Page 15 of Playing for the Dark
I don’t think she will answer me, but she surprises me. “Okay. Since you beg so pretty.” I have to keep my face cool, but if begging is what she wants, I’ll easily comply. “Give me your phone. I’ll add my actual number this time.” She’s holding her hand out, and the other is on her cocked-out hip.
“You had Ida blowing my phone up, by the way.” A light chuckle slips past her lips. It’s a sultry laugh, one that seems well beyond her years, and she doesn’t give it to just anybody. I want that beautiful sound to fill my ears at all times.
“That’s what you get for being a cocky bastard. Not everyone is obsessed with your pretty ass.”She thinks I’m pretty.I’m taking that one and running with it. I hand her my phone, and she adds her contact info and even texts her phone.She’s not trying to run away this time.
She saved her name under “Bartender.” Cute, but it’s getting changed toShpirt Im.“I’ll text you to set dinner up,” I say, ready to counter if she puts up a fight.
“I’m picking the restaurant.” I smile down at her. She’s so fucking beautiful, even covered in sweat with her hair up on the top of her head and an oversized Pierce the Veil T-shirt hanging past the front of her skin-tight shorts. She for sure has the goth-punk vibe.
“You can do whatever you want, Shpirt Im. The world is yours,” I tell her, turning around and walking out of the locker room, grinning from ear to ear.
Ellie will be mine no matter what.
Monday hits me in the face as I walk into our practice facility; this place is beyond anything one team would ever need, but that’s any professional sports facility. Plus, this being new, I think they were trying to set the bar even higher. All the owners have pissing matches with one another, seeing who can put the most money into these places.
I’m making my way through the lobby towards the weight and cardio end of the building—yes, end. I don’t call this a room. I think someone told me on a tour once that the whole building is the size of four football fields, which I believe because it’s packed with weight machines, dumbbells, and cardio machines—you nameit, it’s here. We even have a section in the corner just for treadmills.
I start to stretch out and get warmed up. Usually, our first practice of the week is running through plays and watching film on the team we are set to play that week. It’s just a pre-season game but still a good way to see how the upcoming season is going to go. We’re all just waiting for our season opener which happens to be a home game.I wonder if Ellie will come if I invite her.Usually, I never invite anyone out, not wanting them to get the wrong idea of where I want to take things, but with her, it feels different.
I’m stretching my hamstrings, minding my own, when I hear a scoff. I turn around and it’s Nash staring a hole through my head. “Can I help you,Djale I Bukur?”
“What the fuck does that mean?” I tilt my head to the side, grinning, because the last time I called him pretty boy in English, he flipped the fuck out.Just had to find a way around that.
Lying through my teeth to see his reaction, I say, “It means ‘fuck face’ in Albanian.” He lunges at me pretty quickly, I’ll give him that, but I’m a trained killer.
My father was second to my uncle, Vito, which made him the enforcer. He always hated being second in command. He trained me to be heartless. Shoot first, question never. I was supposed to follow in my father’s footsteps and become my cousin, Alex’s, second, but here I am fighting with a dumbass teammate instead.
I sweep Nash’s legs out from under him but catch him before he hits the ground super hard. Can’t be hurting our precious quarterback.
Football took priority once the Division 1 schools started looking at me. I went with Palm University down in Florida, figuring it would put enough distance between my fucked up family and me. I stayed three years and won the championship just like Nash did. I entered the draft with high hopes and got drafted in the first round to the Rebels, and the rest is history.
I growl into Nash’s ear while straddling his back right above his ass, “You don’t know who you’re fucking with, Nash.”
He grinds out, sounding like he’s going to crack his jaw, “Get. The. Fuck. Off. Of. Me. Zamir.” I have his arm trapped by his sides with my legs, and he’s squirming like a fucking worm.
Being a trained killer, take downs have become second nature to me. It’s another reason Agron was not happy about my decision to play ball and not be his perfectly groomed son. But I refused to let him rule my life. He already had too much control over me, and if I’m being honest, he still does, sadly. Vito is still the head of the family and hopefully will be for a while. I do not want them calling on me to come back to Chicago. Being away for this long, I don’t even know how I would react if I had to jump back into the dangers of the mafia life. I couldn’t anyway with my contract, which is another fouryears, thank fuck. Alex’s call bounces around my head. I need to call and check back in.
I lean my whole upper body against his back, my lips touching his ear. “I like it when they fight, Nash.” I rub my pulsing cock on his lower back, letting him know what he’s doing to me, and then I’m up, casually walking back to the locker rooms to get changed.
1. Bad Things (with Camila Cabello) - mgk, Camila Cabello
Chapter 12
Zamir
We’re on the indoor field today in the practice facility running routes and trying to learn the offense with a new quarterback. It’s hard on all of us, including him, but it doesn’t help that he has some vendetta against me. And it seems to only be me.
I’m sure I didn’t help anything with the show I put on earlier when we were getting warmed up, but he had that coming. I’ve been convinced he’s into me, but there weren’t any sure signs… until I got up and peeked over my shoulder in time to see him rearranging his dick. So safe to say he’s into me. While I’m smirking to myself at the memory, I miss Nash’s snap cadence, and I’m off the line hella late.
1The little fuck doesn’t hold the ball any longer, even though I know he saw me leave the line later than all the others. The ball goes sailing over my head, nowhere even remotely close to where I am now, but where I should’ve been.
I’m sprinting full speed back to his ass. I’ve had enough. “Are you just trying to make me look bad, Rookie?” I practically spit the last word into his face. I pause, seeing if he’ll answer; of course, he doesn’t, so I keep going. “Because the only thing it’s doing is making your dumbass look bad. You’ve been playing long enough to make that decision to either throw to one of the other receivers or fuck, maybe even run the ball.” That was a low hit for no reason, but I’m pissed the fuck off.
Oh, that hit him where it hurts. I see rage fill his eyes, and then he shoves me by both of my shoulders. I stumble back a couple of steps—the fucker is strong, but I can still hurt his ass if need be.
He questions, “What the fuck were you doing getting off the line so late?”
I step back into his face, grinding my jaw and talking through my teeth, “Push me one more time, Nash, and we’ll have a repeat of earlier. You know what that did to me.” I swear to god I see him think about it, but before anything else can happen, Coach blows his whistle and points at both Nash andme.
