© ✰ Bianca ✰ Janeane ✰
• standalone College Football Romance
• Book #2 in the Hook Up Series
★★★★★
4.75 Stars
πππ₯π¦ π΄π‘βπππ‘π: π° πππ πππ. . .
ππππππππ πΊππβππ: π©πππ ππ ππππ, πππππππππππ.
The late night text is random but Penelope knows exactly who “Sexy Athlete” is. And why she shouldn't take his wager.
Ryker Voss.
Football star.
Walks on water and God's gift to women.
Just ask him.
His bet? He promises Penelope he’ll win her the heart of the nerdy guy she’s been crushing on. His plan—good old-fashioned jealousy. Once her crush sees her kissing Ryker, he'll realize what he's missing. Sounds legit, right? The only question is…why is Ryker being so nice to her?
Penelope Graham.
Virgin.
Lover of sparkly vampires and calculus.
His mortal enemy.
Penelope knows she shouldn’t trust a jock, but what’s a girl to do when she wants to ask her crush to the Homecoming Party? Ryker swears there's a method to his madness, but one thing after another keeps going haywire. Craziest of all, Ryker and Penelope are beginning to have feelings for each other. But Ryker’s keeping a secret, another bet, one that could crush Penelope’s heart.
Will the quarterback score the good girl or will their secrets mean everyone loses this game of love?
He's very interested in Penelope. Sweet, nerdy, bird-owner, vampire-fan, redhead Penelope who works at the diner.
But his football team's famous stupid bets get in the way of a possible romance. His 'buddies' bet he can't get her to sleep with him. She already found out about the first two bets about her - so how can he even begin to have something serious with her now?
It won't be easy - and the bets might destroy everything once Penelope and Ryker start really falling for each other ...
Such an adorable & funny story - with some serious/sad/interesting family problems thrown in.
It wasn't anything new really. I've read a million sexy and funny & heartbreaking sports romances. And even lots of those had a cute nerdy girl and a football team betting stupid bets that will lead to a fight towards the end. BUT - I love those books!!!! I love football and college romances. And this one was so sweet and funny and sexy and moving ... I loved Penelope and Ryker! And I hated Archer. What's his problem?? Ugh!
I really enjoyed reading this book! Finished it in one day .... Ryker was just too cute to resist! ☺
Can't wait to get Blaze's story next!!!
I BET YOU was such an adorable & funny college football romance!
Run to your nearest amazon for your own RYKER - this one is MINE!
Run to your nearest amazon for your own RYKER - this one is MINE!
ARC received for an honest review
I am starting to shy away a little from college aged romances - nothing against the books, it is just that I am an old fart and it is a bit pervy lusting after 21 year old boys lol
Also, I know nothing about American football - other than it takes about 42 hours to play a game!
However, there are some authors that I will pick up no matter the age of the characters, and Ilsa Madden-Mills is one of them.
I enjoyed I Dare You, so I knew I was going to enjoy I Bet You - and I sure did.
Being called I Bet You, you kind of know where the story is going to go. It is kind of that move She's All That, with a writer instead of a painter.
Ryker and Penelope's story is all kinds of sweet and adorable. We know early on in the book that it starts with a bet, and we all know what is going to happen when she finds out it is a bet, however it is how they manage things once it all comes out that I liked. I loved that they talked, they acted like adults and sorted crap out.
I am a huge fan of "Vampire Bill" - you will love him when you meet him.
One thing I have to ask Ms Madden-Mills thought - what is Archer's childhood trauma? Ugh, he is so, so unlikable, and I couldn't help but cheer when we got to him at the end of the book.
I can't wait for more of these guys to get their story.
♥ EXCERPT ♥
Penelope
I stand in front of the mirror in the restroom and gasp.
Holy moly, I’m a total disaster. Red is on my shirt, my neck, my cheek, and
there’s even a dab in my hair. I let out a heavy sigh as I wipe at it with a
wet paper towel. At least my hair is auburn and the red will just blend right
in. I scrub at the stain on my shirt, but all I end up doing is making a giant
wet spot.
“Forget it,” I mutter to myself a few minutes later as I
straighten my lopsided messy bun and adjust my glasses. My makeup is faded, and
I reach into my apron for a tube of cherry red lipstick then quickly swipe it
over my mouth. Like that’s going to improve the situation. I need a makeover
and new clothes stat.
I walk out of the restroom and take in Sugar’s Bar and
Grill, a restaurant in Magnolia, Mississippi. The dinner rush is over, but a
few stragglers will come in, mostly college students. Only a block from campus,
Sugar’s has a modern farmhouse feel with galvanized steel light fixtures, pale
pine floors, and straight-back metal chairs, but the food…well, that’s what
keeps the place hopping. It’s the only restaurant near campus to get anything
you want served up with a side of fresh fried green tomatoes. Their menu also
features Southern classics, such as chicken and dumplings or macaroni and
cheese with bacon sprinkled on top. Just thinking about it makes my stomach
rumble. I was so wrapped up in writing during my break that I forgot to eat.
I sigh and head to the football table, where they promptly
hand over the money. “Nice doing business with you, boys,” I say before
flouncing off, feeling Ryker’s eyes on me the entire time.
What’s his deal with me?
I mean, you’d think he’d want to avoid me because of the
article, but it’s as if his mission is to be around me as much as he can. In
fact, I’m not even sure he knew who I was before I wrote it since we don’t run
in the same circles. I suspect he’s torturing me.
I push him out of my head and walk over to a table that
needs bussing, picking up half-empty soda glasses and putting them on my tray.
The door chimes, signaling that someone has come in, and I raise my head to
see—
Whoa.
I freeze.
Bring out the angels and cue the hallelujah chorus.
Now that’s the kind of man I should be writing sexy scenes
about.
Standing at the door is Connor Dimpleshitz—yes, his surname
is unfortunate, but his IQ makes up for it. I’ve been crushing on him since our
sociology class last semester.
Framed by a golden halo of sunlight as it glints through the
windows, I decide he’s what would happen if Albert Einstein and Henry Cavill
had a baby. “A hot genius. The perfect unicorn,” I murmur to myself.
I chew on my lip, debating on whether to mosey up to him and
say hi or hide.
Hide wins. I know, I’m a little ridiculous, especially since
we have calculus together this semester and he’ll obviously see me at some
point in class.
But then I’ll have good hair and ketchup-free clothes.
I quickly survey the possibilities for my escape as the
hostess seats him in another server’s section. My eyes land on the right side
of the restaurant, where I could make a mad dash for the kitchen, but he’s
bound to see me darting since I’d have to walk past him. Plus, I want to hang
around and watch him without him knowing.
I come to a decision. Wrangling the tray of half-empty sodas
I cleared, I quickstep it over to the back left corner, the farthest away from
the double doors of the entrance. I maneuver my body into an awkward hunkering
position behind a huge potted plant with wide fan-shaped leaves. At least five
feet tall with a gnarly brown trunk, the green monster is perfect camouflage.
I peek around a big leaf that’s in dire need of a good
dusting,judging by the motes floating around. Feeling paranoid that someone is
a witness to my absurdity, I throw a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure
no one’s around.
Ryker. Shit.
He’s staring at me from the football table, and there’s a
glint in his gaze, as if he’s wondering what I’m doing.
I scowl and stick my tongue out at him. He makes me feel so
rebellious and flustered and…excited.
I can’t even stop myself. Ugh.
His expression deepens in amusement, and I grimace,
realizing my butt is sticking out. His annoying eyebrow jacks up and says, What
the hell are you doing?
With eye telepathy I tell him to mind his own freaking
business.
I pointedly turn my back on him and focus on The Unicorn.
A few seconds later, a familiar deep voice resonates from
behind me, making me start. “You look a little flustered, Penelope. Spying on
someone for your next story, perhaps?”
I freeze. Blink. His voice is husky and lower than before
when he was calling me garçon, the tone reminding me of languid summer nights
under a starry Southern sky while he gives me deep, passionate kisses—
Good Lord.Stop your daydreaming.Must. Stop. Reading.
Romances.
I heave out a sigh and turn around to face Ryker.
What the hell does he want now?
***
“I don’t submit to the Wildcat Weekly anymore,” I say.
I worked for them most of last year, covering the home games
and a few random articles. With a dad who was in the NFL, I know a lot about
football, but when Sugar’s offered me more hours, I took it.
“No more football stories, huh?”
I shrug, my gaze taking in his chiseled cheekbones, the
curve of his full lips, the hint of scruff on his jaw. Dammit, why is he so
gorgeous? “What can I say? I covered the most fascinating story last
semester—you. Guess I went out on a high note.”
He nods, taking that dig. “I always noticed you at the
games.”
I scoff. “I didn’t think girls like me were on your radar.”
“You sat near the third row at the fifty-yard line taking
notes at every home game.” His eyes drift over me. “And I didn’t say you were
on my radar.”
“Really? Sounds like you did.”
“Trust me, I have more discriminating tastes.” He shrugs.
“Why, how sweet of you.” My Southern accent has thickened,
the way it does when I’m sassy. It’s one thing to know he doesn’t like me, but
for him to say I’m not up to his standards…well. “Did you pop over here just to
be nice?”
He exhales and rakes a hand through his hair, calling
attention to the lighter strands that have been bleached by the sun. “Honestly,
I’m not sure why I came over here.” A conflicted expression crosses his face as
he tugs at his collar. My eyes stare at the myriad of curly blond chest hairs
that are poking out from the V-neck of the light blue Oxford he’s wearing with
the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay
from the ketchup getting all over you, but everything I’m saying is coming out
wrong.”
Oh. This is different. And not what I expected.
“I’m fine, Baby Llama. No need to worry. You can go. Your
girlfriends are waiting for you.” I tilt my head back toward the football
table.
He doesn’t budge. “Baby Llama?” An amused grin flashes over
his face.
I shrug. It’s been my private nickname for him since
sophomore year when I stumbled upon him coming out of an upstairs bathroom at
the Tau house after a shower with only a white towel wrapped around his trim
waist. Some jersey chaser was with him. His hairy chest had both shocked my
virgin sensibilities and excited me at the same time. The unruly curls just
made him seem more naked, as if I’d seen his cock. Much to my dismay, I’d later
dream about rolling around on that bed of golden curls. Seriously, who takes a
shower with a chick in the middle of a kegger? Ryker Voss, that’s who. Because
he can. And girls do whatever he wants.
But not this one.
I respect the game—even love it—but I don’t fall for
football players, especially high and mighty quarterbacks who think they walk
on water. My dad was the star player at Waylon twenty years ago, and trust me,
I know how they operate. They get what they want and then they walk out,
leaving broken hearts everywhere.
“Have you ever seen a real llama?” he asks, continuing our
conversation. It’s as if he’s actually trying to be nice. “I saw one at a
safari park once. Little bugger tried to eat my hand off when I fed him, but he
was cute. Maybe you need a poster of one in your room so when you see it,
you’ll think about me. I’ll even sign it for you.”
And there’s the cocky again.
“Buy me one. I’ll throw darts at it.”
“Damn, you never stop.” He huffs out a laugh, his eyes lingering
on my neck. “Oh, there’s a bit of ketchup here too,” he says, reaching out to
glide his finger across the top of my collar, his knuckles barely brushing
against my neck.
The feather-light touch is brief and not sexual, yet my body
hums, tendrils of sparks racing over my skin. I suck in a breath and catch his
scent, warm and spicy with hints of leather and sandalwood.
He blinks and clears his throat. “Um, I actually have this
cleaner stuff that I spray on my practice clothes. It’s a miracle worker.
You’re welcome to borrow it. Of course, you’d have to come by the football dorm
to pick it up. We could even do laundry together if you wanted?”
He says the words softly, as if they’re nothing,and I’m
staring at him full on.
Do our laundry together?
I suspect Ryker Voss is flirting with me, though not well.
The pimply-faced checkout boy at Big Star has better lines than this.
Yet…
Something warm grows inside my stomach and then flutters
around, the sputtering of newborn butterflies. He is the hottest guy on campus.
Still, I remind myself he’s a player, gather my resolve, and shoot those
butterflies down.
“You’re being weird, Ryker.”
“Because I’m being nice? Yeah. New year, new start. I want
to forget all the bad stuff from last semester.” He pauses. “And the article
you wrote.”
“Is that right? Even the part where I said you dishonored
the sport and were a disgrace to college players everywhere?”
He stares down at his hands. “I had my reasons for what
happened.”
So I heard. He got involved in the fighting to help his
friend and fellow teammate Maverick save his disabled sister.
“Ah, well, I did write a follow-up article, but it wasn’t
nearly as popular as the first one.”
He shrugs, and somehow, he’s closer now. I stare into his
thickly lashed cerulean eyes and blink at the force of them. His irises…God,
someone should name a crayon after them.
“So…do you want to do laundry together sometime?”
This again? My mouth parts. “What? Like a date?”
“Yeah.”
I blink rapidly, my brain trying to wrap about this new
Ryker. “No. I’m sure you already have jersey chasers lined up outside your dorm
vying to do your laundry. I’ve heard they actually beg to rub your shoulders
and do your homework. I imagine they even fight to be the one to suck your
sweet little toes.” I come to an abrupt halt. Suck his toes? SUCK HIS TOES?
OMG. Where did that random comment come from? I don’t have a foot fetish. I
blame it on his presence and carry on. “And don’t worry about me—I don’t need
your laundry advice. A little ketchup never hurt anyone.”
Determination crosses his face and with a flurry of
movement, he drops a small piece of paper onto the tray I’m holding.
I stare down at it. Sexy as Hell Athlete is written in
masculine handwriting with a phone number after it. I look back up at him, my
eyes tracing the enigmatic half-smile on his face.
“I wrote it down for you earlier and wanted to give it to
you after the ketchup thing, but I chickened out.”
Several seconds go by.
“Will you give me yours?” he asks after a few moments of us
just standing here.
“My what?”
“Number.” He grins.
I indicate the tray and my obvious impediment. “I don’t have
any paper on me.”
“Just tell me. I’ll remember.”
I’m flustered, and that’s the only reason I rattle off my
phone number. He grins and repeats it back to me.
He lowers his voice in a conspiratorial way. “So…you’re
watching someone, I take it. Anyone I know?”
Feeling bemused by his attention, I shake my head, quickly
losing control of this situation.
“For a writer, you seem to be at a loss for words. Do I make
you speechless, Penelope?”
I scoff. “No.”
“I’m curious as to what has your attention back here.” He
slides in next to me behind the plant, his shoulder brushing against mine. He’s
a giant next to my slender frame, and all at once, I feel protected and safe,
which is entirely wrong. It’s probably his male pheromones, lulling me into
softness before the kill—and damn if it isn’t working. He murmurs something
about us hiding together and spying on people, but I’m distracted because my
face is up close and personal with the chest hair that pokes out of his shirt.
I want to trail my fingers through it and see if it’s as soft as it looks. He
smells like alpha male and sex. Hard, passionate sex that makes you orgasm fast
and furious.
Not that I have any firsthand knowledge of that, of course,
but I have my fantasies.
Gird your loins, Penelope.
Resist the quarterback.
But I’m getting sucked in.
I blame it on the dimple that appears when he smiles. My
stomach does that fluttering thing again, and this time, I can’t shoo the
butterflies away. I’m weak. I move my eyes up the strong column of his tanned
throat to meet his gaze. At least ten seconds go by as we take each other in.
What. Is. Happening?
“You’re pretty,” he murmurs. “Have I ever told you that?”
“We don’t usually talk except for when I take your order.”
His hand reaches up and briefly touches a piece of my hair
that’s fallen out of my topknot. He rubs it between his fingers. “Your
hair…it’s—”
“Auburn,” I manage, clearing my throat.
“It reminds me of a new penny, the way the amber color
catches the light…” His voice trails off, and he bites his bottom lip. “God,
that has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever said.”
“You have worse lines. Tell me, is doing laundry code for
sex?” I say, staring up at him. I’m itching to straighten my glasses, a nervous
reflex, but my hands are holding the tray.
“I only use lines on jersey chasers. You’re the kind of girl
I have to work for.”
“What about your discriminating tastes?”
“Pure bluff. I think we have a real connection, Penelope.”
His face is closer now, and I swallow, wondering how we must look to everyone
else in the restaurant. I realize that in the process of talking, we’ve backed
up to the wall behind the plant, and I figure the only table we’re visible to
is the football one, but I don’t tear my eyes away from Ryker to check.
“You smell like rainbows,” he says.
My chest rises. I’m enjoying his full-court press.
It’s…intoxicating. “What does a rainbow smell like?”
“Sweet and delicious.”
“It’s the suckers.” His eyes land on my lips, and it almost
feels as if he’s touched them. Heat rushes over my skin. “The red ones are my
favorite. I think they’re cherry or strawberry or raspberry…definitely not cranberry…that’s
disgusting,” I say, rambling, feeling disoriented.
“It’s crazy, but I really want to kiss you right now,” he
murmurs.
My eyes drift over his shoulder to where Connor’s table is.
I can’t see his face, but I know he’s there, and even though I’m drugged by
Ryker’s proximity, I remind myself he’s the one I should kiss.
Not Ryker.
Ryker is a player—just like my dad was.
He watches the direction of my gaze and follows it. “You’ve
been watching Dimples hitz, haven’t you?” he says, a frown line appearing on
his forehead. “Are you into him?”
My stomach dips. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you hightailed it over here when he walked in and
you’ve been hiding ever since. So, I figure he either did you wrong or you’re
infatuated, and since I haven’t heard any gossip about you and him, I’m
guessing you must have a thing for him.”
Abort! Abort!He knows too much!
Sanity slowly returns to my brain in small increments, and I
take a deep breath, orienting myself as questions race through my head. What if
he uses my crush against me? Maybe he wants revenge for the article. I don’t
know!
Flustered and unsure, my eyes dart around the restaurant,
looking for an exit so I don’t have to answer his question.
My gaze lands on the football table he came from, and I
notice Archer watching us with focused interest, a calculating look on his face
as he whips his eyes from me to Ryker. He leans over and whispers to Blaze, who
turns to peer in our direction. I pause, my brain analyzing and decoding. Why
is Archer suddenly interested in what Ryker is doing over here with
me—especially when there’s a pretty co-ed sitting right next to him, tracing
little circles on his bicep?
Yet Archer’s eagle eyes are onus. Watchful.
I notice all three players at the table have suddenly given
us their attention, anticipation evident on their faces.
Alarms go off in my head and things start to click into
place.
How nice he was to me. How we ‘have a connection’. Yeah,
right.
Mortification washes over me.
How could I not have seen it sooner?
God, I am an idiot.I was so distracted…
I’m a bet. A stupid freaking bet.
I feel like someone just punched me in the gut.
My survival instinct tells me to get away from Ryker, and
obviously,I could just walk away and hold my head high, but I want to make a
point and show those football players they can’t toy with me. I release the
tray I’ve been balancing for what seems like days in his direction. The
contents of the glasses spill out and crash to the floor, watered-down soda and
ice drenching us before dripping down to the floor. The plastic glasses make a
horrible clattering noise on the wooden floors, and I imagine most everyone in
the restaurant heard it. I don’t look to see their faces. I only glare at
Ryker.
He jumps back and stares down at the mess on his khaki pants
then looks back at me. “Remind me to never bring up Dimpleshitz again.”
“Stop your games, Ryker.”
His face stills. “What games?”
My teeth
snap together. Enough.
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