower and get ready for a night out. My brother Felix is having a party at his place. He shares a house off-campus with two other football players.
I should already be there, but I’ve been wracking my brain for something clever to text Beau. Shoving my phone into my purse, I head out. Holly will know what to say. She’s better with the written word.
At Felix’s house, I knock on the front door, but go in without waiting for an answer. Even if they could hear me over the music playing inside, they’d just yell, “Door’s open,” or “Come in.” Getting up and answering the door for guests is entirely too formal for anything that happens inside.
“Hello?” I call as I walk into the living room. It’s empty, but above the fireplace on the mantle, a speaker sits between empty beer bottles, blasting music.
The house has bedrooms on both sides of the living room. Felix’s roommates, Teddy and Emmett, are on one side and Felix has the other with a small, private bathroom that he won in a drinking game.
I go straight back to the eat-in kitchen. It looks out onto a patio, where the guys have thrown many parties, like the one happening later tonight.
Sliding open the door, I step outside. The keg is tapped and sitting in a big, red plastic bin in the middle of the yard. Felix and several other guys are playing washers, but Holly is sitting at a table with some of the football guys’ girlfriends and looks up immediately. I can read the ‘thank god you’re finally here’ look on her face so well, a small laugh escapes my lips.
Holly and I are identical twins. We share the same strawberry blonde hair color and brown eyes. We even have the same number of freckles on our right arm—we counted once.
She gets up to greet me, wrapping an arm around my neck as she does. “I am so glad you’re here. What took so long?”
“Sorry. I got distracted.” I give her a playful smile, which she acknowledges immediately.
“Who is he?”
“Stella!” Felix calls from where he’s playing washers. His roommate and best friend Teddy stands next to him and lifts his cup in a silent greeting.
“I’ll tell you all about it later.” I link my arm through hers. “Have you talked to Teddy tonight?”
Color stains her cheeks. “Yeah. He said hello and asked how classes were going.”
My twin has had a crush on our brother’s best friend for as long as we’ve known him. I think he might like her too, but they’re both so freaking polite to each other, it’s not likely either is ever going to pick up on it.
“Did he use your name?” I lower my voice and do my best impression of the quiet and broody football player. “Hey, Holly. How are your classes going? I could give you a little one-on-one tutoring if you want.” I waggle my eyebrows.
“Oh my gosh. Stop it.” She nudges me with an elbow. “He did not say that. He’d never.”
“But he did use your name, didn’t he?”
She nods slightly.
“He definitely likes you.”
People get us mixed up all the time. It was better in high school because our friends had known us for years, but we’ve only been at Valley U for a few months, and we’re constantly being called by the wrong names. But never Teddy. It’s worth noting he never greets me by name.
