First to Fail: A Strictly Professional Romance (Unraveled Book 3)

by Marie Johnston

  Thriller Killer faced me, her bright blue eyes serious. “Can you pull up to the door? I’ll walk her out after we get her things. And try to talk some sense into her.”

  “Good luck. Is there a door by the locker rooms that’s closer?” I got directions and jogged out to my vehicle.

  The night wasn’t ending how I’d planned, but if I hadn’t come, who would she have had to help?

  Natalia

  I leaned my head against the headrest of Chris’s car and suppressed a groan.

  It wasn’t the dull throb of my brain getting rattled, but the rest of me. Too bad Thriller Killer had only given me an ice pack for my head.

  “I wasn’t knocked out.” I sounded whiny, but I was allowed to. I was sweaty and my paint was streaking. My tights hadn’t had a long life expectancy, but they were toast after that fall. A huge rip went from my knee to under my shorts.

  “You’ve mentioned that a time or three.” Chris’s deep voice was a verbal massage my entire body felt. It’d been a month since we’d seen each other and three weeks since I’d last talked to him on the phone. I’d counted every day.

  What was he doing at the game?

  Oh. Jaycee was with her grandparents.

  I snuck a peek at him out of the corner of my eye. It was worth the twinge in my temples to see his profile. Borderline shaggy hair spilled over his forehead and his lips were in a stern line. The concentration he aimed at the road sent my nerves stumbling over each other. The face he gave the rest of the world was congenial, aloof at times. Always easygoing. But he could be intense and focused at the best of times.

  This wasn’t the best of times and he was still hot.

  He glanced at me. “How are you feeling?”

  “No different than the last time you asked.” I shifted the ice pack off my head and set it on my shoulder.

  “That player had it out for you.”

  “Yep. I’d swear she was bought off by one of the students, but no one knows I play.”

  He flashed a smile at my joke. “Is her thing to go after the noobs?”

  I nodded, pleased that my head didn’t start pounding.

  “What would you have done if I wasn’t there?”

  Wasn’t that the question of the day? As if I hadn’t been panicking about facing the medical gauntlet on my own until I realized I could refuse treatment.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered.

  “Why are you so secretive, Natalia? I don’t get it. I mean, I get your job. But with your whole life?”

  “How do you know I’m secretive outside of work?”

  “Do your parents know about cosplay and derby? Ms. Branson?”

  “Ms. Branson’s an employee, so no. And no, my parents don’t know.” My mom’s reaction would be ten times worse than when I had joined the Star Trek club as a senior. I had meant to stick it out, but when the car had gotten taken away and my bank account suspended, I’d submitted.

  Clubs based on fiction are useless in our nonfictional world.

  Thanks, Dad. It was one of my first lessons in keeping my private life top secret. I needed to be taken seriously for the stellar work I did, not the hobbies I enjoyed.

  Chris’s house came into view. A welcome sight. I’d prepped for a long night of ice and acetaminophen in my empty townhouse, but Chris’s home was so much more…homey.

  I’d rather not talk about my nonexistent social life. “Have you lived here long?”

  “I cashed in a savings account when Jaycee started living with me full time. The place I had before…” He shook his head. “Pretentious condo in the heart of yuppie city. I don’t think one other child lived on the whole block.”

  Well, didn’t that describe my place?

  “My parents moved to Arizona ten years ago,” he said. “Cierra’s apartment at the time was as big as a phone booth. Cierra’s parents live in a mansion that Jaycee can’t paint, color, or get rowdy in, so I thought a traditional home would be better for her.”

  “It’s nice.”

  He chuckled as he pulled into the garage. “Nice. I guess that’s all I can ask for.”

  “It’s more.” He parked and the garage door shut behind us, but I didn’t make a move to get out. “My place is…expensive. Trendy. Contemporary. The only reason I look forward to going home is because my king-sized, deluxe-pillow-top bed is there. And my TV. It takes up half a wall.”

  “Well, let’s get you inside before you remember my TV gets lost in the wall.” He got out and I did the same. “Do you need fresh ice?” he asked as he retrieved my gym bag from the back seat, leaving my bag of gear behind. My tendency to overpack had worked in my favor for once. It was my first scrimmage, and I hadn’t had many practices. My Valaria costume might be fitted from neck to ankles, but my jam shorts were…short. And my tights managed to show more than they covered. If I hadn’t worn so much padding, I would’ve been blushing down to my knees, and cosplay assassins shouldn’t blush.

  “This baggie is still good, but I could use another pack.”

  Chris unlocked the door and held it for me. “Go on in and get comfortable. I’ll make us something to eat.”

  I slowly picked my away across the garage. My muscles had stiffened on the ride but were loosening with each step. A bruise on my right side where Lauren PenaltyCall’s elbow had clipped me was aching. It probably felt worse than it looked, but that could be said about my overall appearance.

  “Thanks,” I muttered when I stepped into the house. I meant it. Between my headache and my body aches and feeling like an epic failure for getting taken down by an overbearing brute, my inner Valaria wasn’t even prepared to open an energy bar. “Mind if I use your shower?”

  “Knock yourself out.” He smiled when I quirked a brow at him. My heart fluttered with that damn twinkle in his chestnut eyes. “Not literally. Why don’t you use mine? Jaycee’s is the first door on the right upstairs, but she’s not a regular cleaner and there’s no counter space left. But I have a small bath off the master bedroom at the end of the hall.”

  “Thanks again.” I trudged for the stairs, not needing directions. We hadn’t made it off the couch last time I was here, but his house was compact.

  Rounding a corner, I stopped. The landing for the stairs was as ordinary as the rest of the house, but the artwork on the walls captivated me. Pain pushed aside, I drifted around the perimeter of the small square, its area the size of a jail cell. Scratch art. Was that what it was called? The private schools and boarding schools I’d attended weren’t heavy in the arts. But it had to be. A solid black background overlaid a colorful palette of reds, whites, and oranges. On another, there were various shades of green, and a third was blues and purples. The hues were unveiled by delicate and deliberate scratches.

  The effect itself was stunning, but the panorama of the three smaller pictures together was the most impressive. Intricate leaf patterns were revealed in the greens. Flowers and petals in the blues and purples, and sunset in the oranges.

  They had to be Jaycee’s creations. The girl had talent.

  I flipped the light on and ascended the stairs. Now that I’d been moving a good few minutes, I wasn’t as sore and welcomed a shower.

  But I stopped at the landing.

  “Holy artwork, Batman.” More scratch art, an obvious favorite of Jaycee’s, but on the second level the drawings were straight from graphic art. Across from me was scratch art in shades of gray, with silver predominant. An artistic risk that worked beautifully because the girl had outlined Batman from the side. He was running and his cape billowed behind him.

  Another was in blues and reds, with a scratched outline of Captain America’s shield.

  My lips quirked at the third. Another orange palette—with Sonic the Hedgehog.

  What if I gave Jaycee a blank scratch art canvas with deep reds? Could she do a full-body profile of Valaria? One of me walking like a badass toward, or even away from, the camera?

  Shaking my head, I ripped my gaze away and scu
rried down the hall. I couldn’t slip up around Jaycee again. A kid who had served detention and been suspended wasn’t going to be keen on keeping my secrets.

  Avoiding peeking into Jaycee’s room was a struggle. I wasn’t a snooper, but Jaycee’s bedroom probably rivaled an art gallery, only way more relatable than the ones I had been to in the past. My dates had been as boring as the artwork. Jaycee’s work was definitely up my alley.

  If Jaycee and I had been teens together, she would’ve been the girl my parents forbid me from ever talking to. Fan art equaled useless trash in their minds.

  I slowed when I got to Chris’s room. It wasn’t because of his—oh my god, was that a Dark Knight pillowcase? I crossed to it. His bedding could put Fifty Shades of Gray to shame; it was contemporary with clean lines. The sheets, though, were an ode to Batman.

  That shouldn’t make him sexier, but it did. Who’d he date that would be turned off by a grown man with superhero bedding?

  I shook my head and scanned the rest of the room, my ponderings swerving to concern for Jaycee. My gaze touched on a full hamper, a matching walnut dresser set that must’ve been from his white-collar career-man days, and closed closet doors. Was Jaycee facing the same attitude from her peers as that of my parents? Not good enough for my kid.

  I’d have to keep an eye on Jaycee. Many high schoolers were outgrowing the overt bullying of younger kids, but they could be insidious, or worse, not realize how hurtful they were in their comments around others. Too self-absorbed, they’d had empathy trained right out of them. But some were mean just to be mean.

  Taking my bag into the bathroom, I dropped it on the tiled floor and rummaged through my protective pads, makeup bag, and spare pair of tights. I had the sweats I’d worn to the community center but no fresh underclothes.

  My sweaty sports bra had dried. Uck. I didn’t want to put that back on after I showered. Same with my underwear.

  How obvious would it be to go without? I was a generous B cup, but my sweatshirt was fluffy. Good enough.

  It’s not like I would cozy up to Chris close enough for him to find out I wore no underclothes.

  Chapter 8

  Natalia

  Refreshed after my shower and free lady-balling it, I went downstairs. The savory smell of grilled bread and butter hit my nose. My mouth watered. I’d been living off grilled chicken and salad greens all week. They were fast and easy; all I had to do was buy each separate and dump them together with the right seasoning. But that didn’t stop me from occasionally wishing there was something deep fried to accompany my meal.

  “Is that grilled cheese I smell?” I called, making my way to the kitchen. Two plates were on the bar. Each held a couple sandwiches cut in diagonals, just like a restaurant would do—or my nanny. Next to the sandwich were strawberries half the size of my fist and sugar snap peas.

  “Holy carbs, Batman, this looks delicious.” I slid onto a stool. A can of sparkling lime water was waiting by my spot, along with a bottle of acetaminophen. He was either that sweet, or his dad-ness was showing, or both.

  “I figured if you were open to grilled cheese last time, it must be a safe option. And I don’t often find good strawberries this time of year.”

  He sat next to me and we both carved through the meal. By the time I was done, I couldn’t keep my eyes open. It was almost eleven and I’d had a long day.

  Chris must’ve noticed my heavy sigh and long blinks. “Go ahead and take my bed for the night. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  Part of me was disappointed that I was at Chris’s and I was going to eat and go to bed. Okay, all of me was disappointed. But I had to be responsible above all.

  I was standing when he said, “Don’t be creeped out if I come up to make sure you’re still breathing.”

  “I don’t have a concussion.” I didn’t think I did. Wouldn’t I feel worse?

  “Medic’s orders.” His gaze dipped to my chest and tore away.

  No bra. Right.

  My cheeks warmed as I put my dishes by the sink. “Good night, Chris.”

  “Night. Holler if you need anything.”

  I went back upstairs, pausing only briefly this time to admire Jaycee’s work. In his room, I crawled between his sheets and was encompassed by his scent. Fabric softener and shea-butter Suave shampoo. His aftershave was one of my favorite smells, but he must shower before bed. Was he going to use Jaycee’s bathroom?

  I drifted to sleep. Hours later I woke. What time was it? The hallway light was left on and the bedroom door open. I peered at the clock on the nightstand. Two thirty in the morning. Enough time for my ibuprofen to wear off, and the acetaminophen I’d taken with supper was flagging.

  Swinging my feet down, I waited for the pounding in my head to swell, but it stayed at a dull throb. The pain was only a four on a scale of ten, but it was enough to keep my achy body from falling back asleep.

  I made my way downstairs, wincing each time a stair creaked. The old house’s groans weren’t as noticeable when people were up and moving around. In the middle of the night, I might as well shout “I’m awake and coming down.”

  A groggy and blinking Chris rounded the corner by the landing. His hair was disheveled. My hand twitched to run through the silky strands. He wore the same lightning bolt T-shirt but had changed into black basketball shorts. I half expected a Bat-Signal somewhere on the fabric, but he wasn’t as overtly fanboy as many others. I liked the subtlety of his interests.

  “Hey, what can I get you?” His sleep-roughened voice was deeper. Instead of being tired and wanting to go back to bed, I wanted to hear him talk more.

  “I just wanted some acetaminophen and maybe a glass of OJ if you have it. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  He started for the kitchen. “I’ll grab it and bring it up.”

  I watched his broad back as he puttered through the kitchen. Giving myself a mental shake, I turned and went back upstairs. The bed was still warm, almost too warm with my sweats. I stayed sitting up but left the covers off.

  He appeared down the hall and headed my way, a glass in each hand. The flutter in my stomach was undeniable. My own superhero in basketball shorts. He had nice legs. The muscles in his quads and calves bunched and flexed with each step. Basketball does a body good.

  Did he still play, or had he traded the ball and hoop for comics and capes?

  Playing probably didn’t hold a place in his life while running a business and raising a kid. Yet he’d gotten a full ride at Preston. What good did that do him? Had he gone to the same college he would’ve gone to without his Preston Academy pedigree? Had he gotten a full ride for all four years because of his time at Preston?

  He approached the bed and held out the glass of juice. “How was the sleep?” He dropped a pill bottle on my lap that he’d been holding with his glass and drained his drink.

  “Good.” I downed half of mine before getting two capsules out. “Thanks.” A word I’d been saying around him a lot. I swallowed my pills and polished off the cold drink.

  He lifted my glass out of my hand and set it on the nightstand with his. I froze when he reached over me to grab the covers. “What are you doing?” With him so close, memories from our evening together bombarded me and my body said to hell with the aches and pains. The pleasure he could bring me was much more desirable.

  He frowned. “Just tucking you back in. Don’t you want the covers over you?” Drawing away like he’d finally noticed his proximity, he released his handful of comforter, but I curled my hands into his shirt.

  “I don’t know if I can go back to sleep.” Really? That was the best I could say when I was preventing him from backing away? Not that he was putting up any resistance.

  “Doesn’t your head hurt?” His voice had dropped low, and even with his face shadowed from the hallway light behind him, his gaze simmered with barely restrained heat.

  Pulling him closer, I whispered, “Not if I’m properly distracted.” When had I sounded so needy?

  Hi
s lips landed on mine and I continued tugging him toward me as I lay back. He kept his weight on his hands and knees as he captured my mouth.

  We both groaned into the kiss. It’d been too long since the last time we’d been together. His weight was a welcome burden and I wore the anti-Valaria equivalent of clothing—baggy sweats.

  He kissed me slowly, as if he were waiting for me to shove him off at any moment. But I wouldn’t. Unless he objected, I had no plans to back out. It had been a shitty workweek of arguing with righteous parents and their entitled children, followed by slogging home to an empty house, topped off by getting strong-armed off the track during what was supposed to be an entertaining, lighthearted scrimmage.

  No, the real topping was staring at the asbestos-filled ceiling of the community center, squinting at the low-hanging lights, and wondering how the hell I was going to manage if I had a concussion, an injury that required someone looking out for me.

  Enter Chris. He’d come to my game. It was his weekend without Jaycee, and he’d been thinking about me, too.

  I broke from his scorching lips to whisper, “Take my shirt off.”

  He rocked his hips forward, the hard length of him barely restrained by the flimsy shorts. His gaze drilled into me like he was assessing my ability to make such a decision. The blow to my head hadn’t knocked the desire out of me. But resolve must’ve been obvious in my eyes because he sat back on his knees and rolled the hem of my sweatshirt up.

  I lifted enough to get the sweatshirt over my head. His breath whooshed out as he dropped the garment on the floor.

  The way his gaze raked my torso… I might have to make another cosplay character. Valaria’s twin sister Salaria: sexual goddess.

  With my legs splayed on either side of him while he perched on his knees, I had nothing else to do with my hands but relax them behind my head.

  “I thought you were sexy as hell the first time I met you. I think I like you best with no clothes on.”

  I wiggled my hips. “I still have my sweats on.”

  He gave my breasts one last lingering look before hooking his fingers into my waistband. A brief thought of whether I should take a more active role crossed my mind. But the way he handled me, so carefully, like I was fragile, was too intoxicating. I liked being taken care of, even if it was for a fling.