Sexiled: an enemies-to-lovers standalone Read online

  After he stole my peach.

  Little does he know, losing is the last thing I’ll be doing to him.

  I hatch a devious plan.

  Since they are graduates, they probably don’t realize I was voted first team All-American this year in collegiate volleyball. The only sophomore in the nation who got that honor.

  So no, I won’t be losing to him.

  Instead of outright telling him, I look directly at the guy. On some level he infuriates me for being so cocky and extremely handsome—and especially for stealing my dang peach. At the same time, I can’t help but admire him. Some guys just hit the genetic lottery.

  Time to kick the plan into action.

  To start, I begin to sway my shoulders and dance a little bit to the beat of the song playing on the outside stereo. I feel him watching me curiously as I pretend I’m doing a little drunken dance.

  Then I chug the rest of the iced tea from my cup, purposely spilling a little on my white tank top for good measure.

  “Oops!” I say, trying to brush the iced tea from my front.

  Even if my tank top gets a stain, it’s worth it for the prank I’m about to pull.

  I slur my speech like I’m the ditzy girl version of Jack Sparrow after a barrel of rum, and even add a little sway in my step while batting my eyes.

  “You’re playing in the tournament, too?” I ask.

  “Oh yeah. My senior year, we won it. That was two years ago. You’re…what? A freshmen or sophomore now? You probably weren’t here.”

  “I’m a sophomore.”

  “Cool. So, you never answered my question about being good.”

  “Oh I’m really good,” I slur. “I was the backup on my sixth-grade team.”

  He chuckles. “Wow, sixth-grade! The competition must have been pretty fierce.”

  “Oh it was. You’d be surprised.”

  He and his buddies all crack up, and he turns to me again, upturning his head. “What’s in the cup?”

  Faith and Alex watch me like I've gone off the rails of sanity. I take a few swaying steps to the left in the sand, really hamming it up. Hey, there are so many obnoxiously drunk people here, how would they know that the college drunk girl isn’t me?

  “Captain Morgan,” I lie. “I was so sad about not getting that peach I went straight to the bottle. See what you’ve done to me?”

  Mr. Hot Peach Stealer does a double-take. “Seriously? You’re drinking straight Captain Morgan?”

  I nod. “Oh yeah. I’m getting drunk today. What about you?”

  “Well, Beautiful, I’m going to wait until after this tourney to have a drink. Just better hope you don’t play us in the first round, Peaches.” He winks.

  I’m stifled, taken aback by the fact that he just called me beautiful. I ignore it.

  “Yeah so that’s the thing. If we win, you have to buy me a peach at some point in the future.”

  He laughs. “Yeah…you won’t win. I’ll take that deal any day.”

  “It’s done then. If I win, you owe me a peach.”

  He nods. “Done.”

  “And if I win?” I ask.

  “If you win…you have to let me be your boyfriend for the day.”

  My stomach knots. “Fat chance of that. No deal.”

  Alex and Faith come over to me and pull me back to the edge of the court.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Alex whispers. “You’re not even drunk. Why are you spilling iced tea on your tank top?”

  A wry grin comes over my face. “It’s a trick. We’re obviously not going to out-cocky them and intimidate them with trash talk. But we can play dumb and pull one over on them. I’m getting him to underestimate us.” I tap my head. “Psychology, ladies.”

  Faith looks at me with her hand on her heart. “But don’t you know who that is you were just talking to?”

  “Well, all I do know about him is that he’s hot, I admit that,” I respond. “He looks a little familiar, but I’m not sure.”

  “The Lord is my Shepherd…I swear, April,” Faith drawls. “Sometimes you’re more in your own little world than I am. That’s Morgan Kennedy!”

  I look over at the tall man again, then bring my eyes back and shrug.

  “Who’s Morgan Kennedy?”

  Their jaws drop.

  “You’ve seriously never heard of the Morgan Kennedy?” Alex says. “DJ has told me all about him. He’s a big deal. Morgan Kennedy is—”

  “Look, don’t know, don’t care,” I say, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “I get it, another guy with ridiculously sexy abs, a chiseled jaw, and probably something else I’m supposed to be intimidated by. And like all men, he’ll sleep with whoever strikes his fancy. Well, I’m tired of being underestimated. Matt underestimated me. Now these guys are going to do the same because they think I’m just another drunk girl they can walk all over in this tournament. I don’t care if he’s the Pope. We’re beating them.”

  Our other friends, Maya and Charlotte, come trotting over to us. “Hey, we didn’t miss the start of the tournament, did we?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. You’re just in time. We’re just about to destroy these guys.”

  A ball rolls toward us in the sand from where the group of players is volleying to warm up, and hits my legs.

  “Hey, Beautiful,” the cocky one calls out, who I now know is named Morgan. “You mind tossing that back? Also, which do you prefer I call you, ‘Beautiful’ or ‘Peaches?’”

  I pick up the ball, then pretend to clumsily drop it.

  “Oops!” I say loudly, not answering his question.

  I toss the ball back toward them and it goes flying over their heads. Accidentally, of course. I’m so punking the heck out of all these guys.

  But especially the peach stealer.

  “My bad!” I call out loudly, then turn back toward the girls and wink.

  The guys all give each other sideways grins then look back over at us. I know that facial expression. It’s the ‘I can’t wait to easily crush these drunk girls who can’t play sports’ look. One of them jogs to go grab the ball.

  “This is going to be entertaining, isn’t it?” Alex grins.

  “What’s gotten into you?” Maya asks.

  “Nothing yet,” I respond. “But that’s about to change. I don’t really care who this Morgan Kennelly guy is. He’s going down.”

  “It’s Kennedy,” Faith corrects.

  I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”

  3

  Morgan

  A half hour goes by while I wait for our opponent in the championship game to be determined. I sit in the sun on the grass, sipping my beer and looking out into the distance. I twist the black rubber bracelet around my wrist and stare at the engraving.

  M.K. – R.I.P. 9.16

  My chest burns just thinking about my brother. Michael would have been twenty-two last month.

  I won a World Series Championship in his honor last year. I threw out my arm doing so, and probably ruined my baseball career, but hey. Life is tough sometimes, and I understand that now. In fact, at just a hair shy of twenty-five, my short-lived baseball career already seems like it’s over, unless the shot-in-the-dark surgery I’m having next week works a miracle.

  It’s called Tommy John surgery, named after the first guy who had it in the seventies. It involves taking a tendon from my left arm and putting it in my right. I won’t be able to play or throw a ball for nine to twelve months afterwards, but it’s more than I’m able to play now.

  C’est la vie, as Michael would say.

  Now my path is vastly different, diverging from the sports world. I’m staring down a brand-new career for one of the top hedge funds in the world. I guess I’ll finally get to make use of my Economics degree from this world-class institution.

  Well, if I can nail the interview Monday morning, that is.

  But today is Saturday and being back at college as an esteemed alumni gracing the Alpha Z Island Party just because I have a Saturday to
kill doesn’t feel half-bad. I glance over at the girl who is so drunk she managed to spill on her tank top, and then threw the volleyball over our heads.

  I smirk. I didn’t mean to steal her peach this morning. When I came up behind her I had been attracted to her figure more than anything.

  But sometimes, you have to teach someone a lesson. In this case, you snooze, you lose.

  My smile fades. Michael would have appreciated that harmless little prank.

  And he also would have appreciated the crush I’m developing on this girl even though I’ve barely said two words to her, and I’m pretty sure she is seriously holding a grudge against me.

  In any case, winning this tournament is going to be a piece of cake, even though I’m serving left-handed.

  I feel slightly out of place being the older guy with all these college students around. But there’s something about being in the presence of high-spirited youth that takes my mind off of the past year’s grief, at least for a few minutes today.

  Plus, getting to be around my old Alpha Z fraternity brothers is a jolt of life for me. Now that I’ve lost my only biological brother, I have a giant hole in my heart where that male camaraderie used to be.

  “Hey, Kennedy.”

  I hear a deep voice over my shoulder and turn around and see Luke Rutledge standing there.

  Luke was my teammate with the Washington Nationals last year when we won the World Series. By all means Luke should be traveling with the team right now, but after he had a horrible spring training in April, they sent him back down to the minors. Poor guy is a superstar in his own right, but he can’t get out of his own head this season.

  So here we are, a pair of stilted professional baseball players, getting drunk with college students and about to win the annual Alpha Z sand volleyball tournament, just like old times.

  Are we living below our potential? Debatable.

  Are we having a great time? Hell yes.

  We already won our first two volleyball games of the afternoon, so now it’s time for the championship. Which we will win as well.

  Luke puts his hand on my shoulder and sees me twisting the black bracelet around my wrist.

  “Thinking about Michael?”

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  He pauses for a beat. “Well, take a minute, and then we’re ready to start the championship game.”

  I stand up and brush the dirt off my athletic shorts. “I’m good to go. Who are we playing against? That team of sophomore guys?”

  Luke shakes his head. “Actually, those drunk sophomore girls.”

  “Are you serious? The tall one with the sexy legs who was swaying and chugging Captain getting it all over her tank top? Her team actually won?” I ask, shocked. I roll my shoulders to get loose.

  Luke nods. “Yes, they won. I don’t know how they made it to the final game of the tournament. I wasn’t paying attention to their games, to be honest.”

  “Well, all right. Looks like this is going to be easy, doesn’t it?”

  “Sure looks that way.”

  We head back to the sand volleyball court, and I glance over at the girls. They’re volleying to warm up, and they don’t look half bad for being drunk.

  I put my sunglasses back on so I can stare even more shamelessly.

  Peaches said she played sixth-grade volleyball, so we have nothing to worry about, right?

  She’s tall, with her hair up in a ponytail for the game. Piercing eyes, wide hips, and a body I can’t seem to stop staring at as she stands in just a red-bottomed bikini and tank top. She isn’t just attractive, she is smoking hot.

  I’m reminded of the promise I made to myself not to get carried away on this college visit.

  Let’s just say after I achieved World Series champion status last year, I discovered star-bangers are real. One of the unfortunate outgrowths of fame and riches that makes it harder to form an actual connection with a person.

  Whatever, I’m not here to hook-up with some college girl. That’s just not my style.

  She’s graceful on the court while she gets warmed up, and seems to be directing her friends around and getting them organized for the game.

  I squint. Why is she so graceful given the amount of liquor she just chugged an hour ago when I first met her?

  Something’s not adding up.

  “Uh, Captain?”

  Captain is the nickname my friends have given to me to go along with Morgan. Real creative, I know. One of those nicknames you get freshmen year of college that just sticks.

  I turn and see Luke standing there with a ball in his hand.

  “You’re serving first, lefty,” he says.

  “Right.”

  “Dude, get your head in the game,” he says. “They aren’t some team we can blow off and still beat. We’ve got to stay focused.”

  We start, and he’s absolutely correct.

  I serve, and they set up Peaches, who spikes it with a grunt. She looks pretty coordinated considering the fact that she was chugging Captain like it was water earlier.

  My buddy Ryan dives for the ball but misses, and it paints the left corner. Point for them.

  The girls all form a huddle to celebrate like they’re in the Olympics. Luke glances at me. “These girls can play.”

  We start up again, and Peaches is serving.

  She hits an ace right between us and it hits the sand without any of us even touching it.

  “Get your head in the game,” I tell Scott, who is behind Ryan. “You should have returned that.”

  “Her serves are curving, dude,” he protests. “All that topspin.”

  “Yeah, well calculate the topspin!” I growl back.

  Luke, behind me shrugs. “Don’t worry, Captain. We got this.”

  Turns out, we don’t got this.

  Practically every time Peaches gets to serve is a guaranteed point, and there is no limit to serves in this version of the game.

  We lose game one, manage to take game two, and it all comes down to the rubber match. It’s our honor on the line.

  By the end of the championship game, we’re sweating, and of course the ball is in Peaches’ hands.

  The thorough feeling of admiration mixed with attraction courses through me. I can’t help but stare at her fit legs and long hair.

  “Game point.” She smiles, seeming to look directly at me. “This one’s for all the peaches.”

  She launches it right at me, challenging me.

  I manage to hit it straight up to Luke, who sets me up for a beautiful spike.

  I hit it perfectly, right back corner.

  Peaches dives, and somehow pancakes the ball up to her teammate, gets up, and spikes it herself to Scott, who she knows is our weak link.

  Scott dives and hits the ball backwards, and we lose.

  The girls cheer in celebration. Luke and I look at each other, honestly a little stunned.

  Nevertheless, we go to shake their hands to congratulate them. I mean, damn. It was so close, but we have to hand it to them. They crushed it.

  “So, sixth-grade volleyball, eh?” I say to Peaches as I approach her in the sand.

  She winks. “Yep. I was the team star.”

  “You looked amazing out there. I mean, wow. You’re really athletic,” I say.

  Hot. You’re hot and I can’t stop staring.

  I feel my adrenaline raise just talking to her in close proximity. There’s sand on her body from the last dive she made.

  “Thanks. Runs in my family,” she says as we walk over to the hose together. There’s one of the fraternity brothers, Grant, whose job it is to hose down the participants after the tournament so we don’t track sand into the house.

  “Oh? Your family is…volleyball players?”

  She nods. “That’s right. Both of my parents were volleyball players too.”

  I get hosed down first, and then grab my towel.

  Peaches takes off her tank top and rotates so he can spray her, too.

  After he’s
done with Peaches, her other friend steps into the line of spray immediately.

  “Baby.” Her friend giggles. “We agreed that you can only spray me with your hose. What do you think you’re doing?”

  Grant laughs and turns the nozzle to hard spray, and she laughs with delight.

  When I take Peaches’ hand to shake it, something beyond words is happening inside me.

  Look, I think storybook romance is as much bullshit as the next guy, especially considering my dating history of falling hard, and getting my heart stomped on.

  But when I touch this girl and look into her blue eyes, something ignites inside me.

  “Were you really drunk for that game?” I squint, examining her for signs of being tipsy, which I can’t find.

  “Wasted. Completely.” She tilts her head to the side, and lets my hand go. “On iced tea.”

  My eyes widen. “Hot damn. You punked me, Peaches.”

  “What, you’ve never been punked before?”

  “I have. But it’s been a little while. I’m rusty. So, what’s your name?”

  She smiles. “I’m April. This is my friend Maya. And Grant.”

  “I know Grant.” I nod my head. “And I’m…”

  “Morgan,” April says. “The Morgan Kennedy. Seems like everyone knows who you are.”

  “And you don’t?” I quip. Damn, as soon as the words come out, they make me sound like a dick.

  My heart skips a beat. Not to be cocky—okay, fine, I’m a bit cocky—but no one I’ve met since last fall has not known my name. Since we won the World Series last year and my face was plastered all over social media, it’s just simply how my life has been.

  “April,” I repeat, trying to change the subject. Maybe I’m confident, but I’m also not your average dumb jock. “What is it with your eyes?”

  “My eyes?” she retorts.

  When she tilts her head and her hair moves, even that turns me on.

  I’ve seriously got to get this checked out. There’s something wrong with me when it comes to her. I should not be this attracted to a girl who is willing to pretend to be drunk to play a prank. She’s got bad news written all over her.

  “Oh, it’s just…I can’t stop staring at them,” I say. “Pardon me if it’s too forward, but frankly, you’re gorgeous. And that’s quite the shade of aqua blue you’ve got going on.”