I sucked in a breath.
“Hundreds of thousands of people, and yet I could pick his voice out . . .”
“What was he saying?” I asked quietly.
Slade stared at the picture so hard he didn’t blink. “‘Don’t give up.’”
“Did you listen?”
He put the picture down and looked over at me. “We won, didn’t we?”
“I don’t really follow soccer,” I said to lighten the mood.
He actually cracked a smile. “Trust me, I’m well aware you don’t follow soccer. Had you known who I was, you would have been peeling your shirt over your head the minute you saw me on the plane.”
I shook my head. “You do realize that’s not everyone’s reaction to you, right? Mr. I-have-such-a-high-opinion-of-myself?”
He took a step toward me. “People magazine says my sweat smells like an orgasm, so . . . maybe it’s others that have too high an opinion of me.”
“Bingo.” I spread my arms wide and laughed. “So, I should get going. I’m glad you aren’t upset about the pictures. I just figured they needed to be seen.”
“Wait.” He held up his hand. “Where are you running off to? I mean isn’t there dinner?” Okay, now his smile was wide, happy. Oh no. He pressed his hands down on my shoulders. “It’s like you’ve got a hot date to get ready for.”
He meant it as a joke.
We’d been joking with each other all week.
This wasn’t any different.
Except I didn’t find any humor in it.
I didn’t laugh.
His smile fell as his eyes laced with panic. “Right?”
“Not a date,” I said quickly. “But Jagger said he wanted to reschedule our dinner.”
“Jagger.” His nostrils flared and then he seemed to calm himself before he exhaled in obvious frustration. “He wants one thing from you, and it’s not friendship.”
“Are you telling me you’re better company?” I countered.
He opened his mouth and closed it, then whispered, “I’ve been trying.”
I sidestepped him as his hands fell to his sides. “I’ll be sure to bring a sticker in on Monday.”
“Wait!” He grabbed my elbow. “Monday? But today’s Saturday!”
I nodded slowly. “And tomorrow’s Sunday . . . what’s your point?”
“Alfie still needs a walk.”
Was it my imagination or was he sulking?
I was not falling for the puppy-dog look in those golden eyes or the soft pout of his mouth when he pressed his lips together in frustration over me not being at his house.
“You’re a kicker.” I shrugged. “Use those muscular legs and take him out for a walk.”
He grinned, still pressing his fingers into my skin. “Striker, and what’s that about my muscular legs? Were you . . . staring?”
“No!” I said quickly. “I mean I just assumed, because of the running, and the—balls.”
He pressed his lips together harder, like he was trying not to laugh.
“Soccer balls,” I corrected.
“Oh, good, because you lost me there for a minute, thought you were talking about my balls.” He winked. “Besides, the team I was coaching won the championship camp game, meaning Jagger had to shave his head, and I didn’t even make the bastard shave all of it, so when you see a high-and-tight-looking fool—that’s him, just in case you’re confused about your . . . date.”
I felt my cheeks heat. I was still thinking about the balls. His balls. I cleared my throat. “Thanks for the heads-up. And congrats on the win.” I pulled away. “So I’ll just see you later! You have my number if you need anything.”
His eyes lit up. “You’re right, thanks for the reminder! Have fun with Jagger.” Before I could stop him, he was pulling me into his arms for what I thought was a kiss, but ended up being a really tight hug. His lips brushed my ear. “I’ll miss you.”
It was my undoing.
Being missed.
Wanted.
I reacted more strongly to that sentence than I would have had he kissed me.
And I could have sworn he knew it as he watched me walk away from him toward another man.
He’d miss me.
And the sick part.
I wasn’t even out of his house.
And I missed him too.
Chapter Thirty-Six
MACKENZIE
Jagger lived closer to downtown Seattle than I would have thought. His penthouse apartment was exactly how I would imagine a bachelor pad, all dark colors with lots of reds, and enough expensive electronics and gadgets to make any guy salivate.
He’d texted me the address the minute I was in my car trying to decide if I should cancel and go back in to Slade.
His text sealed my fate.
Well, that and an adorable picture of him and his new haircut and a ton of littles standing around him with huge smiles on their faces.
That was how I found myself on his couch a few hours later with his arm wrapped around me, and a bottle of wine sitting between us. I blamed the children.
He had a gourmet cheese board I’d seen at a high-end grocer last week—he didn’t make it, not like Slade. And it didn’t even matter. I bought cheese all the time like that! Ugh, I was going crazy second-guessing myself and unfairly comparing him to Slade. I stared at the plate.
Why did I care that he didn’t make food?
It wasn’t like he was a lazy guy.
He was just a guy.
Not all guys cook, Mackenzie!
I shook my head.
“Something wrong?” he whispered in my ear. I shivered. I forgot how close we were sitting—his body was so warm I was almost overheated, and the few times I turned to look at him, his eyes had darted to my mouth like he was trying to decide how I would taste—and if I’d let him in the first place. “Hey, Mackenzie, where are you?”
“Right here.” I finally looked at him.
His blue eyes lit up a bit as he cupped my chin with his hand, rubbing his thumb across my lower lip. His head descended. I froze.
And then my phone went off on the coffee table.
I jumped back and grabbed it.
Slade: Where’s my detergent?
Jagger read over my shoulder and let out a snort of disbelief. “Really? He can’t find his own detergent?”
“I do his laundry,” I admitted, then typed out, Did you try the laundry room, genius?
Jagger barked out a laugh.
Slade: It’s not in here.
Me: It’s there.
Slade: Would you bet your life on it?
Me: No, I’d bet yours, though!
Slade: That’s hurtful . . . oh, I found it!
Me: Great! Good night!
I put my phone back on my lap just as Jagger shook his head. “The guy’s clueless, isn’t he?”
“I don’t mind it . . .”
And I didn’t.
I didn’t mind taking care of him, and part of me felt like maybe he was playing dumb about the laundry detergent. I’d seen him do his own ironing plenty of times.
“Why are you growling?” Jagger asked.
“Nothing, I just—”
My phone buzzed again.
Jagger groaned.
Slade: Did you leave any French toast?
Me: I put the leftovers in the fridge.
Slade: You almost ate the whole pan.
Jagger glanced down. “You ate that much French toast?”
“Stop looking over my shoulder.” I elbowed him while he held up his hands in surrender. “And it was . . . good. He’s a good cook, alright?”
“Wait, ass pants made you . . . French toast?”
“It was baked,” I said, reliving the texture in my mouth. “It had this syrupy brown-sugar glaze and I think he even put brandy in it.”
“Damn. I may have underestimated him. I mean I had my suspicions when he didn’t make me shave all the hair off my head plus my eyebrows, but still.”
“Eyebrows too?”
I smiled to myself and typed back.
Me: I didn’t eat the whole pan. Anything else?
Slade: Do we have wine?
I took a deep breath.
Me: Look in the cellar.
“He has a wine cellar?” Jagger asked out loud.
“I said stop!” I laughed. “Okay, movie, we were watching a movie, right?”
“Uh . . .” A crestfallen expression crossed his face before he nodded toward the flat-screen. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I had in mind for the night.”
I settled back against the comfortable couch. Jagger held me tighter. Five minutes went by and then there were six consecutive buzzes of my phone.
“Are you serious? If that’s Slade I’m going to block his number on your phone, the guy’s such a fucking cockblock.” He laughed. “I mean he gives me so much shit during practice, the camp, I hate that I actually respect him now and—”
I pulled away. Shook my head for good measure, not even hearing the rest of what he said, and gave him a sharp look followed by “Excuse me?”
His expression went from frustrated to panicked before he shrugged. “Look, it’s a common phrase, don’t read into it too much.”
“But why would you use it on your friend?”
“Mackenzie.” He wiped his face with his hands. “Can we not do this? Don’t be the girl that reads into things and ruins what should be a really good time.”
I didn’t think he meant it as a put-down.
In fact, I knew he probably wasn’t thinking anything, but I was jumping to conclusions.
But after all those texts from Alton.
It was enough for me to feel emotionally awkward and more than ready to go home.
I stood.
“Mackenzie.” He gripped my hand and tried tugging me back down. “Seriously, I’ll stop talking. The guy just drives me crazy. On purpose. We’ll just watch the movie.”
I glanced at the texts on my phone.
Slade: Come back.
Slade: I know he’s with you.
Slade: Tell him I’m plotting his death.
Slade: I’m not joking.
Slade: Hurry home so I don’t go to prison.
Slade: I miss you . . .
“No . . . ,” I said in a harsh whisper. “I think we should just call it a night.” I smiled down at him. “Thanks for the wine and food, but I should be going.”
“Shit.” He said it so quietly that I almost didn’t hear it. When he stood, he had a defeated look in his eyes.
And when I grabbed my things and walked to the door, he reached for my hand and squeezed. “Mackenzie?”
“Yeah?” I squeezed back.
“I never stood a chance, did I?”
“Next time, don’t lead with being a friend if what you want is something more,” I said truthfully.
“Would it have even mattered?” His eyes shifted like he was trying to read my emotions to see if there had ever really been a chance.
The question hung between us like dirty laundry that needed to be acknowledged, taken care of.
I exhaled and shook my head no. “He and I—”
“He’s a dick at least ninety percent of the time,” he finished. “Promise me that when you get him out of your system you’ll give me a chance.”
“Get him out of my system.” Why did all the men around me, except the one I wanted, try to control me? Put me down? Make me feel bad about myself because of my own feelings? Why? “What makes you think that’s what’s happening next?”
He stared me down. “Because I’ve seen that look before . . . the day his fiancée told him she was pregnant and was willing to do anything to keep him. Even though she betrayed him she couldn’t bear the thought of letting him go. His grip on her was too deep, she made a mistake and would have sold her soul to keep him.”
“I don’t want to hear about it.”
“You think you even know what the truth is?” He shook his head. “He doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”
“Bye, Jagger.” I threw my purse over my shoulder and power walked to the elevator as the door shut quietly behind me.
Was it too much to ask for one man not to assume the worst of me? To support me?
I wanted a partner.
Not someone who knew better and ruled over me.
I wanted the danger of jumping off the cliff while my partner not only encouraged me to do so but said he’d jump next to me—regardless of whether we both landed in shark-infested waters.
Together.
Forever partners.
Maybe it didn’t exist in real life.
But for a few brief moments in Mexico.
It had.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
SLADE
I was slightly buzzed from the wine.
And drunk from the taste of the French toast, or maybe just drunk with the knowledge that she’d eaten so much of it, enjoyed it, that I’d satisfied her.
I flipped through more channels.
I’d texted her forty minutes ago.
And still nothing.
I tried not to think about her being with Jagger—because thinking about that made me think about taking his head off, and he was my teammate, we’d be playing in games together soon—I would need to trust him, not murder him.
Shit.
I groaned into my hands and wiped my face.
I should just go to bed.
Instead, I checked my phone again.
I’d done nothing right when it came to Mack, except make French toast. I didn’t even send the flowers myself.
I typed out a text to Matt.
Me: I told her I missed her.
Matt: You don’t drink during the season, why are you drunk texting me?
Me: Not drunk. She’s with him.
Hell, he was right. I was drinking. Why was I drinking her away? It wasn’t working worth shit!
Matt: Then maybe you should have been the cheerful sexier option, idiot.
Me: I am sexier.
Matt: People magazine did a poll, you won by two percent.
Me: Two percent is still winning and I’m damn cheerful!
Matt: Yes, so cheerful that you yell out your cheer loud and clear and then save your smiles for your dog.
Me: That doesn’t even make any sense.
Matt: Go to bed. Nothing good happens after midnight and you need the sleep.
Me: I fucked up.
Matt: I’m sighing really loud right now. What do you want to hear? That there’s a chance?
Me: Finally! Yes!
Matt: Alright then! Go get ’em, tiger, she’s totally going to forgive you. In fact, if you send enough money in her direction, you can even marry her, screw the whole NDA. Just put a ring on it and be done!
Me: Very funny. You know I’m not ever getting married. I just . . .
Matt: Use her for sex and I’ll help Jagger bury your body.
Me: I would never do that.
Matt: Don’t lead her on if you don’t plan on following through.
Me: I won’t. I swear. I’ll make sure she knows it’s not a one-time thing.
Matt: You can’t hear me, but I’m groaning really loud into my hands.
Me: Do that shit privately, man. I don’t want to know about shower time.
Matt: You. Are. A. Dick.
I ignored him. He called me a dick at least eighty percent of the time I was around him. It was nothing new, and it wouldn’t be the last time. I set my phone on the coffee table and willed a text from her to come through.
Only to hear a knock on the door.
I jammed my knee against the coffee table in an effort to sprint toward the door, and nearly tripped over an equally excited Alfie as we made our way down the hall.
I stopped, took a deep breath, then opened the door and tried not to look tired. “Hey, Mack.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re fooling no one. I heard you running to the door, and poor Alfie looks ready to have a heart attack. You know he can’t do
long distance!”
I stared at my bulldog in disbelief. “It was forty feet, tops. If that’s long distance, we need to cut back on snacks.”
“But he’s such a good boy!” she said in a high-pitched voice as she got down to eye level and started loving his face.
Irrational jealousy pounded through me. I cleared my throat to get her attention.
She just kept ignoring me. “Aren’t you, buddy? Aw, Alfie, I missed you.” Bastard licked her face and whined, then looked up at me as if to say, I win.
Damn it, I should have been more worried about the dog all along!
I cleared my throat again.
“You want a bath on Monday? Yeah?” He wagged his nonexistent tail and started to dance around in circles when seconds ago he’d looked ready to pass out.
I rolled my eyes. Leave it to my dog to be more dramatic than me.
Mack caught the movement. “What?”
“Nothing.” I knelt down and rubbed his belly. “Can’t a guy be jealous about bath time?”
“It’s typically a bad thing when humans get bathed by another human,” she pointed out.
“Not true.” I inched closer. “Bathing can be very—” Her eyes flickered to my lips.
I sniffed.
Her eyes widened. “ALFIE!”
“Why!” I waved in front of my face. “Alfie, no, man, you gotta stop with the gas, you’re going to chase her away! Oh, it’s full of protein.” I gagged. “Like eggs or something.”
She held her nose and turned away to take a breath. “It’s his superpower.”
“I need to ask the vet what to do, because that’s not natural. It’s not.”
She burst out laughing as tears of mirth filled her eyes. “You would have a dog with a toxic ass.”
“Hey! He just . . . has an extremely sensitive stomach.”
She stood while Alfie seemed to be grinning between the two of us as if to say, Look, I didn’t ruin the moment, she’s still here!
“So.” I held the door open wider. “How did it go with Jagger?”
She stepped into the house.
I shut the door.
Locked it.
Briefly wrestled with the idea of putting a chair and armoire in front of it. Then I followed her into the living room.
The bottle of wine was out.
Over half of it was gone.
My glass was empty.
She picked up the bottle and drank straight from it.
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