Risky Play

by Van Dyken, Rachel

  “She?” Matt turned around just as Jagger sat down three tables away from us.

  Mack’s back was to me.

  It was bare.

  Please, God, let her be dressed.

  I tilted my head to the side. There was a black scrap of something on her legs and hopefully covering her breasts.

  Jagger caught my eye and grinned.

  All the middle fingers.

  That’s what I wanted to send him.

  But I had to be mature.

  Responsible.

  There were cameras.

  “I’m going to murder him.” I started to stand.

  Matt jerked me back to my chair and hissed, “Don’t.”

  “He’s clearly using her!” Did we really need him on the team? I knew people. I could destroy evidence.

  A little strangulation.

  Run him over with my car.

  Or all of my cars.

  I grinned.

  “I know that smile, you aren’t killing him.”

  “Why?” I gritted my teeth. “He’s not as valuable as me. I’ll make him a martyr, he’ll thank me.”

  “Yes, his ghost will haunt you for life and write songs about how you plotted his death.” He snapped his fingers. “Focus. We’re here for business and good food. We’re not here to talk about how to find a hit man because the guy is sharing a bread basket with Mackenzie DuPont.”

  I stared harder. “He broke her bread for her. She can break her own bread, you dumbass!”

  Matt groaned into his hands. “Where are we with that NDA?”

  “Never mind about that.” I waved him off.

  “Oh good, you slept with her again? Kissed her senseless again? Do I need to send a flower van this time?”

  “Nothing like that.” I couldn’t take my eyes off her naked back. “I brought her takeout, we agreed to be friends . . . there was hugging.”

  He choked on his wine. “Cool, did you braid hair later and prank call all the guys in your class too?”

  I kicked him under the table.

  He grimaced and bit out a curse. “And that’s why they pay you so well. I think I’m bleeding.”

  “She’s . . . I mean we’re . . .” I poured more wine. “It’s complicated.”

  He snorted as Jackass Jagger scooted his chair closer to her.

  “I’m killing him tonight.”

  Matt just sighed. “You can’t tell me that if I’m supposed to be your alibi. At least be smart about it.”

  “I’ll go Dexter on his ass. He won’t know what hit him.”

  “One day, soccer’s biggest star, the next, murderer. Yeah, just think of the headlines. I think you should do it. I’m in your will, right?”

  “Don’t make me kick you again,” I growled. “Let’s just fucking order and get out of here before I really do walk over there and slam his face into the nearest table. I’m not feeling calm . . .”

  Another snort. “Yeah, the steam coming out of your ears and the alarming shade of purple on your face wasn’t a dead giveaway.”

  I glanced back at Matt. “Why are we friends again?”

  “Because I shaved off one of your eyebrows at soccer camp when you were sleeping.”

  “Right.” I nodded. “That explains everything.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  MACKENZIE

  I’d texted Jagger the minute Slade left the house. Well, first I had to stop my hands from shaking. And then I was tempted to throw some water on my face.

  Slade hugged me.

  He pulled me against his hard body.

  And I was haunted with memories of that night, of being free, with him. And I couldn’t go there. I couldn’t. It was a slippery slope and I would end up eating Twinkies on my couch missing him and Alfie while putting on ten pounds of emotional eating weight.

  And Slade?

  He’d be just fine.

  It would be a blip on his radar.

  A fun time with the help.

  And he’d probably refer to it like that too. All obtuse and arrogant.

  “So . . .” Jagger had his long brown hair slicked back, making him look older than his twenty-seven years. It made his eyes pop and gave way to such a sharp profile that he could probably cut glass with either side of his face. No double chin for that guy, bastard. He’d probably age well too, like fine wine. He’d be . . . a spicy Merlot with hints of bing cherry and a robust aroma. “How are you doing?”

  “Is this a date or therapy?” I said it in a teasing tone, but I was serious.

  He handed me a piece of bread like I wasn’t capable of reaching across the table myself. I wasn’t sure if I liked it or if it annoyed me.

  Once I had my bread buttered with enough calories and fat to make me sigh in bliss, he answered. “Can it be a little bit of both?”

  I offered a smile. “Huh, that must be how friendship works?”

  “It’s one of life’s great mysteries: communication, words, sentences that build into emotional paragraphs actually help you understand where a person is coming from.” He winked. “Deep stuff.”

  Okay, I was warming to him, even if he handed me bread. But if he ordered for me . . . all bets were off.

  And if he suggested a salad, I was going to throw a lot of words at him, none of them kind or cheerful.

  “I’m doing . . . good. Thank you for asking. Actually”—I pointed at him—“I’m doing better than I was, still not back to normal thanks to an emotional terrorist that finally backed down and apologized, but . . .” I lifted a shoulder. “Yeah.”

  “Emotional terrorist, huh? I know one of those . . . has an ego the size of China and probably refers to himself in the third person when he’s alone.”

  I choked on the bite I took and reached for my wine to wash down the bread that had lodged in my throat. “You know? I think I may sneak into the house late at night and see if he does exactly that.”

  He snorted. “I wouldn’t, he’d probably assume it was an invitation.”

  The blood drained from my brain, leaving me light-headed.

  Did everything come back to sex?

  And why couldn’t my brain exorcise all those moments in Slade’s arms?

  I cleared my throat and looked down. “Sorry, not one of my favorite subjects. Besides . . .” I pasted on my best smile. “Now that we’re trying to be friends, things are better, and if for some reason he reverts back, I’ll just clean Alfie’s teeth with his toothbrush and then dip it in the toilet for good measure.”

  Jagger barked out a laugh. “Yeah, remind me to stay on your good side.”

  “Well, dinner’s a good start.”

  “I’d say so.” He returned my smile just as someone approached. “Oh, we aren’t ready to or—Hey . . .” Jagger started coughing.

  I stared at the menu, then felt a foot tap mine under the table. My eyes jerked up.

  And there he was, in all his glory.

  Alton.

  I gasped.

  Jagger’s eyes widened a fraction before he smoothly said, “What’s up?”

  Yup. What’s up.

  I narrowed my eyes and stared across the table while Alton shrugged. “Nothing, just trying to sell more of our wine to the restaurant, decided to check it out for myself.” He turned to me. “Your father was impressed with their calamari.”

  I just stared at him, unable to form words.

  This was the second time I was forced to see him. To speak to him. When I didn’t want to do any of the above.

  Jagger spoke for me. “We haven’t ordered yet.”

  “Are you guys . . .” Alton made a motion with his hand between us. “On a date?”

  “I’m wearing a dress,” I said in a pinched voice. “What do you think?”

  Alton lowered his voice. “Isn’t that kind of an unspoken rule between friends, Jag?” He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and rocked back on his heels. He really was thin compared to Jagger, and Slade had at least thirty pounds of muscle over him.

 
“Seriously?” I didn’t mean to shriek. “We’re adults sharing a meal. It’s not a crime.”

  “I didn’t say it was,” Alton said in the sort of voice typically used to calm people down, the kind of voice that only makes a person want to lash out more. “All I’m saying is it’s . . . frowned upon.”

  “Frowned upon?” came another voice.

  One I dreamed about at night.

  One that belonged to a name I screamed out more times than I’d care to admit. Hugo . . . my Hugo.

  Welcome to hell.

  “Slade.” Jagger inclined his head. “We were just talking about you . . . Question, do you think this place is big enough to fit your ego? I’d say it’s a close call.”

  “Alton, meet Slade Rodriguez. Slade, Alton Davis.”

  “If this dick,” he said, pointing at Alton, “can fit nothing but hot air into that giant head, then I guess it makes sense that my ego can fit here, right?”

  I tried not to smile.

  I failed.

  Jagger even seemed relieved.

  “Mack.” Slade ignored Alton’s sputtering. “Can you stop by the house after dinner . . . ?”

  “House?” Alton repeated, voice shrill and posture rigid.

  “Hell no!” Jagger laughed. “She’s with me right now, you get that, right? God, you’re such an asshole!”

  I let out a long sigh. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  “Just to talk,” Slade added.

  “What the hell? Why would she talk to you? Wait a second . . .” Alton’s eyes widened. “Are you—”

  “One sec.” Slade held up a hand in front of Alton’s face. “Please, Mack.”

  It was the eyes.

  It was always his stupid golden eyes.

  They made me want to say yes to everything and tell my heart to shut up.

  “I, uh—”

  Jagger cleared his throat. “Slade, admit defeat, man. You had your chance, and your true colors showed, big shock. Go sit down before you embarrass yourself.”

  “Chance?” Alton piped up. His teeth ground together as his eyes narrowed.

  I groaned into my hands.

  “Damn right I had my chance.” Slade clenched his teeth. “And I’m still haunted by her tight thighs and breathy moans—you’re fooling no one, I know what you want. But she’s mine.”

  I gasped. Again.

  Alton gave me such a look of disappointment that I was ready to drown him in my water glass. “You slept with him?”

  In retrospect, I should have just owned up to it rather than sitting in silence while my ex started throwing insults, but I was in shock.

  “What? Our marriage doesn’t work out so you just spread your legs for some soccer playboy with an accent!” He turned red.

  Jagger threw down his napkin and stood.

  At about the same time, Slade grabbed Alton by the shirt and punched him across the jaw.

  “Son of a bitch!” Alton said from the floor.

  “You’re a piece of shit,” Slade growled.

  “Better shit than slut!” Alton said, blood trickling down his chin as he tried to get up.

  Before Slade could throw another punch, Jagger beat him to it.

  Alton went down for a second time.

  And that was when I heard the sirens.

  I grabbed the bottle of wine from the table and started drinking straight from it once a cop walked in, followed by another.

  And put all three men in cuffs.

  “He started it!” Alton roared.

  I almost kicked him in the ribs.

  “Shut the hell up, you pussy,” Slade sneered. “I can see your man tits from here.”

  Jagger choked out a laugh and then added, “He has one testicle. Literally.”

  Alton’s face flushed while wine almost spewed out of my mouth. Matt made his way over to talk to the cops.

  People were clearly enjoying the show.

  And I was so frozen in shock that I didn’t know how to react or what to do.

  But when Jagger was talking to the cop with Matt and Alton, Slade turned around and whispered, “Sorry . . . again.”

  My answer? “I like chocolate too.”

  He grinned. “So you’re saying I have to send chocolate with the flowers next time?”

  I nodded.

  “Done.”

  “And Slade?”

  “Yeah.” His eyes locked on mine.

  “You’re my hero.”

  “Funny, that’s always something I’ve wanted to be to someone . . .”

  My eyes filled with tears.

  We stared at one another and the world faded around me. His golden eyes didn’t leave mine for a few seconds before the cop escorted them out of the restaurant.

  “Do you think you can talk your father into persuading Alton not to press charges?” Matt asked once they were in the cop car.

  My chest ached a bit. “I’ll try.”

  “Thanks.” He patted my shoulder. “Head on home, get some sleep . . . they’re not going to jail, but I see some community service in Slade’s near future, and to think he’d been doing so well . . .”

  Instantly, I felt guilty. “It was my fault.”

  “Nah, he threw the punch, but something tells me Alton deserved it.”

  I gave him a silent nod.

  “Then I’m sorry the fucker didn’t pass out cold.”

  I laughed. “Thanks, Matt.”

  “Yeah, yeah, it’s really fun, my job . . . keeping their asses out of jail, losing sleep, balding—”

  A smile tugged my lips upward. “You aren’t balding.”

  “Don’t make me show you the spot. It’s embarrassing.”

  I stood and gave him my hand. “Should I grab the tab for the wine?”

  “Already taken care of when I saw Slade make his way over. I know the guy. When he sees something he wants, he gets tunnel vision and doesn’t think, he just . . . executes. It makes him a hell of a striker, and sometimes a hell of a human.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  SLADE

  I reacted.

  Poorly.

  Again.

  But the bastard was just sitting there insulting the world by breathing, let alone speaking about her in a way that was so disrespectful—if I see him on the street I’m taking all hateful vengeance toward Jagger and Dextering it on Alton.

  Simple.

  “One testicle, though?” I wondered out loud as the cop took off the cuffs and gave me a look that said I really needed to stop talking if I wanted to make it back to my house and not a jail cell next to a guy named Billy who has some things in his trunk he wants to show me.

  “Think about it.” Jagger massaged his wrists while Matt discussed terms with the cops. “Is there any chance in hell you’d want that woman”—he pointed at Mack’s disappearing form as she got into an Uber Black SUV—“to know that you have one of something that you should have two of?”

  “Huh.” I rubbed my chin. “You’d think he’d be so sexually repressed that he would have just taken the chance, plus when you love someone . . .”

  Jagger stared at me like I’d grown three heads.

  So I stopped talking.

  “No, continue.” He crossed his arms. “I think we were having the closest thing to a moment I’ve ever seen.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m just saying, it shouldn’t matter. Things like that don’t matter, not when you’re with someone.”

  It wasn’t a topic I liked to discuss.

  Loving someone.

  Loving anyone.

  And losing them.

  Loving them with your soul—only to discover you never even had their heart, like with my ex-fiancée.

  It’s the worst. It feels like a death—maybe not as bad as my father dying, but it sure as hell didn’t make me feel like I wanted to go ahead and do it again.

  The risk? Was too high.

  The reward? Well, I never had the reward, because she took it from me the minute she decided t
o sleep with someone else.

  “Hey, you still with us?” Jagger walked over and touched my shoulder.

  I frowned at his hand. “You’re touching me.”

  “You looked ready to cry.”

  “Bullshit. I was just . . . thinking.”

  “Also disconcerting.” He moved his hand just as Matt walked over to us with a wide, encouraging smile.

  “Fixed,” he announced.

  Jagger and I both stared at him.

  “What is?” I was the first to ask.

  Matt wrapped an arm around each of us. “Walk with me, boys.”

  “You’re using the voice,” I pointed out. “The one where you deliver the bad news but try to convince me that it’s good news by your wide smile and high-pitched voice.”

  Jagger coughed on a laugh.

  Matt just ignored me and released us, then turned, pressed his steepled hands to his mouth like he was praying, and took a deep breath. “Mackenzie’s going to work on Alton not pressing charges. He says he’s not going to, but he still could, and we don’t want that hanging over us.”

  If that bastard touches her or tries to get her back . . . I gave my head a shake. No. I wouldn’t let that happen. He was the asshole of all assholes, and I was well aware of my own behavior the past week.

  “You both are going to do community service!”

  Jagger kicked the curb while I just groaned and looked away from him.

  “What?” Matt actually sounded surprised by our disdain.

  “Community service,” Jagger repeated, “usually entails work after all the work we’re already putting in with practice, PR, the press, nonprofits—”

  “First, you’re lucky both your asses aren’t in jail.” Matt changed his tone. “And second, you’re going to teach a soccer camp for one of the elementary schools. One full week of working as a team.” He pointed between me and Jagger with a giant grin. “And the best part? The arresting officer was willing to do anything to get volunteers—the fact that it’s you guys? Well, let’s just say he’s going to win Dad of the Year, and since no charges are being pressed—yet—you’re free to go!”

  “Fantastic,” I said in a dry tone. “We’ll get to teach elementary kids which direction to run in. Sounds like a blast.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Jagger snorted. “You still don’t know what direction to run in. Besides, do you really think you’re the best role model?”