Fair Play (8 page)

Ashlyn reached for the martini, inadvertently putting her lips the same place mine had been. Without even trying, the woman slayed me.

“Oh, my God, Noah.” Her eyes widened with pleasure. Then she took a bigger sip. “This is amazing.”

She had a look on her face, one that made my heart stutter-step and my breath catch in my throat. Then she moaned. I felt its vibration at the core of every single cell that made me a man. But even though I hadn’t grown comfortable with my body’s attraction to her, the eroticism of her enjoyment was more welcome than the way she’d picked at the scab of my old wounds.

“Is this an original?” She pointed to her glass. “Did you make up this recipe just now?”

I shrugged.

“What are you going to call it?”

I thought for a second. “Ash Thursday. I’m thinking it should be a weekly special. Once you become a famous Broadway playwright, you can write the story of how it originated. We’ll print it on a plaque and hang it on the wall.”

Surprise flickered in her eyes. Maybe I’d tell her the truth later—that this was exactly how her mouth tasted, citrusy sweet with a hint of spice, minus the alcoholic bite.

Ashlyn set her glass down on the mahogany bar top. “You know who gave me my first gin and tonic?

I had a pretty good idea.

“Your father,” she said. “When I was fifteen. It was my first time visiting Quinn when you two were at Columbia.” Her eyes searched mine. “Do you miss him?”

By the time he was diagnosed, Michael was in stage four lung cancer. He’d gone fast. At least by then his final stint in rehab had stuck.

“He was a hard man to love,” I finally said to Ashlyn. “But, yeah, sometimes I do miss him.” I never would have reached peace with my father if it hadn’t been for Babs. In light of his illness, she’d pushed me to work through my issues with him, to deal with the emotional trauma he’d caused. Because of her, he accepted accountability. And in the end, he apologized—and I’d accepted his apology.

That got me thinking about Kyle Pritchard.

Clearly what happened years before had left an emotional mark on Ashlyn. Maybe she needed to get Pritchard’s apology in order to move on. Maybe her past was hanging up her future. And even though my gut told me Kyle was still slime, for Ashlyn’s sake I hoped the fact he’d saved that kid was proof that I was wrong—maybe he had changed.

I placed my hand on top of hers, turning it palm up, and wrote the address where she’d find Pritchard across her skin. “If you have to do this alone, promise me you’ll be careful,” I said.

But she wouldn’t be alone. Her brother and I would have eyes on her at all times. And she wouldn’t know it, but I’d be there, too, at the ready in case things went south.

Chapter Nine

Ashlyn

Noah had come through for me. I had to admit, I’d liked it when he wrote the address where Kyle was staying on the palm of my hand. Kinda reminded me of high school. And the tingles that had shot up my arm reminded me of the same tingles I used to feel when I was around Noah. Before the whole Kyle Pritchard thing.

As I drove out to Lost Meadows shortly after leaving the Double Shot, I hoped to convince Kyle to recuse himself as judge. How could he claim to not be biased, given what had gone down between us? I never should have invited him there in the first place. Sure, I’d wanted Kyle’s famous father to read my script—I’d had stars in my eyes about being a playwright. I’d hoped if Noah saw me with another guy, he might realize what he’d tossed aside and profess his love for me. But none of that was to say it was okay Kyle had manhandled me and didn’t stop when I said no.

I’d had so many hopes when I ran away to New York. I’d already fallen in love with the city on previous visits. What I hadn’t planned on was falling for my brother’s best friend. That week I spent in the apartment, with Noah looking after me, he’d been the perfect gentleman. He did a great job of taking care of me, the way he’d promised my father. It was during a visit to Central Park that everything changed.

That afternoon, we’d been together on a picnic blanket, with me yammering about a book I was reading on Christopher Marlowe while Noah was on his back, tossing a football to himself, pretending to listen. Just as he threw the ball in the air and positioned his hands to catch it, I knocked the football away.

“Hey, what was that for?” he asked.

“How did Marlowe die?”

“Who?” Noah’s brow knit, then he grinned. “I’m kidding, Training Wheels. He took a knife to the head.”

I dove for the loose ball. Just as I reached it, Noah grabbed my ankle and pulled me toward him.

“Lucky guess, smarty pants,” I said, laughing, kicking at his hand with my free foot.

His palm wrapped around my other ankle and he flipped me onto my back. “No offense, Wheels, but that book sounds boring as hell.”

Indignant, I threw the ball at him, a wild toss under pressure that would’ve missed him by a mile. His hand shot up. Fingers grazed pigskin just enough to knock down the pass. And though he was on his knees, he lost balance and landed on top of me.

Instinctively, my legs wrapped around him. His hands came up to pin mine to the ground. The brown of his eyes deepened, and for a moment, I thought what I’d been dreaming of since arriving in New York would finally happen. Noah Blake was going to kiss me. I closed my eyes and waited for it to happen.

Only it didn’t.

Noah released me, then stood. His back to me, he snapped out, “Playtime’s over, Wheels. I’m out of here.”

“Wait,” I said, confused. “I thought you were taking me to a play tonight?”

“I have other responsibilities. Find someone else to play babysitter.”

He took off, then, leaving me behind in Central Park.

Unsure of what happened and why, I hung out at the park for a few hours longer, crying and feeling miserable for myself, before hailing a taxi to take me back to the apartment. I could tell Noah had come and gone—not just from the utter disarray of the place, but from the fist-sized crack that had been punched in the crumbling plaster wall of the living room.

Over the course of the last few days, I’d fallen in love with Noah Blake, and if the way he acted today was any indication, he had feelings for me, too. He just needed space, time to get used to these new feelings. So I picked up the mess in the living room, taped a picture over the dent in the wall, and went to the theater alone.

That’s where I met Kyle Pritchard. And had invited him back to the apartment, hoping Noah would see and would get jealous. But Kyle had gone straight from ignoring the script in my hand to first base in a flash. By the time he went for third, I was freaking out.

Time blurred after that. I remembered shrieking no. I remembered getting my knee poised between Kyle’s legs. I remembered waiting for the exact right time to knee him in the nuts. And then Noah burst through the door.

By the time Noah pulled Kyle off me, there was no stopping what came next. And when it was over and Kyle was gone, a blood-covered Noah looked at me with what I figured was disgust. Without a single word to me, he called Babs, who’d come over and made sure I was okay. She even rode the train back to Dallas with me and delivered me to my parents.

After that night, the easiness between Noah and me vanished. He became cold, his distance a constant reminder of my stupidity and how I never should’ve invited Kyle back to Noah’s to begin with.

I’d never heard from Kyle Pritchard after that night. For a while, he’d had a lackluster career as an actor, only to find a rousing success as a brutal, yet spot-on critic. He’d been a self-centered, arrogant asshole when I’d known him. I had to hope he’d changed inside. And that he’d do the decent thing and withdraw from judging the festival.

I pulled my car up to where his luxury Air Stream was parked beneath the covering of live oaks and honked. Kyle came outside, dressed in tan walking shorts and a golf shirt, a fluffy golden retriever at his side. He caught sight of me as I got out of my car, and the false smile he wore faded. First recognition and then hatred covered his face.

That’s when I realized just how very wrong I’d been. People don’t change.

“Hello,
Ashley
,” Kyle said.

My heart beat like a war drum inside my chest. He remembered me. He hadn’t used the right name, but that seemed to be on purpose. Noah used nicknames to make people feel accepted, but Kyle had used the wrong name to demean me—to show just how insignificant he believed me to be.

“Hello, Kyle.” We were past formalities, weren’t we? Though he was a festival judge, I couldn’t bring myself to call him Mr. Pritchard.

The dog barked, and Kyle turned his back to me to pick up a stick, which he threw down an embankment. Tongue lolling, the dog gave chase. I could hear the gentle rush of the Pedernales River in the distance.

“I know you’re one of the playwrights I’ll be judging,” he said. “You shouldn’t be here. You know it’s against festival rules for you to seek me out.” He caught my eye then. “Especially given what happened that night.”

My arms crossed in front of me in response to his tone that brokered no apology. I tried to calm the trembling in my knees, to tell myself to not be afraid. I wasn’t a teenager anymore. And I wasn’t helpless.

He pushed designer sunglasses to the top of his head, making prominent a disjointed nose that dirtied up his Waspish good looks. He didn’t appear to be the kind of guy who needed to take a woman by force.

“I came here to say I’m sorry for what happened.” I figured I would accept my end of the responsibility if he accepted his. “I never should have invited you in that night. I didn’t know—”

His flash of too-white teeth was more a baring of fangs than a smile. “I think you knew
exactly
what you were doing. The way you came on to me proved it.”

But I hadn’t come on to him. And I’d tried to stop him. I really had.

Kyle had taught me something that night. From then on, I kept most men at a distance. I could count on three fingers how many men I’d allowed myself to get close enough to where sex became part of the relationship—men I’d invited into my home.

He went on. “I can’t believe what you did, after all the things you promised.”

My knees stopped trembling as fear got doused by a good helping of mad. “I didn’t
do
anything. And I didn’t promise anything, either.
You
started it. And you didn’t stop, even after I said no.” Pissed beyond reason, I pushed my fingers through my hair. “You wouldn’t have gotten hurt if you’d done the right thing.” What had I been thinking, coming here like this? Kyle hadn’t changed. He wasn’t remorseful.

But that was in the past. “I’m only here to make sure our past doesn’t compromise The Marshall Theater Players’ chances at the festival.”

At that, he glared at me, then sneered.

“It’s not too late to do the decent thing. Recuse yourself as festival judge.”

His lip turned up in a snarl. “The Phair Theater Festival is known for making
and
breaking up-and-coming artists. Why would I, an upstanding and well-known industry professional, bow out of anything?”

Because you tried to date rape a seventeen-year-old girl, you pompous fuck
.

Those were the words I wanted to hurl at him. But I couldn’t bring myself to say them out loud.

In two steps, Kyle Pritchard was in my face, only I didn’t give him the satisfaction of cowering the way I might have years ago. Instead, I held my ground.

“The way I see it,
you
owe
me
, Ashlyn. You got me beat up for something I didn’t deserve—something you wanted, too. I spent two days in the hospital.” Kyle pointed to his nose. “Because my face is no longer leading man material, you ruined my career as an actor.”

Did he really believe the things he said, or was this part of his intimidation? Kyle never made leading man because he wasn’t that good of an actor, not because Noah had rearranged his face. But whatever Kyle’s thought process, the conversation was getting us nowhere. I started to turn, but not before he reached out and grabbed my elbow.

“Not so fast.” Kyle ran his fingers along the hemline of my short sleeve and smiled. “You’re even more beautiful than I remember,” he said.

My stomach soured. “Go to hell.”

His eyes shot to mine as his fingers stilled. “Perhaps if you come crawling to me on hands and knees and give me what you should have given me before your boyfriend busted in, I might find it in my heart to play fair with you. I might even be compelled to use my considerable influence to see that other judges look favorably on you, too. But only if you could convince me your apology was sincere.”

My head tilted, but my eyes remained on his. Was he serious? Did he
really
think…? Bile from my sour stomach rose to my throat. “So basically what you’re saying is that if I sleep with you, you’ll help me win?”

“As I said, I have the power to sway the other judges.”

“And if I don’t?”

He smirked. “I hope you like community theater, because you’ll never get out of it.”

I narrowed my eyes. “So, if I
don’t
sleep with you, you’ll ruin my career, like how you think I ruined yours?” I fake-smiled right back at him. “I’m amazed at the power you think you wield in such a vast industry.”

“Ever ask yourself why
Little Lamb
never got published?”

My hand jerked, palm itching with the need to strike him. I didn’t. Some people deserved an ass-kicking, and Kyle Pritchard was one of them. But I took the high road.

Kyle’s smile turned vicious. “You liked it rough. I enjoy girls who like it rough.”

“You like
girls.
”

His smile faltered, but only slightly.

“You won’t get away with this,” I said.

“Because you didn’t go to the police that night means I already did.”

Walking to my car, I chastised myself the whole way. How could I have ever been so foolish as to blame myself for his behavior? Maybe I shouldn’t have invited a stranger into the apartment, but Noah was right. Decent guys stop at the word no. Always.

“Oh,” Kyle said, just before I slammed my car door. “Before you go trying to make trouble for me, you should know a very good friend of mine is a back-up judge.”

Intuition crept up my spine. I knew the name he was going to say—the one I’d kept myself busy enough not to think about all week.

His tone brimmed with sarcasm. “I hear Anderson Jones has become quite a
fan
of your work. You be extra nice to me, I’ll be nice to you. The offer’s open, Ashley. Until curtains up, of course.” He put fingers in his mouth, turned, and whistled for his dog.

Kyle may have saved the mayor’s kid, but he was made of pure evil. There had to be a way to stop him from ruining it for all of us. I just didn’t yet know how. What I did know was that with so much on the line—for me, for the theater, for Phair, and for
Noah
—timing was crucial.

…

Upon arriving back at my apartment, still shaky from my confrontation with Kyle, I sank down onto Noah’s beanbag. It felt like him, the way he’d wrapped his arms around me in the batting cage. It smelled like him, too, clean and manly with just a hint of spice. Breathing his scent in, slow and steady, my adrenaline levels evened out to the point I finally felt safe. Ready to face what had happened, I allowed my thoughts to drift back to Kyle.

God. How dumb could I be?

Had I really believed he was capable of doing the right thing? Instead, he’d threatened me. Now what was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to escape my past?

My mind whirled with thoughts and memories. Noah, and the crush I’d had on him when I was young. Kyle, and how he ruined everything. Noah’s constant interference after that night. Anger churned around inside me. I knew logically I was angry at Kyle, but instead I wanted to lash out at Noah, whose constant protective actions kept messing everything up. If it hadn’t been for Noah, I wouldn’t be here in Phair, facing a past I’d wanted to forget and dealing with the fact that so many people’s futures were riding on my already burdened shoulders.

Stupid Quinn for telling Noah about the contract between me and my father.

Yeah, I had a bone to pick with my brother. But maybe he could help me figure out what to do with Kyle. I reached for my laptop and queued up my video chat.

Quinn answered, almost like he’d been expecting me. I chalked it up to sibling telepathy.

“What’s up?” he asked, his forehead creased in concern.

I forced a smile and tried to sound breezy. “Haven’t heard from you in a while. Thought I’d check in.”

“Started a new project this week.”

Quinn and I never discussed the particulars of his work. He was the Golden Boy—brilliant and good looking, if you liked cheeky redheads who looked like a British prince. He followed his dreams and our whole family cheered him on.