Risky Play

by Van Dyken, Rachel

  Funny that I hadn’t known what I was doing.

  Comical.

  I looked away, my fingers throbbing as I collected blood in my palm. “I’ll just finish up tomorrow.”

  “Finish up tonight,” he said with a shrug. “Just don’t break anything you can’t afford to replace.”

  I bit my tongue.

  It stung hard enough to remind me not to mouth off.

  Not to tell him I had a sixty-million-dollar trust fund from my grandfather. That I was a socialite. That before his face graced covers of magazines—it had been mine.

  Granted, it was a horrible picture of me crying at the altar, but still.

  I checked my watch.

  “Am I boring you?” He wiped his face with his hands. That was when I noticed the exhaustion, the dirt covering his cheeks, and the flash of anger in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. As if I was the reason he was upset.

  I frowned and then shook my head. “No, sorry. I have dinner plans, so I’ll go ahead and unpack a few boxes, and then I’ll be on my way.”

  His jaw tensed.

  How had that made him even more pissed?

  “I, um, made you a casserole, but if you want to go to a boring dinner with great wine, you’re more than welcome to come with me.” I was waving the white flag, being generous. Maybe he just needed to get out, needed friends, laughter.

  I couldn’t believe this was the same man I had met.

  I refused to believe it.

  He let out a humorless laugh. “You know? I have to admit that’s clever. And I’m so tired it’s almost tempting to say yes. We’d go to an expensive restaurant where you’d most likely be seen, get your picture taken, the friends you invited suddenly can’t make it—perfect plan, right?”

  I frowned. “No, actually, that’s not what—” I bit my tongue again, then sighed. “You know what? Never mind. Invitation taken back.” I turned around, completely forgetting about my injured hand before reaching for a box and jerking my hand back as the cuts reminded me with burning intensity that they were still there.

  “Why the hell are you bleeding?” His hands were on my hips before I could say anything, and then he was turning me in his arms, pulling my injured hand away from my body and examining it with such care that I almost stopped breathing. He leaned down and blew across the slices of marred skin.

  “Come on.” He pulled me into the adjoining bathroom and lifted me onto the counter like I wasn’t diseased anymore. Maybe instinct had kicked in. Maybe he was going to snap later and he was just warming me up.

  He was causing very severe trust issues in my heart.

  Slade pulled out a first aid kit and some witch hazel wipes. He ran the wipes down my fingers then grabbed some antiseptic, gently rubbing it across the cuts.

  I jerked in pain.

  “Sorry.” He said it like he meant it.

  I stared at him like he’d lost his mind.

  And he stared back like he wanted me to help him find it.

  Too soon, the moment was gone as he wrapped my fingers in Band-Aids and then cleaned up the mess.

  We locked eyes. His swirled with uncertainty, mistrust, so much pain I wanted to reach out and pull him in for a hug, but given his recent behavior he’d probably think I was trying to sleep with him. So I went for “Thank you” instead.

  He nodded his head once. And then left me sitting there on the bathroom countertop wondering how to merge the two versions of him into one that made sense.

  “Hey, baby girl.” My dad pulled me into his embrace while my mom took one look at me and handed me the glass from her hand. It was champagne. Because that was all she drank. Champagne. We had wineries everywhere, but she said champagne had always made her feel more mysterious. She was quirky and adorable, and the minute my dad had set his eyes on her he’d known they were meant to be. Maybe that’s why I jumped head over heels for Slade. I thought it was possible for me too.

  My first mom died when I was a baby, but Lilah had been my mom since I was a year old, the only mom I really remembered.

  I kissed her on the cheek and downed her glass.

  Her eyebrows shot up. “That bad?”

  “Worse. Actually.” I sighed and held my glass out.

  She poured. “I hope you have a driver.”

  “I’ll steal one of Dad’s.” I winked at my father, who was already digging into the calamari and piling it onto my plate.

  We’d always had money.

  But love was held to the highest standard, that and respect; money was there to change others.

  Not us.

  I smiled as my dad reached for my mom’s hand and kissed it, all the while using his free hand to shove a plate of food in my face.

  I gave him a look, then dove in.

  “So, how’s the job?” Dad asked in the casual tone that meant in about five minutes he was going to ask me to come back to work.

  His bluish-silver eyes twinkled as he adjusted his bow tie then ran a massive hand through his dyed dark-brown hair.

  With a sigh I leaned back in my chair. “It’s work.”

  “A job should never be work,” he countered.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Trust me, with the way things are going, I’ll probably be begging to get back on the payroll.”

  “We paid you?” he asked.

  “Very funny. Actually, I think I need a raise.”

  He ignored me and poured a glass of Cab Franc. My eyes watered a bit as he held the glass to me and then swirled the liquid. “Look at the legs on this one.”

  “You say that to all the pretty reds.” I winked and took the stem with two fingers, then held it to my nose, inhaling deeply. “Mmmm, raspberries? A hint of . . . is that chocolate?”

  He shrugged.

  “Jalapeño?”

  “This woman”—he jutted his finger at me while talking to Mom—“has the best nose and palate in the world.”

  I beamed at the compliment, because for the past few days I’d been beaten down by the one and only man to ever fully see me naked and give me an orgasm.

  “Baby girl?” Dad leaned in. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah.” I choked out the word with every ounce of mental strength I had. “Just tired.” I let the wine sit on my tongue as I savored the flavor. When I set my glass down, both Mom and Dad were waiting impatiently for my response.

  “Full bodied, with a hint of tart, it would pair extremely well with a good Dubliner cheese or a sirloin.”

  “That’s my girl.” Dad clapped slowly and then poured a round for the entire table. “I love you.” He leaned in and kissed my cheek.

  And all was right in the world again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  MACKENZIE

  As promised, I let one of Dad’s drivers take me back to my apartment, and because I was a little buzzed and a lot emotional, I dug into my purse and pulled out two of the magazines, sat down on my couch, and started to read.

  I read about his fiancée getting pregnant.

  A light bulb went on when I realized he’d been flying to Puerto Vallarta a few weeks later.

  Huh, so both of us were escaping our current situations.

  Is that why he gave another name?

  I did the same.

  Were we both that mistrusting?

  Or just in that much need to be different people?

  I kept reading.

  The details all seemed the same until I got to the part about his father’s fatal heart attack and the mental toll it had taken on him. Drugs? Really? Rehab? Angry outbursts? I frowned.

  Loss did bad things to good people.

  I traced a finger over his beautiful smile. He was at the World Cup, hugging his dad while his dad wiped away a tear.

  I knew that feeling.

  Accomplishing something great and having your parents be proud of you. I’d had a crap day, and just being with my dad made the day end on a happy note.

  As my eyes started to get heavy, I lay down on the couc
h and grabbed a blanket. Slade had lost his happy.

  His support.

  He’d lost one of his best friends.

  I fell asleep with a frown, wondering how I was going to make sure the cranky bastard had a friend he could trust—who didn’t want something from him.

  How do you give someone a present they don’t think they want or need?

  He wasn’t mine to save.

  And I didn’t even like him ninety percent of the time.

  He’d hurt me.

  He’d made me feel insecure.

  Ugly.

  He changed the way I saw myself.

  He didn’t deserve my help.

  But I was going to give it anyway.

  Because it was the right thing to do.

  Chapter Nineteen

  SLADE

  I stared at the breakfast casserole like it was poison.

  Not only had Mackenzie labeled it so I would know what it was, but she’d left a pink sticky note on the side: Heat for forty minutes at 350. I ripped the note off and crumpled it in my fist.

  Did she think I was an idiot who didn’t know how to cook?

  Why the hell was she leaving me food?

  It had been three days since I’d helped her with her bloodied hand. Extreme paranoia had followed that episode, making it almost impossible to sleep. Had I been too rough? What if she got blood poisoning? The cut went septic? Should I have sent her to the hospital? Even let her drive herself home?

  It was stupid shit.

  All of it.

  But I couldn’t stop the rerun of what-ifs that kept slamming into my brain. It got so bad that the minute she showed up the day after, I’d been so relieved that I’d stared at her a solid two minutes before grabbing my duffel and leaving. She probably thought I had a learning disability.

  Thus the sticky notes.

  Because ever since that morning.

  Food.

  All the food.

  I had premade food for breakfast, lunch, dinner. She’d even gotten the secret recipe for my smoothies and had one waiting for me this morning, all before humming her way around my house feeding my dog.

  I slammed the door to the stainless-steel refrigerator and leaned against it. My phone started buzzing. I picked it up from the counter immediately. I never missed calls.

  I’d learned my lesson once.

  “Yeah?” I barked into the phone.

  “Slade?” Mom’s voice was tired. “Are you feeling alright?”

  I frowned. “Yeah, why?”

  “You haven’t been by this week . . .” Her voice was filled with so much sadness my chest hurt. My parents might not have been together anymore, but they’d still enjoyed a friendship that went beyond that of normal divorced couples.

  Mackenzie chose that moment to walk by with Alfie attached to his leash and looking happier than I’d ever seen him. You’d think it was impossible since she walked him twice a day, but the little guy was packing on the pounds.

  “We’ll be back!” Mackenzie said in a clear voice that I knew my mom could hear.

  “Who was that?” she said almost the second the door clicked shut. “Was that a woman?” She perked up so much my heart broke all over again. “You’re dating!”

  “Not—really.” I scowled. “She’s just—”

  “Oh, I can’t believe it! I’ve been so worried about you! Is that why you haven’t been visiting? Because you’ve been with this girl? Oh, Slade.” And that was when she burst into tears. I didn’t have the heart to say no.

  She was crying because she thought I was happy.

  I could be happy.

  I could fake it.

  I did it once, right? After all, Hugo had been happy—not a care in the world.

  Just channel Hugo.

  “Yeah, I was going to tell you,” I lied through my teeth. “But it’s still . . .” I gulped as I stared out the kitchen window. Mackenzie’s ponytail bounced with each step, and Alfie kept looking up at her as if he had a new favorite human. “New,” I finished. “It’s still new.”

  If new meant nonexistent, then sure, that’s what it was!

  “Oh, honey.” She blew her nose. “Do you think you can bring her by at some point?”

  Shit. “Yeah, Mom, I’m really busy with the team right now, but I’ll do it soon, alright?”

  “Oh! I can’t wait! I’ll get the albums out just in case it’s sooner rather than later.”

  I cringed and squeezed my eyes shut. “Yeah, you do that. I gotta go, Mom.”

  “Oh. Okay! Love you!”

  “Love you back.” I hit end and stared at my phone for a few brief seconds before it registered that I was going to be five minutes late to practice. I ran out of the house and tried not to stare at Mackenzie as I drove by.

  Tried.

  Failed.

  Same thing. Right?

  Chapter Twenty

  MACKENZIE

  His car was gone by the time Alfie and I made it back. A small part of me had just begun to feel like maybe since the whole cutting-my-hand incident he’d been nicer, then he did something like just stare at me like I was a complete waste of human space, which hurt.

  But I wasn’t giving up.

  And since I knew the way into a man’s heart was through his stomach, I baked, I cooked, and I made sure that at least he wasn’t hangry half the time.

  “There you go, buddy.” I unleashed Alfie and went to grab a bottle of water only to trip over Slade’s duffel bag.

  “Shoot! Alfie, I’ll be right back!” I didn’t know why I was talking to the dog like he could answer, but maybe my loneliness was manifesting as thinking that animals could understand me.

  I dashed out the door with the duffel bag, got into my SUV, and probably broke at least two laws trying to get to the stadium in time. Traffic was horrible, like it always is downtown no matter what time of day, and his house wasn’t exactly close. It took a good twenty minutes on a normal day, when people didn’t drive five miles an hour and do their makeup in the rearview mirror.

  I honked my horn.

  Got flipped off.

  Honked it again.

  And nearly broke my slingback mules in an attempt to sprint into the stadium. I didn’t exactly know my way around, but Alton had been friends with one of the players, close enough friends that he was one of the groomsmen at our wedding, which only made me sweat more when I thought about seeing him. Because seeing him would remind me of Alton.

  Of freaking Joanna.

  Of them moving on together while I was working for Slade.

  What the hell kind of name was Joanna, anyway?

  I speed-walked into the front office and held out the duffel bag. “Hey, Slade Rodriguez left his—”

  “On the field.” Security eyed me up and down then told me to put the bag on the conveyor belt while I went through a full TSA baton scan. I was surprised he didn’t force me to take off my shoes.

  When I was done, he grabbed a guest pass and handed it to me only after I gave him my license to copy and my social security number.

  Really?

  They played soccer!

  It wasn’t like I was trying to stalk Russell Wilson!

  I didn’t really watch sports.

  I mean I knew sports were a big deal through Alton, and I knew players made good money, but soccer involved running.

  I preferred a cycle bar, with a nice little instructor who yelled encouraging things like “You can do it!” versus running for an hour and imagining chasing a bottle of wine.

  “May I go now?” I asked in a voice I hoped sounded sweet rather than strained and irritated.

  “Yup.” He winked.

  I narrowed my eyes, grabbed the duffel, and picked up the pace until I made it into the stadium.

  The first thing I noticed was the lights.

  The second?

  The giant banners hanging from the upper deck, one for each player, and the amazing amount of seating.

  Huh, did they fill this thing up
every game?

  “Mack?” I’d recognize Jagger’s voice anywhere. And then he was running toward me like we were long-lost friends. If he asked me about Alton, I was going to lose it. “What are you doing here?” He picked me up. He really did give the best hugs out of anyone on this planet. The perfect amount of tight and warm.

  When he set me back on my feet, I actually felt better. “Hey, Jagger, how’s practice been?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Between you and me, I’d rather hang out with you and—” He stopped himself. “I’m sorry for what happened. I should have called.”

  I waved him off. “Water under the bridge. He has Joanna now.”

  “Fucking Joanna.” Jagger winked and wrapped his arm around me just as Slade made it to my side.

  “Forgot this.” I handed over the duffel bag.

  Jagger stiffened and then stared down at me. “Wait . . . tell me this wasn’t your first choice after Alton?”

  “Alton?” Slade’s eyes narrowed. “Who the hell is Alton?”

  “Her ex—”

  “I need to get back to the, um . . . dog.” I couldn’t help the slight cringe under Jagger’s intense gaze and Slade’s confusion.

  “Why do you have his duffel bag?” Jagger released me.

  “Why wouldn’t she?” Slade sneered.

  I pressed my hands into my temples. “I’m his, er . . . housekeeper and dog walker extraordinaire.” I shrugged. “You know, pays the bills.” Confident wink, slight smile. I started to slowly back away as the rest of the guys walked over, including the coach.

  “That you, Mackenzie?” One time. I’d met that stupid coach one time and sent him one case of wine! And this was how I was rewarded?

  “Yeah, hi!” I gave a small wave. “I was just leaving.”

  “Stay.” He grinned. “And thanks again for the wine last Christmas. The wife wouldn’t shut up about it.”

  I shrugged. “It’s the best.”

  “Housekeeper?” Jagger repeated. “Dog walker?”

  Slade rolled his eyes. “I just moved. I needed help.”

  “So you hired a billionaire’s daughter?”

  And just like that.

  Outed.

  “Thanks, Jagger,” I grumbled.

  “What?” He looked genuinely confused. “Everyone knows who you are. You were on Vogue last year during Wedding—” He made a face. “Sorry, sore subject.”