Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance) by Abigail Graham Read Free Book Online Page B

declares.
    "You still owe me that kiss."
    She blushes when she looks at me. "So I do. Come get it."
    I lean in, and she darts away, bursting from the couch to grab her bundle of clothes and run for the back door. I leap the couch and chase after her, running through the kitchen to catch up.
    Anastasia and Dee are already on the back porch.
    "You promised."
    She shrugs. "So I did. Here."
    She darts to me, jumps up, and plants a kiss on my lips. I try to grab her waist. It's a good kiss, and I'd like to keep it going. She even tastes sweet.
    She slips out of my hands before I can get ahold of her.
    "Now I collect my favor."
    "Which is?"
    She sighs, and a sad look takes over her soft, beautiful features.
    "I like you, but forget about me. You'll be happier."
    She turns, takes Dee by the hand, and runs.
    "Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up. No, I will not forget about you."
    She stops and looks at me, blinking. "Oh. Ah. I'm leaving now."
    "Wait!"
    "It's not you. I promise. I just can't."
    Anastasia gives me one last, longing look before she vaults the fence. Wow, she's very flexible.
    I walk to the door and lean on the frame, staring after them.
    "Damn, that's cold," Aheahe says.
    Akele joins him a moment later.
    "Did she say 'forget about me'?" Akele asks.
    "Yeah." Aheahe nods.
    "Not a chance in hell," I say to no one in particular.

Chapter Three
    A nastasia

    " W hat was up with that ?" Dee asks me as we take the long walk back.
    "With what?"
    "That 'forget me' routine."
    I look away from her, toward the horizon. It must be near noon. I have been gone far longer than I intended, and I may have hell to pay when I return. I should have Dee leave before she is seen with me.
    "You know what was up with it," I sigh.
    "Not this again."
    "You know how it must be."
    I've known it since I arrived here. Being a princess comes with duties. Expectations. Responsibilities. When I return home, I will be expected to marry. Whichever man I take as my husband must be appropriate to my station.
    Mother has been trying to find me a husband since I was nine . We no longer marry cousins, and half the island is related to me anyway, so that meant looking abroad.
    She made polite entreaties to the British crown, but was refused. For one, the British royalty no longer even arrange marriages. More importantly, they no longer marry foreigners. Marriage alliances are a relic of the past. That did not stop Mother from trying to betroth me. As I grew older, more suitors appeared.
    A few even deigned to visit us. One, a Prince Liam of Anglefell, disgusted me. Mother insisted we dance, and he did nothing but look down my dress and try to grope my buttocks. I told her I'd rather marry a lamprey than take that one as my husband.
    I threw a fit when she told me she'd asked Prince Kristoff of Kosztyla to visit us and meet me, or if he would be willing to accept a delegation so we would be introduced. I was ready to chain myself to my bed to keep her from saddling me with him, until he curtly refused with no more than a letter brought by courier. Mother ripped it to shreds and would have had the man who brought it thrown in the ocean if I hadn't stopped her.
    Until I left to study abroad, the stream of suitors was constant. When she ran out of nobility, she tried to pair me with the children of rich, old-money families. I took one look at a man named Damien Blackthorne and walked out of the room; his eyes frightened me. The others I barely remember. They were all the same—soft, boring men whose only interest in life was counting money and venal pursuits, or drunken partying and fornicating.
    Yet here I am thinking about a man whose only interests in life are football, drunken partying, and fornicating.
    "Don't tell me you're already doing the 'how it must be' thing over this guy."
    "I didn't say that."
    "You totally did. You like him. Jason Powell, you like Jason Powell."
    I sigh. "I did not say that."
    "You're not denying it."
    "He is interesting," I huff. "He amuses