False Start (Playing for Keeps #2) Read Online Riley Hart

Categories Genre: Contemporary, M-M Romance, Sports Tags Authors: Series: Playing for Keeps Series by Riley Hart
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Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
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I stood next to baggage claim, holding a sign in front of me. Too many people to count stopped, looked, or pointed. Some had asked for an autograph, but others were too busy traveling or picking up loved ones to care.

The second Houston got off the escalator and saw me, his face split into a grin before he read the sign, then shook his head. But he fucking loved it. I knew he did.

“Cullen Atwood’s sexy boyfriend?” he asked.

I shrugged. “At first, I was going to write how sexy I am instead of you, but I figured I’d kiss ass a little so maybe you’d kiss mine for real later.” I pumped my brows dramatically, earning me a Houston McRae smile.

“You’re an idiot. Have I ever told you that?”

“You love it.” His bag was in his hand, so I nodded toward the door before I started walking.

Houston grabbed my wrist and tugged me closer before slamming his mouth down on mine. There were cheers and some clapping in the airport, but all I could think about was Houston’s taste and the feel of him against me. My dick was chubbing up. When he pulled back, I was going to make a joke, but he dropped his forehead against mine, like he just wanted to be close. “Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked. There was heaviness radiating off him that seeped inside of me, only to be fought off by my need to fix whatever had upset him.

“Nothing. It’s just good to be home.” I felt him stiffen before he said, “People are recording us. Let’s bounce.”

I nodded but took his hand as we left. I didn’t give a shit that people were watching and that this would end up all over the internet later. That part had been a little brutal since Houston left—die-hard Rush fans who were pissed and had nothing better to do with their time than to talk shit about me fucking the enemy—and die-hard Royals fans were doing the same thing to Houston. There had been chatter that he’d purposely screwed up our game against each other. Royal management assured him they didn’t believe it, but that didn’t stop know-it-alls on the internet from giving their unsolicited opinions. But we only had six weeks tops left, and that was if we made it to the Super Bowl, and that would all stop when our breakup hit the news. It was another reminder that this arrangement was inevitably going to end.

“Shit, I should have thought about repercussions with the sign,” I said when we got into the car.

“Nah, it doesn’t matter. They’d talk shit anyway. We’re in this whole fake boyfriend thing until the end of the season, regardless. If we don’t act like boyfriends, it’ll just have people speculating we broke up and pulling attention to that instead.”

My gut sank. “I’m sorry. Is it fucking things up for you? If so, we can end it right now.”

“Stop pretending you’re a nice guy,” he teased.

“I’m serious, Houston.”

“Still calling me by my first name, I see.”

“Aren’t I supposed to be the emotionally stunted one between us?”

He laughed, the sound wrapping around me. “Nah, we’ll play this out. Breaking up would just look worse—like we have something to hide. Are you going to give me your ass when we get home?”

“Is that really a question? I swear I’ve never used a dildo so much in my life. I got used to getting dicked down, and now you took my favorite toy away from me.” I reached over and palmed his bulge. “Jesus, you’re already hard? We haven’t even done anything yet.”

“I can’t help it. You get me hard.”

“Aww, baby. You don’t have to compliment me. I’m going to give up my ass regardless.”

Houston laughed, and damn, I missed this, just being able to laugh with him. I wondered if we would be able to stay friends when this was over. The thought of going years without Houston in my life again felt like a noose around my heart.

We chatted as we drove the rest of the way to his apartment. The second we stepped inside, he dropped his bag, eyes gazing around the space. “What. The. Fuck.”

“Looks awesome, doesn’t it?”

“Where in the fuck did you get a life-size cardboard Cullen Atwood?”

“Three of them. There’s one in the bedroom and one for you to take back to LA with you.”

He smirked, then tugged me, wrapping his arms around me. We breathed the same air for a moment; my heart snagged on something and was unable to beat before it broke free and sped off. “What am I going to do with you?” he asked.

“I have a few ideas.”

“We should get started, then.”

We raced to the bedroom, stripped, and fucked with a cardboard me watching us. We lay there talking after before fucking again. When Houston fell asleep, I listened to the sounds he made and created stories for each of them.



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