Bet on Me
A Bet on Love Novel
Rachel Higginson
Copyright@ Rachel Higginson 2016
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Editing by Amy Donnelly at Alchemy and Words
Cover Design by Caedus Design Co.
Other Books Now Available by Rachel Higginson:
Love and Decay
Season One (Volumes One and Two)
Season Two (Volumes Three through Five)
Season Three (Volumes Six through Eight)
Love and Decay: Revolution
Season One (Volumes One through Three)
The Star-Crossed Series
Reckless Magic
Hopeless Magic
Fearless Magic
Endless Magic
The Reluctant King
The Relentless Warrior
Breathless Magic
Fateful Magic
The Redeemable Prince
The Starbright Series
Heir of Skies
Heir of Darkness
Heir of Secrets
The Siren Series
The Rush
The Fall
The Heart
Bet on Love Series
Bet on Us
Bet on Me
Bet on Love, Coming 2017
Adult Romantic Contemporaries – Stand Alones
The Five Stages of Falling in Love
Every Wrong Reason
Mashups
Magic and Decay, a Rachel Higginson Mashup
The Forged in Fire Series
Striking
Brazing
To neurotic, frustrating women.
And the surprises that mess up our
Carefully laid plans.
Chapter One
Beckett
“Beckett, where’ve you been all summer?” a tall blonde asked as soon as I walked in the door. She seemed to know me, but I had no idea what her name was. That was usually the case when it came to coeds and me—except for one.
Trying to forget someone. “Traveling,” is what came out of my mouth as I smiled down at her. She was tall for a girl, but couldn’t compete with my 6’2” frame. And she was forgettable. I shifted my shoulders, feeling restless. I could spend the rest of my night tolerating a sure thing, or I could scratch this itch that had somehow turned into a chronic, endless rash. “I’ll find you later, yeah?”
“All right,” she giggled. She put a delicate hand on my shoulder and rubbed my collarbone with her thumb.
There was a time in my life when I would have taken that hand and immediately led her to a back room at whatever campus party we happened to be at. That time was at least six months ago.
But I was a changed man these days.
Thanks to a drunken decision and the softest lips I’d ever kissed. That’s right, Beckett Harris, one-time baseball star and all-around ladies’ man was felled by a drunken make out session.
It did not get more pathetic than this.
The last three months of summer were spent in desperate pursuit of forgetting all about that one-night stand—and believe me, I was clear on how wrongly that description was used—and the girl who wanted nothing to do with me.
Which was almost inconceivable to me—I was a catch. A goddamn eligible bachelor.
She was quirky and way too focused on school. She was young, too young for me, and best friends with my sister. She was all kinds of wrong.
And I couldn’t get her out of my head.
I pushed my way through the crowded living room of some random undergrad’s apartment and kept my eyes open for her. I was very aware that my behavior was stalker-ish, gravitating toward desperate. But to be fair, I stayed away for the last three months.
Wasn’t that was nice of me?
I accepted a Solo cup full of beer and drank it without hesitating. I knew girls had to be careful at these parties, but honestly, who wanted to roofie me? I would be pretty useless knocked out cold. And after growing up with two older brothers that spent their teenage years hazing a sister who liked to “prove” herself by joining in the antics and me, pranks didn’t often phase me.
The beer was cold, but tasteless and light, typical college fare. I wasn’t an alcohol snob per say, but my oldest brother Lennox usually brought back interesting beverages from around the world and shared with our other brother Grayson and me. I’d much prefer a craft beer over this garbage. Or better still, twelve-year single malt scotch.
Dark hair floated in my peripheral, and I craned my neck to see if it was her. I was playing damned detective to find her. I just got back into town last night and couldn’t suppress the need to see her. I wanted to make sure she was doing okay this semester, make sure she hadn’t taken on more than she could handle.
Ok, enough bullshit, I wasn’t that thoughtful.
What I really wanted was to make sure she wasn’t dating anyone.
It wasn’t like I wanted to date her.
But I did not like the idea of someone else putting their filthy hands on her. Not at all.
I decided to make my way toward the backyard. The house was packed with undergrads, all celebrating the first week of classes. I had another week before grad school started, but I knew enough of the student body that I could show up anywhere unannounced. Playing baseball the last four years had its perks.
I walked through a group of guys watching ESPN highlights on a pathetic excuse for a TV and answered their greetings, but kept my destination in sight. The longer it took to find her, the more uncomfortable I was starting to feel.
What if she wasn’t here?
I got a text from one of the guys I played ball with in college. He had a confirmed visual, but that was over an hour ago. She could have easily left by now.
Except her MO usually kept her at the same party all night. She didn’t come out to parties often, but when she did choose to spend her time at one, she made an all-night appearance.
I liked that about her—although I couldn’t figure out why. It was like she was picky, but when she finally decided on something she committed all the way. I liked that kind of loyalty. I liked that she wasn’t flaky like most of the other girls I spent time with.
I glanced back at the TV, hearing a particular score I was curious about. The announcer brought back a rush of memories, and I couldn’t stop the smirk from changing my expression. I was definitely finding her tonight.
The first, and only time we’d hooked up had been at a party just like this one. We had run into each other during a game of beer pong. We played against each other, flirting and laughing the entire night. We were both pretty tipsy by the time the game was over, but when we went our separate ways I didn’t think anything about it.
It was later in the night after most everyone else had disappeared that I was sitting in
a recliner, watching the late-night highlight reels. She came out of the kitchen looking like an exotic goddess in her long, flowing dress and crawled right onto my lap. Her knees straddled my lap, her hands rested on my neck and her huge green eyes looked down at me like they were starving.
She bent down and kissed the corner of my eye. It was sweet, not sexy and I was confused by the gesture. I didn’t need my little sister’s best friend developing any kind of crush on me. At the time, I was worried she was about to make things really awkward, but she felt exactly right sitting on my lap the way she was, and my drunken brain didn’t feel like talking her out of whatever mistake she was about to make.
“I want to be a fangirl tonight,” she murmured and then slid her tongue over my bottom lip.
I immediately forgot any reason to talk her out of this. Her luscious body fit perfectly in my hands as I cupped her behind and adjusted her across me, right where I needed her.
“Let’s pretend I love baseball,” she whispered, leaning forward to nibble on my ear. “And that you’re my favorite player.”
“I am your favorite player,” I reminded her in a voice I barely recognized. God, this girl had turned me on faster than anyone I could remember in recent history. She smelled like seduction and tasted like sweet sin. Her thighs wrapped around me as if they were made for my body, as if I were made to fit her this way. Whatever hesitation I’d had… whatever reluctance had been pressing the brakes quickly disappeared in place of need and desire.
“So then you won’t mind if I…” she trailed off and gave me a slow, hot kiss right on the mouth.
“Not at all.” And that was the truth.
I deepened the kiss immediately until she was wiggling and squirming in my lap. I liked the whole girl-on-top thing she had going on, and in my alcohol-infused state, my brain thought she was the sexiest thing I’d ever had my hands on. She was gentle, but hungry at the same time. She was obviously innocent but still so sweetly responsive.
One of my hands started traveling north over the curve of her hip, across her flat stomach and to a place I’d fantasized about more than one time in our brief interactions. I groped her carefully, gauging how she would handle this. When her moan broke our kiss and her back arched her further into my hand, I think I lost my mind completely. I did the same thing with her other breast in my other hand, and her reaction was even more intense.
This was turning into a very good night.
But then she pulled away, laughing gently. “No, no, no, Beckett Harris. I’m not that much of a fangirl,” she shook her head and moved my hands down to her waist.
I let her have her way. Everything about her was nice, even her hips. Especially her hips. I gripped her tightly, digging my fingers in to keep her in place. I had one thing on my mind, and if she wanted to pull back, I was gearing up to convince her to stay right where she was.
“Besides,” she continued, wiggling enough to make me groan. “I don’t even like baseball.”
“Now you’re trying to be cruel.” I yanked her forward so that our bodies were impossibly closer and she let a squeal of surprise. “Where you going, Britte? I’ll be good, promise.” At this point, all I could focus on were those gorgeous lips and how they felt against mine. I was a desperate man—desperate to taste her again.
She was driving me crazy with her teasing kisses, the way her tongue tangled with mine and her body moved against me in this perfect rhythm of careful desire. I’d obviously lost my mind if I was promising her insane things like good behavior and begging for innocent kisses.
“I don’t believe you,” she whispered, granting me another long, slow kiss. “I don’t think you’re capable of being good.”
I returned her gesture and teased her with a seductive move with my tongue that always worked. She whimpered against my mouth.
“Sure I can,” I tried to sound serious, but it came out more like a growl. “This time.”
“All right,” she quickly agreed. “This time.”
And as I kissed her into oblivion, I kept my promise to her to play nicely, while I swore to myself I would have her next time—that there would be a next time.
Only there wasn’t a next time.
There hadn’t even been an almost next time.
But only because she wouldn’t give me the goddamn time of day.
I noticed her then, in the kitchen, sitting on the counter next to the keg. She was wearing sinfully small white shorts that made her long legs look like they went on for days. Her huge green eyes had red eyeliner around them. She chose the weirdest colors for her makeup, but somehow they always made her look sexy as hell. She was wearing a loose, silky tank top that didn’t exactly show off her figure, but it did reveal smooth, sexy shoulders—which made me feel a little strange that I was checking out her shoulders.
At this point, I couldn’t help myself.
And she hadn’t even realized I was in the room stalking her.
Which gave me the advantage.
I needed to stay on the offensive—get to her before she could make her getaway. She was really good at avoiding me last semester, but I was hoping she didn’t know I was back in town yet.
Her head tipped back and she laughed in her infectious way at something one of the guys around her said. She looked back at him with an adoring look that made me instantly murderous. Bastards. Whoever they were. But then she patted him on the head like he was a child, and poured him a cup of beer. That was a good sign—girls didn’t treat men they wanted to sleep with like puppies.
I sauntered over to her, throwing off my signature confidence, even though for the first time in a long time, I didn’t actually feel as smug as I was acting. She had rejected me too many times for this to feel like a sure thing.
Two things kept me moving forward. One: Those damn legs. And two: If I didn’t kiss her again soon, I was going to die. I was. It was a forgone conclusion. Somehow, while I had been making out with her, convinced I was just doing it so I wouldn’t hurt her feelings, she’d made me addicted to her.
And I’d been too long without a fix.
The three guys—all younger than me—moved out of the way when I made it obvious where I was headed. Britte looked at me and immediately glowered. She obviously wasn’t happy to see me, and I was right, she hadn’t heard I was back in town by the subtle lines of surprise that lifted her eyebrows.
I should have been irritated, or maybe even offended, but instead I felt challenge buzzing just beneath my skin. I saw the defiance in her eyes and couldn’t ignore the way my heart rate spiked and my blood pulsed with fresh resilience. She was an opposing team I wanted to teach a lesson. A dare I couldn’t help but take. She was the theory I had to test. The contest I needed to win.
It was her fault really. She brought out everything competitive and sportsmanlike in me. This was my true nature. I was an athlete. I couldn’t help but pick up the gauntlet and play to win.
I bravely walked up to her and stepped in between her legs where nirvana awaited. “Hey, Britte,” I used the voice I reserved for the bedroom and trailed my fingertips up her thigh because I couldn’t help myself.
In every other area of my life, I was the epitome of self-control—my workouts, my diet, my studies. But this girl was going to ruin me with her legs.
What did that say about me?
Apparently, I needed to end this recent dry spell.
And fast.
“Beckett, you’re in their way. They wanted drinks,” she motioned to the guys still standing awkwardly behind me, like they were waiting for me to leave.
I glanced back at them dismissively, knowing they would figure out what was going on before she did. “They’re good.” I shrugged casually, and I felt them disappear back into the party.
“Why did you do that?” she hissed. “They were legitimately thirsty!”
“In no way, were they legitimately thirsty,” I laughed. “At least, not for beer.”
Her scowl deepened. “What do you want,
Harris?”
Her hands rested on my shoulders as if she hadn’t remembered to push me away yet. I took that as a good sign.
“A drink?” I improvised. Her nose wrinkled, and I stopped myself from laughing. Had she always been this cute? “I’m legitimately thirsty, too.”
“You are not.” She sighed, but her fingers trailed a line along my collarbone, and I felt like shivering.
I didn’t—I was a man after all. But it was proof of what her touch could do to me. I wasn’t leaving here without her tonight.
I couldn’t.
“Maybe I’m not thirsty for beer either.”
Her lips twitched like she was trying not to smile. “I thought we talked about that.”
“We did,” I agreed quickly. “But I forgot the finer points of our agreement. Maybe you should spend some time reminding me.” I swiped my tongue along my lower lip, unable to hold back my anticipation for something I decided was in my reach.
“I am so not drunk enough to make those kinds of bad decisions,” she laughed. I laughed too, I couldn’t help myself. She pulled me into every part of her, made me laugh when I didn’t want to…made me see reason when I didn’t think I was capable of it.
“Then let’s get you drunk enough,” I suggested, shooting a glance at the keg.
“You’re cute,” she smiled at me.
I did not want to be cute. No guy wanted to be cute. Sexy, irresistible, hot as all hell, but not cute.
She needed to get all thoughts of cute out of her head right now. And I should probably help with that.
Deliberately moving my hands from her thighs to her hips, I jerked her forward so that she straddled my waist, and our lips were that much closer together.
“I promise I’ll be good again,” I whispered. I leaned in and ran my nose up the graceful line of her jaw. I forced my mouth to stay closed, to wait to kiss her until she couldn’t stand the thought of not kissing me—until she was as tortured as I was.