Page 6 of Undisputed Player
"Is that true?" First model demanded, her gaze traveling down my body despite her obvious anger. Even furious, she couldn't help herself.
"Does it matter?" I countered, my smile calculated to both charm and dismiss in equal measure.
The same smile that had graced the covers ofMen's Health, the same issue that had crashed their website.
"We had fun. That's all this was ever going to be."
Truthfully, I hadn't cared enough to remember which one was which. But they'd remember me for the rest of their lives, so really, I was doing them a favor.
"You're an asshole," the second one spat, though her eyes lingered on my bare chest, on the swim trunks riding low on my hips in a way that suggested divine intervention in the tailoring department.
"So I've been told." I shrugged, the movement causing thecondensation from my glass to drip down my abs in what I could only assume was some sort of slow-motion cologne commercial moment.
Both women tracked the motion, their anger momentarily forgotten.
“Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a busy day ahead. These muscles don't maintain themselves, and I have a photo shoot at two."
"That's it?" One of their voices rose an octave. "You're just dismissing us?"
"What did you expect?" I asked, genuinely curious. Had they not Googled me?
"A tearful apology? A promise to change my ways? Ladies, my reputation precedes me for a reason.”
A crystal vase—a gift from some admirer whose name started with either A or T, possibly B—shattered against the wall behind me. The first one stood trembling, her face contorted with rage and what looked suspiciously like unresolved sexual tension.
"You'll regret this!" she hissed. "Men like you always do!"
I laughed, the sound echoing off marble and glass like music. Like really, really attractive music.
"Men like me never do, sugar. That's what makes us men like me."
Flawless logic, really.
My security team, discreet and professional, ushered both women toward the door. I heard a parting shot as the heavy oak swung closed: "He's not even that good in bed!"
I nearly choked on my scotch. Not that good? I was a fucking artist between the sheets. A Michelangelo of multiple orgasms.
The house fell silent once more, the only sound the crashing of waves against my private beach. I stripped off my trunks, walking naked through the sunlit living room to where my phone was buzzing on the counter.
Seventeen missed calls and increasingly agitated texts from Adrian.
Adrian
Dude, where are you?
Coach is losing his shit.
Training started an hour ago.
ANSWER YOUR FUCKING PHONE!
I glanced at the time and cursed. Not noon. Ten. Training was at ten today, and here I was, late because I'd been too busy making panties drop to check my schedule.
Jax
Calm your shit, I'm coming.
I dressed in designer sweats and a compression shirt that clung to every muscle. The mirror confirmed what I already knew—I looked like a Greek god who'd decided to try athletic wear.
