I glanced down. Adidas cleats.
At least he came prepared to chase me out of there, if need be.
He used to play for an American soccer team in LA before an injury led him to switch to the business side of things, and now he managed everyone from bands to athletes.
“She was late,” I said, sweeping by him and heaving my duffel over my back. “And she was rude. You should fire her.”
“After ten minutes in your company?” He gasped. “Rude, you say? Color me shocked.”
I flipped him off.
He swatted my hand away, and his blue eyes searched mine. “I could have been partying on a yacht with Tom Brady and Ben Affleck right now.” He gripped me by the shoulders. “But I’m in Seattle, midwinter, it’s bloody cold, and I’m staring at your ugly mug instead of drinking champagne with supermodels.”
“Sacrificed a lot, have you?”
“Super. Models,” he felt the need to say again. “Don’t fuck this up, not if you want to keep playing. They’ll just bench you and pay out your contract. This team is different from Chelsea. They need a leader, alright? That’s what they’re paying you to be. The leader, the co-captain. They want a cup. You’re here to give it to them. So bury all that shit inside, and play like the Fifty-Two Million Dollar Man, got it?”
I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood. “Got it.”
He slapped my ass. “That’s the spirit, now get in there and change, you’re almost late and Coach Mesinger said warm-up starts in five minutes. They’ll want you leading some of the drills, Mr. Number-One Striker.”
I was tempted to flip him off again as I made my way into the locker room and pulled off my warm-ups. At least the stadium was new and covered so I wouldn’t be freezing my ass off on the field.
The locker room was already empty. I pulled off my sliders and grabbed my cleats like I had so many times over the last decade. Only this time my hands were shaking.
This time I was walking out there without my dad.
Shit.
I inhaled deeply, put on the cleats, and slowly stood.
I took the walk down a long hall, and when I pushed the door open, all of the guys were already out on the field with the coaching staff.
Silence blanketed the field as I approached, and with each step against the turf, I felt more and more angry. Angry that I’d been forced away from a team I used to love.
To a new team that was going to expect fucking miracles from one human being.
I stopped at the edge of the group as Coach Mesinger gave me a quick nod. “Let’s all give a warm welcome to the number-one striker in the world—”
I hated it when they announced me like that, like I was important when I was just coordinated and hardworking.
“Slade Rodriguez.”
I pulled a confident smile out of my ass.
I could almost feel Matt breathe a sigh of relief from across the field.
“Mile run,” Coach called. “Then Rodriguez is going to run you through the warm-up. He’s your new co-captain, treat him that way.”
Most men met my gaze and nodded.
Most.
Save. One.
Jagger Komokov.
The other captain.
The goalie.
My nemesis.
We’d been at each other’s throats for years. It didn’t help that Matt represented us both—nor did it help that we had history that went beyond our game. Just seeing him reminded me of mistakes.
Besides, he would rather run me over with my own car than shake my hand. We’d gotten into it at finals last year. Penalty cards were thrown. Punches followed. We’re both lucky as hell we didn’t get kicked out of the game.
Finally, he met my gaze, his icy blue stare boring right through me. No acknowledgment, just hate.
So it was going to be like that?
I turned on my heel and started to run around the stadium, and the rest of the players followed like I knew they would. I was a born leader.
I just didn’t feel like one anymore.
Instead, I felt like a giant fake.
Who was one mistake away from never feeling normal again.
Chapter Fifteen
MACKENZIE
The guy was an animal!
He ate more takeout than a college student, and his poor dog was so hungry I had to give him three more helpings of food.
It was starting to get dark by the time I heard the car pull up.
And it was impossible not to hear that engine.
I had turned a few lights off, made sure the oven was off, and left a note, but there would be no escape. Not tonight.
My heart clenched when the door opened.
I busied myself with wiping the counter.
“Shit, you’re still here?” His raspy voice sounded tired. The slight Spanish accent I’d once found sexy now made my heart hurt and my embarrassment fan to life as I remembered the way his mouth had nibbled and nipped trails inside my thighs.
So. Stupid.
I’d trusted too easily.
Never again.
Well, I’d done what I had set out to do! I’d lived on the wild side and got my heart broken in the process. Well. Done.
“Yeah,” I responded, dumping the paper towel in the trash as he made his way into the dimly lit kitchen. “Dinner’s in the oven, already finished, I reorganized your dishes because they were everywhere. Alfie’s been fed a few times, since he’s clearly not eaten in a month, but you should have enough dog food to hold you over until I get back in the morning.”
I tried walking by him, but he caught me by the elbow. I thought maybe he’d say thank you or even apologize. Instead, he stared me down with hatred. “Never. Ever. Touch my shit again.” He jerked his hand away.
My lips parted as I stepped back slowly and accidentally said out loud, “Who are you?”
His eyes flickered with something before he sneered. “If I never told you my real name, do you really think you knew me at all?”
Getting punched in the gut would feel better than this. “No. You’re . . . right.” I ducked my head and walked by him. With as much dignity as I could summon, I grabbed my purse, leaned down and kissed Alfie on his fur, and then stalked out, slamming the door as hard as I could behind me. I prayed pictures would fall from the wall and create such a mess of glass he’d cut up his perfect soccer feet.
Tears streamed down my cheeks as I made my way to the first Central Market I could find. I cut the engine, ran inside, grabbed two bottles of my favorite blend, and waited in line.
Only to suffer through more torture.
His face was everywhere.
US Weekly. In Touch. People.
They all had him featured.
European bad boy.
Downward spiral since his father’s death.
I frowned.
Then grabbed every last magazine I could, and dumped them on the belt, brain spinning.
I was losing it.
Was I really going to be that person? The one who believed everything I read in the tabloids when I’d been on the receiving end of their hatred more times than I could count?
I looked back down—one had him shirtless in Mexico.
My skin flushed.
Yes. Yes, I was.
Because behind him, in that very same picture, was a girl I no longer recognized.
A girl who looked like she’d just tasted freedom and never wanted to go back.
“Ah.” The checker scanned the magazines. “I get it, he’s smokin’ hot, but I bet he’s got a small thing. Most of the good-looking ones do.”
“Thing?” I squinted at her, seeking clarification.
“Peter.” The woman was in her fifties at least, with salt-and-pepper hair and purple lipstick. “All the good ones do.”
He doesn’t, I wanted to say.
Maybe it would be easier to forget him if everything about those moments in his arms had been a letdown.
But he’d been . . . everything.
>
He’d been gentle, tender. Well, if soccer stopped paying him millions he could probably win Oscars for his performance, because for a hot minute I had believed he actually wanted me as much as I wanted him.
And needed me—maybe even a little bit more.
Chapter Sixteen
SLADE
I woke up to a loud banging on the door followed by Alfie’s howling and then my fucking doorbell going off like the apocalypse was coming.
“Shit!” I jumped out of bed, heart pounding. I hopped across the room, pulling on my sweatpants one leg at a time, then stumbled down the hall.
I yanked open the door.
Her.
It hurt to look at her.
Mackenzie held out Starbucks and sighed. “You’re supposed to take it.”
“Did you poison it?” I crossed my arms.
“Did you want me to?” she countered with a saucy smile that made me want to shove her against the wall and taste the bitterness of whatever she was drinking.
I looked away. “It’s Tuesday.”
“You have practice every day, which means Alfie needs a walk every day, and from the looks of your kitchen I figured I could get you some groceries. Want me to just pick up some—”
“Look,” I growled. “I don’t need your help. You’re here to make sure that I have no more added stress beyond my daily practices. That includes taking care of Alfie, not playing house. Whatever you think is going to happen between us—won’t. Just drop it. I’m not going to marry you just because I saw your pussy.”
I wasn’t prepared for her to slap me so hard that I stumbled against the doorframe.
Tears filled her eyes. “Listen up, you piece of shit. I’m here because it’s my job. I can get insulted by plenty of people who haven’t seen me naked, thank you very much.”
I didn’t know why, but my lips twitched at that.
“I don’t want you to marry me, you narcissistic prick!” Her voice rose, and she gritted her teeth. “You’re a job. A nice-paying one. One that means I don’t have to go back to my old life for two full months. And as shocking as it sounds, I’d rather be here in hell with you than there.” She ducked under my arm and put the coffee on the counter, then grabbed the leash from the door and hooked it on Alfie’s collar.
“Let’s go, buddy,” she said in a sweeter tone and pulled him down the stairs. He followed with a lopsided grin and stared at her tight ass for a few seconds, the dirty bastard.
“Traitor,” I whispered under my breath when she bent down and he licked her face.
“Oh!” She turned. “And you’re welcome for the coffee and the gluten-free muffin with the breakfast burrito, and for cleaning up all your shitty, moldy takeout, and for the pot roast I left in the oven. Really, it was a pleasure serving you.” Her words sliced through the air like the perfect swordplay.
And I was left defenseless and feeling like the biggest ass in the world when I shut the door behind me and leaned against it.
This wasn’t me.
My mother would slap me.
My father would take me out back and make me dig a hole until he was satisfied with its depth.
But my mom was hurting.
And he was gone.
I shoved away from the door, marched into the kitchen, dumped the coffee down the drain, and put the muffin in the garbage, only to search for it five minutes later when my stomach growled. Then I hopped in my car and sped past her as she walked my dog.
I refused to feel guilty for not trusting anyone around me. Not after what I’d been through, not after being alone in this world without my one pillar.
I sped like hell the entire way to the stadium and momentarily toyed with the idea of hitting Jagger on his way across the parking lot.
I hit the accelerator and the car lurched forward a couple of feet. He jumped and shot me a venomous stare, so I gave him an innocent shrug before I pulled into a parking spot and followed him in.
As luck would have it, we were both late, which left the two of us in the locker room in edgy silence.
The sound of us both putting on our gear was more intense than a United Nations meeting.
Cleats tied so tight my feet hurt.
Shin guards squeezing the life out of my sore-as-hell legs.
And then Jagger opened his fat mouth, and his irritating voice pierced the tension. “You’re not gonna last, pretty boy.”
I grinned at that. His Russian accent was barely noticeable now that he’d been in the States for the last few years.
I stood and crossed my arms. “Thanks, man, I’ve always wanted another player to call me pretty. Life made.”
He glared.
“Oh, and maybe next time you compliment my good looks, make sure it’s around other dudes so I don’t assume you want to see me naked, yeah?”
He lunged for me, but I was already jogging out onto the turf. Coach stared me down, then nodded while I started the mile run to loosen up my muscles. Jagger fell into place beside me and what started as a jog ended as a fucking sprint. My legs burned once we circled around to stretch.
“Rodriguez, Komokov, try not to be competitive assholes . . . you’re on the same team now. Act like it.”
“Yes, sir,” I said quickly.
Jagger grumbled, “Sure, Coach.”
Lying through his ass, that guy.
We didn’t speak the rest of the day, and when we broke apart for drills, I purposely stood on the opposite end of the field so I wouldn’t have to look at him. We might be on the same team, but there was no chance in hell we would ever be mates.
Chapter Seventeen
MACKENZIE
It wasn’t in my nature to sit and stew over things out of my control. Like the situation with Alton? I’d like to think I did something a bit crazy, made a few bad choices, and now avoided him like the plague.
But with Slade? I was stewing.
I analyzed every single piece of furniture. Every stupid coffee mug, and even his choice in dog.
“What do you think, Alfie?” I yawned and reached into my purse. I had a few of the magazines stashed for my lunch break later. I never realized how much help the guy needed. My job was to water plants, feed the dog, clean up.
How Slade managed to live in his own chaos like this and sleep at night, well, I had no clue. He’d managed to keep the kitchen clean, and the living room looked fine, but when I finally made it upstairs all I saw were boxes.
Frowning, I sent a text to his manager.
Me: Hey, this is Mack. Am I helping your client unpack as well?
Matt: Ha, be my guest. Just make sure you check the labels beforehand, some shit he won’t want you to see.
Me: Hey whatever I see I forget immediately, that’s part of the contract.
I could tell he was typing.
What could I possibly see that I hadn’t seen before? I tried not to think about seeing him naked, and what that did to me. Okay, so I hadn’t seen a man like that before, but that was different than unpacking boxes.
My insecurity chose that horrible moment in time to come flooding back, filling my cheeks with heat while I thought about the things I let him do to me, and the words he threw at my face earlier today. “Just because I saw your pus—”
A text came in.
Matt: If it’s labeled family, father, or anything related, don’t open. Anything else is fair game.
I was both curious and ashamed that I was spending time being angry with him when he’d just lost his father.
Was it crossing a line if I probed a bit about that? I chewed on the thought and typed back.
Me: Got it. I’m sure he’s still struggling with losing his father.
Matt: If struggling means nearly losing your shit every day since, then yes, he’s struggling. I hope he’s being nice to you.
I rolled my eyes.
Me: The nicest.
Matt: Bullshit, but thanks for putting up with it.
I didn’t respond, just shoved my phone back into my
jeans pocket and made my way into the large master bedroom. With a sigh, I knelt down and patted Alfie on the head. He snuggled against my hand and let out a whine.
“I know, buddy . . . it’s a lot of boxes.”
He whined again, took off toward a stack of boxes, and ran headfirst into it.
“Alfie!” I yelled, leaping after him. “Bad dog! No, no, no, we don’t make a mess like that!”
He whined again and hit the tower of boxes.
Before I could reach the top box it fell over. The crunching sound of glass made me cringe.
“Please don’t let that be a picture. Please don’t let that be a picture.” I gently picked up the box, flipped it, and opened.
“Pictures.” I sighed. “Crap.”
Alfie whined some more and then turned around in a small circle before sitting right in front of the box.
I pulled out the first wrapped picture. It wasn’t broken. It was a family photo from the looks of it.
The next was a team picture.
I sighed in relief when each picture I pulled out was in perfect condition.
The sound must have been the pictures hitting each other? I reached in and jerked my hand back as a piece of glass sliced my two fingers.
I sucked the blood and then winced as more blood poured down my palm.
With a curse I jumped to my feet and turned blindly toward the hall to run to the bathroom.
“Doing some recon?” Slade tilted his head, his eyebrows shoved together in an angry slant while he put his hands on his hips like he was guarding me from leaving the room.
I gritted my teeth. “No, actually. Matt said to help you unpack the less personal boxes and your possessed dog made a run for the tower and it fell and—”
“Are you this competent at all your jobs?”
I glared. “I’m competent at everything.”
“Are you, though?” he hissed.
I took a step back.
How dare he!
He actually smiled like it was funny.
FUNNY that we’d had sex.
Risky Play Page 6
