Scored

by Valentine, Marquita

  “But Aiden said he wasn’t cheating.”

  “I know.” She smiles wider. “That does make me feel better about marrying him.”

  “Good thing since we’re down to nine days.”

  “Eight days. It’s already tomorrow, remember?” Looking happier than I’ve seen her in a long time, Layton starts to sashay to her room. I can’t blame her. I’d jump for joy if I’d discovered my fiancé wasn’t cheating on me, too.

  Right now, I’d give anything to definitively know that Dallas isn’t cheating on me. Or to go back in time and say yes when he’d invited me in the first place.

  * * *

  I fall asleep after another hour of feeling sorry for myself, only to wake up alone in bed. After getting up, I move to the bathroom to do my morning thing. Since I’m not worried about looking sexy for Dallas, it doesn’t even take me ten minutes to fix my hair, put on makeup, and get dressed.

  Grabbing my phone, I send a text to Layton, asking if she’d be willing to leave today instead of Monday since neither of us are enjoying ourselves anymore… and then one to Dallas to let him know my plans.

  I’m not one to play games, even if he’s the ultimate player.

  Layton: Give me fifteen minutes and I’m ready.

  Me: I’ll get an Uber. Meet you downstairs at 7:30.

  She sends me a thumbs-up.

  After ordering the Uber, I check my texts one last time. Nothing. There’s nothing from him. Not an apology. Not even an ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ type of thing.

  Apparently, I’m not worth even the time for a text from him.

  “Why did I let you do this to me?” I whisper, refusing to fall into another pity party over him. I vow instead to never date another athlete. I’ll find a nice, tech-type who works at RTP. Those guys in the research park don’t exactly get a lot of women in their offices, so it stands to reason there will be a boatload of them looking to have a good time.

  Not immediately, of course, but maybe two or three years from now.

  With a groan, I pick up my carry-on and move to the door. I hear someone just outside and my heart speeds up, but it’s most likely Layton.

  The doorknob twists and I stand there, unmoving, as the door swings open. Dallas is standing on the other side. He’s wearing the same outfit he went out in, but he doesn’t look like it at all. Everything, from his hair to his shoes, looks perfect. Almost like last night didn’t happen.

  He takes one look at what’s in my hand and leans against the door, so casually that I want to scream. “Where do you think you’re going, bright eyes?”

  CHAPTER 26

  Dallas

  Last night, it was easy to fall back into quite a few of my old habits at the club. Habits that made me the center of attention.

  Made me drink a little too much.

  Party a little too hard.

  Stay out a little too long.

  Now I have to pay the piper… and she doesn’t look happy or relieved to see me.

  “If you’d bothered to read the text I sent, then you would know,” Paige says. There are dark shadows under her eyes, and the whites look suspiciously red. Either she threw down with Layton, or she stayed up worrying about me and what I was doing without her.

  “Someone bumped into my table and knocked my phone off. The screen’s shattered, and I can’t get beyond the home screen.” I take it out of my pocket to show her. “I haven’t been able to read any texts or take any calls since five this morning.”

  “Convenient.”

  “Not really.” She moves to brush past me, but I step in her path. “Don’t you want to hear my side?”

  “That sounds a lot like the prelude to a confession that ends with if only you’d gone with me, I wouldn’t have done what I did with that woman, or in your case, Drake’s Dolls,” she says bitterly.

  Tread carefully, I remind myself. She’s not coming out of left field with her fears, no matter how innocent I am. However, I’m not going to let her slip out of my fingers either.

  “There were no women.”

  She arches a brow.

  “Let me rephrase that… there were no women who had any access to me at any time. I kept it zipped up and my mouth to myself.”

  “But not your hands?”

  “I’ll give you that. I did dance. There was a time or two that I had to maneuver some ladies away.”

  She sets her luggage down, and I breathe a bit easier. “You expect me to believe you?”

  “I’m sure you can find at least a hundred videos of me on the dance floor last night.” I shake my head. “Did our conversation in the kitchen not register in that smart brain of yours? I always have the opportunity to be with women who aren’t you. Every away game. Every home game… Hell, when I shop for fucking paper towels, I’ve got women slipping me their number. If you were with me, instead of hiding from the world, I’d say ninety percent of that would stop. Dead on arrival as soon as they got one look at your fine self.”

  “You might have a point,” she grumbles, then fixes those baby blues on me. “Why didn’t you come back before now?”

  “Because I was in a meeting with one of my longtime club promoters to part ways with him.”

  Her nose scrunches. “Why?”

  “Because I want to do more with my foundation than to continue to associate it with the club scene. I’m thirty-four, bright eyes—that’s ten years too old to keep doing the same shit.”

  “So ancient,” she agrees and almost smiles.

  “Baby, let’s talk. Put up your stuff, crawl into bed, and—”

  “No. I can’t let you take me to bed.” She closes her eyes briefly, then pins a serious gaze on me. “I need time away from you. Between filling in for Layton, trying to help her not lose it over Joe, and my full-time job, I don’t have the energy to be this upset and unsure.”

  Raw panic infuses my brain. “The fuck. You’re just giving up on us?”

  “I’m not breaking up with you.”

  I smile tightly. “Sure as hell feels like it.”

  “Eight days,” she says. “Give me eight days, and then we’ll have lunch to discuss everything.”

  “Like a meeting.”

  “Call it what you want, but if you do care about me, you’ll give me space.”

  “If you care about me, you won’t ask me to walk away from you.” I grit my teeth, wanting to punch the wall, but I’ll only injure my hand. Worse, I’ll scare Paige to death.

  “Will you at least use the plane we chartered to fly back home?” I ask. “Let me do that for you, bright eyes.”

  She shakes her head, sun-kissed hair sliding over her bare shoulders. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  “Better than spending a fortune on last-minute tickets.”

  “I’m driving back with Layton.” Her gaze slides to the floor. “We’re heading to the car rental place as soon as the Uber driver picks us up.”

  I place my finger under her chin and tip it up, leaning down to kiss her cool lips. For half a second, she doesn’t respond at all, but then her mouth starts to move under mine and my heart resumes beating. “Eight days. That’s all you get before I barge back into your life where I belong.”

  * * *

  Four days into life without Paige and I’m about to go out of my mind from not seeing her.

  Not touching her.

  Not kissing her, waking up with her, or telling her about the locker-room smack talk.

  For once in my life, I miss the hell that is Wednesdays with our trainer. I need the distraction. Need release from the pent-up energy inside I’ll get from beating the shit out of a tire with a mallet.

  Instead, I’m hanging out at my brother’s while he does physical therapy with Gus. I watch from the sidelines. Catherine’s at work, so she’s not here to cheer him on, which means the job falls to me.

  “Don’t tap out, dude. You’ve just worked up a good sweat.”

  Mikey breathes hard and glares at me. “No one. Ask you t
o b-be. Here.”

  “You don’t like spending time with me?” I pound my chest. “I’m hurt, brother.”

  “G-go bother Paige.”

  Holy shit, he got out a full sentence at one time. I want to congratulate him, but I also don’t want to patronize him. Ever since the accident, Mikey’s become sensitive about how he sounds and I don’t want to contribute to that.

  “Not impressed?” he asks.

  I shrug. “You did okay.”

  “S-some brother you. A-are.”

  “Good job making small talk.”

  My brother rolls his eyes and grabs hold of the rails on either side of him, shuffling as he puts one foot in front of the other.

  “What’s the prognosis?”

  “I’ll. Walk for Mom and D-dad. At Christmas,” he says, his jaw squared off. “Don’t r-ruin it.”

  “I won’t say a word.” I walk with him down the length of the path his therapist set up. “I have tickets for you and Catherine to come to Night to Play. Think you can make it?”

  “Finley sent two w-weeks. Ago.” He eyes me like I have no clue what’s going on in my life and need to get it together.

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “W-with Paige.”

  “And football.”

  He grins a little. “Winning.”

  “Trying my best to help maintain the streak.” I jog in place while he slowly turns around, his arms tightly gripping the padded rail. “Coach says we have a chance to take it all the way to the Super Bowl.”

  My brother snorts as his therapist checks the braces around Mikey’s calves. “If you get tickets for that, consider helping more than just your brother out,” Gus jokes.

  “I’d rather you come than my brother… who has little-to-no faith in me.”

  Suddenly, Mikey’s legs crumple like a cardboard box under pressure. He hits the ground hard and cries out before Gus and I can help him.

  “Shit. I’m sorry, buddy. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  Mikey pushes me away, the tears in his eyes running down his cheeks. “I can do. This.”

  Gus nods at me. “Usually, he falls at least four times in our sessions. That’s why we keep a mat under him.”

  “I’m r-right here.”

  “I know you are, buddy.” I watch in amazement and pride as my brother gets back on his feet—with some help from Gus—and starts all over. It’s not because I didn’t think he could do it, but because of how determined he is to not let himself get in the way of his goal. To him, it doesn’t matter that his legs don’t cooperate most of the time… he’s going to continue to grind.

  And that’s what I’m going to do as well, follow my big brother’s example and keep grinding until I can convince Paige that we can work anything out.

  CHAPTER 27

  Paige

  Layton walks into my bedroom, carrying yet another package from Dallas. My assumption is based off the fact the last six deliveries were from him. Each contained a different gift card that was addressed to me… well, sort of.

  “I wonder what this one will be?” Layton muses as she sets the box on my desk. “I don’t know how he’ll top the Pan Asian one that was gifted to your appetite.”

  “You only like that one because you want me to give it to you,” I point out.

  “No, I think you should take me with you because I was the one to find Pan Asian in the first place.”

  “You want to charge a finder’s fee?” I flop on my bed and point at my dresser. “Just put it over there, please.”

  “You don’t want to open it?”

  “Not really.” I massage my temples. “I’ve been trying to think straight since we left Miami, but Dallas gave me only five days of space instead of eight.”

  “Technically, he’s not sending these to you.”

  I give her a withering look.

  “Well, he isn’t.” She sets the package down and picks up the gift cards that are piled neatly together. “This is to your impeccable sense of style and it’s to a shoe store, not a lingerie shop. Hmm. Maybe this one… nope, it’s addressed to your funny bone so it can download as many rom-coms as it wants to your tablet. The nerve of him to bother your sense of style and funny bone like that. He’s awful.”

  “When you put it like that…” I sigh thickly and shut my eyes. “This isn’t easy for me. I miss him so much, but…” For once, I can’t articulate why I’m still working through the problem of dating a man with Dallas’s reputation and infamy. “But I need my space.”

  “Okay.”

  I crack open an eye. “Okay?”

  Layton nods. “Far be it from me to try to convince you that he’s the one.”

  “You don’t think he is?” I sit up.

  “I really don’t think it matters what I think about Dallas,” she says primly. “You already made up your mind about him a long time ago.”

  “I have not,” I insist.

  “If that’s true, then why are you worried if he’s the one or not?”

  I pick at my bedspread. “Because he might be the one or a huge mistake.”

  “Paige.”

  “I don’t trust my judgment,” I blurt, suddenly fighting the tears that have been pricking the backs of my eyes for the past few days. “What if I’m wrong? What if I get hurt? What if these two months have been for nothing at all?”

  “What if Joe isn’t the one for me? Did we start dating too soon? Should we have had other relationships before settling down? What if all these years with him have been for nothing at all?” Layton asks as she sits down beside me.

  “You’ve been thinking that?”

  She nods. “Everyone has fears about commitment, about whether they made the right choice. You’re not singular in this.”

  “I’m being the worst maid of honor ever.”

  Layton twists her lips. “I don’t know about that. Read the last rule on the list—it’s on the back.”

  Reaching over, I grab the laminated list from my nightstand and scan it. “In the event of all hell breaking loose, the maid of honor will be there for the bride… and the bride will be there for the maid of honor.” I laugh a little. “That sounds kind of lawyer-ish.”

  “Guilty as charged.” She leans against me, resting her head on my shoulder. “Do you feel like going back home with me tonight, instead of waiting? I’m so excited, Paige. I’m getting ready to start the rest of my life with the man, who is not cheating on me, I love.”

  If I go back early, I’d be forced to spend time with my momma and her husband. I’d have to endure lovely-dovey talk and the stars in my momma’s eyes that he put there—until he makes them burn out… or she sends him packing for the greater good of baseball. My plan was to avoid all that by waiting until the last possible minute to travel, then be so involved with helping Layton before, during, and after the wedding that there would be no way to spend any extended amount of time with my family.

  Yet… I know in my heart that even if I decide to break up with Dallas, I’ll just make another excuse when the next guy comes along.

  My heart pinches.

  I can’t imagine my life with a different man.

  “You know what—I do.”

  * * *

  Suitcase in hand, I walk up the front steps to my momma’s house. It’s not the one Finley and I grew up in. No, this is the one husband number five purchased and Momma got to keep after the divorce. The roof doesn’t leak, and there’s an in-ground pool in the back with a fenced-in yard. Her flower beds are stuffed with flowers, and there isn’t a blessed soul to tell her that the rent is late.

  I want to be happy for her, want to feel welcome in a place I’ve never lived, and I want to celebrate holidays with my brother and sister…but it’s hard when I don’t have the kind of relationship with them as Dallas has with his family. I wasn’t around them very long, but it was enough to make me jealous. Enough to make me wish my siblings and I were as close as Dallas and his brother. That I could tell my mom and Finley how I rea
lly feel about Dallas.

  The storm door opens and my momma steps out, looking as pretty as she always does. She’s one of those types who never ages. Finley looks exactly like her while I favor my biological dad’s side. He told me I was the spitting image of his mother, but I turned down his invitation to meet her.

  “Paige Amelia Owens, you are a sight for sore eyes, sugar.” She envelopes me in a hug that I have to return. No matter how I feel about her, I’ve always been content in the knowledge that she loves me and did the best she could by us. “I’m so glad you were able to get away a day early so we can have girl time tonight. Brad’s traveling.”

  “You didn’t go with him?” My momma never misses a game. The baseball stadium is her church.

  She waves a hand and takes my suitcase. “I can see his games anytime I want, but you… you’re like a triple score in the bottom of the ninth.”

  “Thank you?”

  “It’s good, precious, don’t worry.” She chuckles as we step inside. The smell of cookies and vanilla fill the air. I hope it’s not a candle and is actual cookies. “Still not sure how the sports gene missed you completely.”

  “I ducked.”

  Momma laughs and sets my suitcase in the foyer. “What can I fix you to drink and eat?”

  It’s useless to try to convince her I’m not hungry when I come to visit, and it makes her feel good to be able to do something for me. “Iced tea and cookies?”

  “Baked some snickerdoodles just for my girl.”

  I follow her to the kitchen and sit down at the bar while she whirls around, producing the perfect tea and delicious cookies—just like always. I scarf two down before I stop to thank her.

  “You’re welcome. Now tell me why you’re really here.”

  “Excuse me?” I ask around a bite.