“Yeah.”
“Here you go!”
“Who are they from?” I called to his disappearing form.
“It says on the card.” He chuckled.
Why was that funny?
I put the roses on the kitchen table and searched for the card. It was nearly hidden behind the most beautiful yellow rose I’d ever seen.
Mackenzie.
I’m sorry—Love, Jackass
I burst out laughing as my eyes filled with tears. Huh. I tapped the card against my thigh, then grabbed my phone from my back pocket and typed out a text.
Me: I take it you’re jackass.
Slade: If I die today, I imagine Matt would be more than happy to put it on my tombstone for you. Think of it as your final revenge.
I smiled and typed back.
Me: Thank you. For the roses. They’re beautiful.
Slade: Thank you for not poisoning me in the near future?????
Me: See you soon!
Slade: Mack . . . .
I grinned, I liked being called Mack by him.
Me: Yes?
Slade: You’re not really going to put arsenic in my Wheaties.
Me: Good talk!
Slade: Mack . . . I’ll bring you wine.
My breath caught.
I didn’t know what to say.
Slade: Remember, I know your weaknesses—all of them.
My thighs clenched as I tried to ignore what that made me think of.
Me: We’ll see about that.
Slade: Don’t challenge a player, it won’t end well for you.
Me: Don’t piss off the woman who makes your food—it won’t end well for you . . . either.
Slade: Stops off at nearest store to get the most expensive wine available . . . happy?
Me: Cab Franc.
Slade: I’ll take your word for it . . .
Me: :)
I was grinning way too hard at my phone screen and easily forgetting all the shitty things he’d done, the way he’d treated me, because of stupid flowers and a few flirty texts.
I buried my feelings again, or at least tried, and then went back upstairs to dive into the last box.
It wasn’t labeled.
I cut it open and paused.
Trophies.
So many trophies.
Awards.
From high school and college.
And in every single picture was a smiling father holding his son close and giving a thumbs-up to the camera.
There were at least three old photo albums underneath the heavy trophies. I picked up the heaviest one, sat on his bed, and cracked it open.
My eyes widened.
They were engagement photos.
A smiling Slade holding a soccer ball up to a beautiful girl who could pass as a supermodel, she was giggling and accepting the ball like it was a ring.
I vaguely remembered the picture from the news, but I hadn’t paid much attention since I was dealing with my own stuff, and even then, I didn’t really follow sports. The next few pictures were of teammates.
In one of them he had his arm wrapped around a guy on one side and his fiancée on the other.
Slade was looking at the camera.
They were looking at each other.
I sighed and kept flipping through his memories, through his personal life, like I had a right to.
Alfie got up from his spot in the middle of the room and started barking toward the door.
I quickly slammed the album shut and then put it back in the box. I didn’t want to take any chances that he’d get pissed again. And I still had three weeks with him before I promised my dad I’d be back.
My stomach clenched.
I wasn’t ready.
Clearly I wasn’t ready if I preferred the company of a man who slept with me then treated me like shit over and over again.
Only to apologize with flowers.
At least he said sorry.
That was twice now.
I yawned and slowly made my way down the stairs, sniffing the air. What was that smell? Thai food? Chinese?
I rounded the corner and stopped in the kitchen.
Slade had grabbed two wineglasses and was pouring the exact bottle of wine I would have picked out from my family’s winery.
“Hope you like fried pork,” he said without looking up.
“Roses, wine, and now you’re feeding me?” I made my way farther into the kitchen. “If this is another plan to wine and dine me until I’m so happy I sign that damn paper, I’m going to have to give you a hard pass.”
He set the wine down and braced his body against the counter. “I’m not going to ask you to sign the paper again.”
I exhaled.
“I’m hoping you’ll come to your senses and do it on your own, with or without the wine, and if you don’t . . . well, I guess that’s a risk I’m going to have to take.” He handed me a glass.
I swirled it around and sniffed it.
I was just about to take a sip when he said, “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you working here? For me? It makes no sense. You don’t even need to work. According to Matt you’re worth more than two of my rotting corpse. It doesn’t make sense.”
My gut clenched further as I twisted the wine stem between my fingers. “Probably for the same reason you’re in Seattle and not the UK.”
He frowned. “Your fiancé cheated on you and got knocked up too? Huh, small world.” He gulped the wine like a savage.
I glared. “Sip slower. And no, Alton didn’t get knocked up. You have to have sex to get to the baby part, and he wanted to respect me and my father—his boss.” I took a long sip, savoring the lingering flavor. “He did, however, leave me at the altar. In my wedding dress. And now he has a Joanna. Oh, and did I mention I grew up with him? Was practically groomed for him? Yeah.” I sipped some more. “So going back to my job, doing something I love—well, it takes the fun out of it when you have to stare at the guy who didn’t have the balls to at least say something before I was forced to walk down the aisle in front of seven hundred people, not including the live media and US Weekly.”
He cringed. “He’s a fucker. You know that, right?”
“Cheers.” I raised my glass. “You two have something in common.”
“I deserved that,” he muttered as his eyes flashed with guilt. “It’s just . . .” His face twisted with pain. He drank more of his wine, then chugged the rest of it and exhaled. Monster. “That night, when you and I were together . . . my dad called. I’d been ignoring my messages, I was . . .” He swallowed slowly. “Busy.” He looked away. “He called to apologize for being upset over my move to Seattle . . . he died three hours later. Heart attack.” His voice lowered. “I never got to tell him I loved him. I never got to hear his laugh again. He was my best friend. My hero.”
My throat clogged up as my legs took me around the island and into his arms. I pulled him in for a hug.
His body sagged against mine.
We hugged in his kitchen for a solid three minutes—at the very least.
When I pulled away, I whispered, “You’re still a jackass.”
He laughed.
It sounded beautiful.
His smile was there and then it vanished as quickly as it came.
I thought he was angry again, and then he was serious as he cupped my chin with his hands.
He was barely touching me, and my body hummed to life.
I stepped away.
I had to.
I didn’t trust him.
I couldn’t.
“So.” I shrugged. “You have one box left—”
“Why did you pull away?”
“Because I don’t know you,” I said. “Not this version at least. And even if I did, I don’t trust either version of you. Sorry.”
He nodded slowly. “Friends, then?”
“Wow, two offers of friendship in such a short time. I must look desperate.”
“Bet
ween the two of us, I don’t think anyone would peg you as the desperate one.” He grabbed the bag of takeout and jerked his head toward the living room. “Let’s go eat while you make your decision.”
“My decision?” I followed after him.
“Yeah, if I’m good enough to be in your inner circle.”
“You’re not.”
“Yeah, the minute I said good enough I regretted it.” He smirked.
It made me smile, and then we were both smiling at each other like idiots.
I reached for the napkins.
At the same time he did.
Insert awkward laughter.
I cleared my head and then held up my hands. “Look, we can be friends. On one condition . . .”
“Only one?”
“Try kissing me again, and I’m cutting your heart out and feeding it to Alfie. And . . .” Don’t cry. Do. Not. Cry. “We don’t talk about it.”
“It?” He seemed confused.
This was hard.
“Mexico.” I swallowed against the dryness in my throat and looked down at the coffee table.
The pain was almost too much.
It didn’t matter that he had a backpack full of sorries.
He’d made me feel alive.
Then killed my soul in one fell swoop.
Because people like Slade, they were used to thinking about one thing and one thing only.
Themselves.
And there wasn’t room for two people in the picture.
I was okay with it.
I just had to make sure he knew where the line was—at least it would make the next three weeks more pleasant.
He held out his hand. “Agreed.”
I pressed my palm against his.
Why did it feel even worse that he agreed we shouldn’t talk about it when I was the one who asked in the first place? My stomach dropped a bit as he held onto my hand and didn’t let go. With a little jerk he had my body closer to his as he whispered, “Soy sauce?”
I inwardly groaned as my cheeks heated. His penetrating golden stare wasn’t helping matters, and all my brain seemed to be able to focus on was the fact that those eyes had seen me naked, those lips had touched every part of my body, and those hands, the ones that had my body trembling—they were dangerous without him even touching me.
What was I thinking?
Three weeks of this guy?
I was probably better off with the jackass.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
SLADE
I groaned as another camera flashed. I was in a pissy mood. Which wasn’t rare for me lately—but for the first time, it wasn’t images of my father that burned my brain.
It was an image of Mack shoving fried pork into her mouth.
Fried. Fucking. Pork.
It haunted me all night, and the next day when she walked into the house and handed me a black coffee and a gluten-free muffin and started unpacking groceries, I had tunnel vision.
Her. All I saw was her unpacking groceries.
And my brain did a little click.
She was talking.
I heard nothing.
She was moving around.
I stood still.
The world buzzed around me.
But she was in my house like she belonged there. She was in my life regardless of how horrible I’d been to her, how much I’d hurt her, how much I still had to keep myself from lashing out at her for reasons beyond my realm of understanding.
She was constant.
Beautiful.
And she was the only woman on the planet who didn’t want something from me—who forced a friendship on me when all I’d wanted to do was kiss her for my own selfish reasons. But she’d hugged me, touched me, and didn’t do it for herself.
It was for me.
In fact, everything she did was for me.
And I’d fucked it all up by not only putting the cockblock in place, but making her feel less than.
Less than.
When she’d only ever been more to me.
I gulped as guilt slammed down against my chest until it hurt to breathe.
“Earth to Slade.” She waved in front of my face. “Did you hear anything I just said?”
Damn, her lips were pink today. I had a serious obsession with pink lips of all varieties.
I gave my head a shake. “Yeah, sorry, no. I was . . . thinking.”
“You looked about a second away from thinking yourself into a stroke. Next time let the people you pay do the heavy hitting.” She winked. “Matt wants you to meet with him tonight at some new restaurant. He said he’d text you the details. And you have that doctor appointment after practice.”
I rolled my eyes. “You gonna remind me to brush my teeth too?”
“Yup.” She popped the p. “And don’t forget to floss, say your prayers, and look both ways before crossing the street.” She snapped her fingers. “Should I get you a reflective vest like we have for Alfie?”
“Very funny.” I grabbed my bag. “Do they come in a size big enough to wrap around my eight-pack?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t I call Walmart? If anything, I’m sure we can find something small enough for your dick.” She beamed.
I narrowed my eyes. “That was low.”
She just did a little curtsy and continued unpacking beef jerky and cheese sticks.
“What’s with the groceries?” I jabbed my finger at the paper bags. “Do I not have enough food for you?”
“Pringles aren’t a food.” She opened up the pantry door and walked in. “Seriously, Slade, you’re going to be late. Don’t forget about your appointments, and try not to get struck by lightning on the way to practice.”
“And why would I get struck by lightning?”
Thunder boomed outside.
I nodded. “Gotcha, let me just grab—”
“I put the umbrella in your bag.” She poked her head out of the pantry. “Have a good day.”
She smiled.
And again I was paralyzed. “Look, Mack—”
“Go!”
“I’m trying to—”
“Slade. When you’re late you have to run more.”
“Damn it!” I slammed my hands down on the granite. “Then I’ll be fucking late, stop trying to manage me!”
Her pretty blue eyes went wide.
“Let a man apologize!”
“Do you always yell your apologies?” She crossed her arms.
“When the person is impossible to deal with, yes!” I roared and then stomped over to her, testosterone pumping through my system. “I’m fucking sorry. I know we’ve been over this. I know I promised I wouldn’t—”
“Then don’t,” she whispered. “That can be your apology.”
I licked my lips. We were at a standstill. I wanted to talk about the elephant; she wanted to pretend it wasn’t standing between us.
“Fine.” I hung my head. “Thank you for the food, thank you for the umbrella, thank you for reminding me of my schedule, and thank you for being . . . you.”
She stilled.
Moisture gathered in her eyes.
And then I returned the favor.
I pulled her in for a hug.
Not for me.
For her.
Because I didn’t know what else to do—and because she didn’t trust words, at least not mine. If she needed actions . . .
I would give her actions.
I was struck by an intense feeling of longing at that moment in the middle of my kitchen.
And it only increased when I felt her heart beat through her chest. And as I left the house and drove to practice, I knew I would hate the day that she wasn’t standing in my kitchen anymore.
I would hate that day.
And it was coming too soon.
Another camera flash went off as I made my way into the swanky restaurant that Matt demanded I meet him at because, according to him, they had the best calamari in the world.
The man had a weird fetish for
calamari. If a restaurant didn’t know how to make a good calamari, he believed that the rest of the menu must be shit.
I didn’t even have to open my mouth once I approached the stand in the main lobby of the restaurant.
The host looked up at me and grinned. He had on a three-piece suit and wore black-rimmed glasses. He was bald but had a young face. “Right this way, Mr. Rodriguez.”
I ducked into the dimly lit room. Sconces lined the walls, and each table had a line of blue fire and blue-black glass rocks in the center, making it possible to see people’s faces pretty clearly in the dark.
Matt stood and shook my hand once I made it to our corner of the room. I exhaled, thankful that he let me sit against the wall so I could see every angle of the restaurant. I hated having my back to the crowd; it always made me feel like people were staring, and I couldn’t see them, which made me even more anxious. People were brave when they couldn’t see your eyes.
This way the staring would have to be blatant, and typically people got too embarrassed to continue, which I appreciated.
Sometimes a man just wants to eat a steak in peace.
“Let me guess.” I sat. “You already ordered the calamari, ate all of it, and ordered more?”
He lifted his wineglass. “Cheers to best friends.”
“Cheers.” I lifted my empty wineglass.
“That’s bad luck, and you’ve had enough of that,” Matt said, lifting the bottle and pouring some into my glass before clinking it against his and handing it to me.
“Isn’t that the truth?” I grumbled to myself.
And then because I was drinking wine . . .
I immediately thought of Mack.
Sure enough, the label was completely black and had her family’s name etched across the top in white.
I ran my thumb along the label.
“Should I, uh, leave you alone with the bottle? Or can we talk business?”
I jerked my hand back and sighed. “Sorry, business, let’s talk business.”
Damn it, I could even smell her!
What the hell was wrong with me?
I took another long sip as Matt pulled out his phone and started talking about sponsors and Instagram promotions.
I got another whiff of perfume and sniffed the air.
“You’re acting more manic than normal.” Matt leaned forward. “Are you . . . are things—”
“What the fuck?” I growled, gripping the wine stem so hard I was afraid it was going to shatter between my fingers. “She’s on a date with him!”
Risky Play Page 10
