“You can still buy them, but you probably don’t have time.”
“You’re jokes.” Beau’s hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle I was reaching for. “Here, let me get that for you.” Wine poured into my glass, that floaty feeling taking hold as the last drop rippled on the blood surface.
“I think I’m almost done. This stuff’s powerful.”
In just a few strides, Beau rounded the coffee table, sitting columns of space closer to me than before he turned on the music. “Can I ask you about the king of the NFL? Or does he stay off limits?”
I sucked back the wine and offered Beau my glass. I shouldn’t finish this on my own, I’d suffer severely in the morning. I watched as he drank; the bob of his Adam’s apple, the voracious heat coursing from his eyes to my everywhere. Enraptured, his arm sneaking across the back of the couch went unnoticed. The tingling sensation of my hair moving, rolling between fingers, drew a shuddering breath. If I closed my eyes, I could fool my brain into believing he was Julian.
I didn’t close my eyes, and he wasn’t Julian.
“We’re no more,” I said. Telling people was the hardest part of a breakup. It’d been made marginally easier with strong wine.
Beau’s gaze flickered over my face, hanging out longer on my mouth. His fingers wound higher in my hair, the tips feathering my scalp. I wasn’t sure how long we sat staring at each other—who would be the first to move, speak. All I knew was the song had ended and my skin was aflame, the delirious thudding of my heart pouring fuel onto the blaze.
Beau’s chin dipped, masculine shoulders turning into me and removing more of my air. He blinked, drawing my eyes to the scruff on his jaw as his teeth scraped his bottom lip. “Hey, Angel?” His voice was gentle, soothing. It gave me goose bumps.
“Yes?”
“Lock the door behind me. Okay?”
My pulse screeched to a halt as I adjusted to Beau leaving me stranded on this lonely island. “You’re leaving already?”
“Unless you want me to stay?” It was a question with a question, and I’d been handed full control of how this night would end. “Your call.”
I was so confused, careening between my cravings for Julian and substituting Beau to temporarily satisfy them. But even if I kissed Beau now, let him into my bed and briefly into my heart, I wouldn’t want him tomorrow. Not in the way I did tonight.
“The couch pulls out, you can sleep on it. A bigshot like you shouldn’t be out alone this late around here. You’re at high risk of kidnap for ransom.”
“Sure you don’t mind? I’ll make you pancakes for breakfast.”
I pushed out a smile. “That’s what friends are for right?”
Beau left early. Before pancakes and before I’d woken up. I was grateful to be alone, and not caught making clumsy small talk when mornings were my least cordial hours.
With one day until the new school semester, I tidied up the kitchen and living room, showered and dressed, and took myself out for breakfast. I couldn’t be bothered to cook, and cereal wasn’t going to cut it this morning. I also wasn’t in the mood to drive, so I filled a water bottle and started walking toward Santa Monica. I texted Hayden for my weekly update on her and Jason, and after fifteen minutes, the sun had the better of me. By the time it was crowning the sky, turning the atmosphere to a blazing inferno, I’d reached the pier.
Standing at the intersection of Ocean and Colorado, awaiting instruction on when it was safe to walk, it took me until the countdown to realize I was the last one standing on the sidewalk. The crowd crossing the road in focused, purposeful streams. I caught up before the number one flashed, dashing across asphalt before being mowed by a car.
White water foamed below the pier, gulls bobbing on sparkling gray swells under the blinding sun. The pier wasn’t my favorite place, but then I remembered this kitschy bar on Ocean Front Walk that avoided the bigger crowds and tourists. I’d come in the wrong way, so I took a left off the boardwalk to backtrack. The Carousel loomed ahead, temporarily abandoned.
And then I saw her.
Midnight hair scraped up in a ponytail. Black Yoga leggings and tank top. An unknown guy handing her an ice cream cone wrapped in a paper napkin. Her blithe smile gleamed all the way to her eyes before it was shielded with black sunglasses. The man she was with bent down to kiss her on the mouth, his arm encircling her waist and pulling her in.
I had to face it. She was happy while my heart was empty. In a twisted shift in pace, I’d been unburdened. I could rebuild or crumble into the destruction. And I wouldn’t be left for dust, not by anyone. Not by her and not by myself. I didn’t need Julian to forgive me, my dad to love me or my mom to come back to me. Everything I needed I was more than capable of giving.
So I didn’t call her name or try for her attention. I turned away, walked down the steps to Ocean Front Walk and left my mom exactly where she had left me.
Behind.
R ookie of the Year and Offensive Rookie of the Year. I stared at the awards on the floating shelf in my room with mixed emotions. Disappointment at finishing the season third in our conference, and grateful to be acknowledged at this year’s NFL honors. I was thankful for every recognition I received. Thankful for the kid in the street who wanted an autograph. But without Angel behind me, the spotlight had lost most of its shine. There wasn’t a whole lot to enjoy without her to enjoy it with.
People expected everything I touched to turn to gold. But that wasn’t true. Most of the time it just turned to shit.
Rebecca’s head surfaced on the staircase. I glanced over there, at the phone she held in her hand. “That guy called. Jay.”
“And you answered?”
“I’m quirky like that.”
I closed my eyes. There was a greater outcome of her leaving if she thought I was up here trying to sleep. I opened them when she threw her body down on the bed, propping up on one elbow and breaching all my boundaries.
“What?” I said, looking at the ceiling. Since Rebecca practically moved herself in here, I’d discovered extra irritants I really didn’t appreciate. Staring into the side of my head was somewhere near the top. Right under answering my fucking phone.
She sighed, nacho breath blowing into the side of my face. I closed my eyes again—counted to five.
“You are just the worst since you dumped your girlfriend. It’s making me wanna go home.”
“By all means”—I opened one eye and looked at her—“feel free to go home.”
“Ugh. Anyway, this guy from your team said you need to be at his house in the next hour.”
“Nope.”
“That’s what I told him.”
I eased her another look using both eyes. “You did?”
“I said listen Jay, Julian isn’t in the mood for any parties. And he was all, I don’t care about Rook. You come over—”
“No. No way.”
Rebecca’s eyes dropped shut for a beat as she shook her head and patronizingly shushed me with one hand on my wrist. “No, that’s not what I said. I said, can you pick me up?”
“He isn’t picking you up.” I sprung into a sitting position. “You think I’m going to let him pick you up?” She’d be bent over Carlion’s Gallardo front seats if he got his way, and that wasn’t happening.
“Thing is…” The patronizing continued. “I never asked for your permission. If you don’t want him to pick me up, then that means you’re taking me in your car.”
I lifted my phone from her hand and slipped it into my back pocket as I stood from the bed. “Fair enough,” I said. “You want to go, we’ll go.”
“That easy?” she asked suspiciously, the constrictive squeezing of her eyes dogging me to the closet.
“That easy. If you’re going anyway, you’re not going alone.”
Stiltedly, she asked, “Because you’re worried about me?”
Rebecca could survive in a cannibals’ den without a scratch on her. But I’d seen Carlion around women, and how women lost their
heads around football players. I didn’t trust the situation or want her anywhere near it.
“Not worried, just not happy about you being there alone.”
It took me thirty minutes to shower and put on a white t-shirt and black jeans. Forty-five minutes into sitting on the sectional with Dog, exchanging memes with Taj over text, Rebecca swanned out of her room. “Is that underwear?” I asked, a dribble of laughter sneaking into my voice.
She turned and flipped up the back of her New York Yankees baseball jersey, revealing oversized black panties. The waist was reasonably high, so that swung in her favor. She turned back and faced me, peeling open the unbuttoned jersey. I didn’t care what she fleeced it as, she was wearing a bra.
“These are shorts and this is…” She didn’t know what it was. “… Kind of a bralette. Do you think I look nice?”
It’d be lying if I said she didn’t. But taking her into Carlion’s bachelor mansion wearing so little, my eyes wouldn’t be the only set glued to her.
Twirling pieces of hair that hung down from the knot on her head, she looked at me like my opinion was worth hearing. Like she wouldn’t think twice to go back into her room for a further forty-five minutes and pick a different outfit. As much as I’d have preferred for her to at least put on a skirt, I settled for not etching a dent in her confidence. I also reminded myself on the drive over that she wasn’t my sister and it didn’t matter what she wore or who hit on her. It was none of my business.
Carlion’s upper crust neighborhood was gated. Scratch that, this was no neighborhood. It was a community. My face alone confirmed to security that I had authorization to enter, and I drove up to his home and parked behind the herd of cars blocking his drive.
“Good lord,” Rebecca muttered, unclipping her seatbelt. “It’s like I can smell the money.” She dropped down from the passenger seat, staring up at the three stories of limestone and bowed glass. Flower shrubs and palm trees scaling the sloping yard. Wait until she laid eyes on his famous grotto ’round back, where she could put that underwear she had on to good use.
“Just try not to get shithoused while we’re here, and don’t sleep with anyone off the team,” I warned her, only five percent joking.
“Don’t insult me,” she said with a scoff. Then with a smile I was starting to dread, “I don’t get shithoused.”
“If she isn’t your sister, who is she? Your escort?”
That question was the precise reason I didn’t want Rebecca here. My teammates were good guys, but locker room banter had a habit of overflowing onto the streets. We were all guilty of it.
“Just someone I know,” I said to Shae Carter. He’d approached Rebecca at least twice tonight—that I’d seen. And now he was sniffing for information I wouldn’t give him.
“She seeing anyone?” Over the mouth-end of his beer, Shae’s eyes stalked Rebecca sitting on the edge of the pool with her legs submerged in the heated water. She was talking to a guy whose face looked familiar, but I didn’t know the name of.
“Who’s he?” I asked Shae, pointing to the no-namer with my own drink, and ignoring his question. “I’ve seen him around, I’m sure of it.”
Shae squinted, chin bobbing at different angles while he scoped out what he’d likely chalked up to competition. “I think that’s one of the waterboys. Carlion’s cousin.”
I tipped my glass to my mouth, swishing the Jack and coke before swallowing. “That’s Carlion’s cousin?”
Shae nodded. “Think so, yeah.” He eyed a woman in a white thong and transparent tank top soaked in water, grabbing his junk over his shorts. “Hot damn. I fucking love Miami. Did you get a look at those dinner plates?”
“I did not. And if you grow a chubby while you’re sitting right next to me, I will hurt you.”
I narrowed my eyes on Carlion’s cousin. His babyish face, the diamond studs in his ear—similar to the kind I wore on occasion. Brown skin a shade lighter than Carlion’s, and I couldn’t pick out one criticism. His hands had stayed to himself the entire time he’d been talking to Rebecca, and his eyes had been right up there on her face.
I was basically happy Rebecca hadn’t found company in the college version of me and my friends. Because at her age, I’d been indulging in skeezy bets. Taking advantage of people for my own gain. And I hadn’t been giving Rebecca the credit she deserved. She just had so much attitude, I was never sure what shit she might pull next.
I was glad when I noticed the lounger next to me sat empty, and Carter had disappeared. Rebecca looked past me, leveling an uneasy glance at the house. Her gaze sloped to me and I heard the object of her frustrations.
“Carlion must think it’s hunting season with all these women grazing on his property.” Overlooking the vacant lounger on my left as a suitable seat, Angela Valentina parked herself on the end of mine.
“But which one’s the turkey?” I joked.
Angela leaned in with an answering grin. “Gobble, gobble.”
Gobble, gobble? My outsides were laughing, but inside I was harshly concerned for her. “You been drinking a lot of those?” I asked, nodding to the gold champagne glass in her hand. A wild flare stretched her eyes. I thought she was about to convulse into laughter, but she pulled back, wiping away her grin.
“Angela?” My brows crinkled in confusion when she swooped off the lounger and breezed by me. Looking back to Rebecca, she wasn’t where I’d seen her a minute ago. Her plus the waterboy were gone.
She’s not my sister. I slapped the reminder onto my back and carried it with me to get another drink from the kitchen—the opposite direction to Angela and her mood swings.
And that’s where I found Rebecca.
Standing like a pissed-off mannequin while an Asian woman in a leopard print romper reamed her a new one. “Who the heck are you even here with, bitch? This is a family-only affair.”
It was ironic she should mention that, what with the lack of kids and two thirds of the wives missing in action.
“Take your eyes off my man and take your thirsty ass outta that door and back to the titty bar.”
Rebecca held out a finger. “Okay, first, your man was looking at me, and second”— she dragged her eyes over the woman in front of her—“I can understand why.”
I’d heard enough. Stalking up to her, I hooked Rebecca at the waist and dragged her away.
“Watch your girl,” the gassed woman bawled. “She’s been after my man. Bitch doesn’t care who sees.” Expecting to see Carlion’s cousin skulking on the verges, annoyance stiffened my back when Crazy kicked the toe of her platform sandal into the rear calve of a tight end whose Mrs. was neither of these women arguing over him.
“He’s married,” I growled, my lips close to Rebecca’s ear.
She wriggled in my arm and I dug my fingers into her stomach to keep her still. “Get over your fucking self, Julian. He clocked me. I did nothing wrong. Anyway,” she grated, peeling my fingers off her and breaking free, “I’m into someone else.”
“Who?” We stood in a hallway that branched off from the foyer and led to a bunch of rooms with the doors closed. “The waterboy?”
Rebecca righted her jersey. “His name is Dre. He introduced himself at the practice you invited me to, but I didn’t know he’d be here tonight. I didn’t do anything with that other guy.”
“I didn’t invite you to my practice, and fine. You wanna run with Dre, you go do that. If I find you squaring up to anyone else, I’m hauling you home and I don’t give a fuck how loud you yell.”
“She squared up to me!”
“I know that. And she isn’t the only scrappy side piece here willing to pick a fight with you. Stick with Dre, button-up your jersey, and you might make it out of here with all your teeth.”
Rebecca screwed up her nose and stomped off in heeled sandals, the straps all the way up to her thighs. I closed my eyes, breathed through my nose and went to get that drink I still didn’t have.
The king of this rowdy castle himself sat on the
curved kitchen island, on a marble surface surrounded by metallic bottles of champagne and various liquors. “Rookie of the motherfucking year, so nice to eventually see you merging with society.”
Carlion picked up the bottle of Jack Daniels and tossed it low in the air. It connected with my palm and I filled a glass to half, topping off with the coke. “Someone bitter because they came in second to their eleven-year-old cousin?”
Carlion sneered. “Pfft, that? I hadn’t even noticed. She’ll come limping my way once little D whips out his tiny pecker and there’s nowhere for him to put it.”
My drink landed in my gut in the same amount of time it took to pour, and I mixed another. Alcohol numbed that Angel twinge niggling under my muscles, shortening my already snipped temper. “He seems all right. She could do worse, like Erinhart the pussy smuggler. Where’s his wife think he is this time? Feeding the homeless at Midnight Mass?”
Steph Erinhart was a beast on the field and a lying bastard everywhere else. Who he boned outside of his marriage couldn’t be less interesting to me, but he wouldn’t be charming Rebecca into his debauchery. Maybe next time she’d take the warning.
“What’d he do now?” Carlion asked, motioning for the Jack. I slid it over.
“Set his guard dog off on Rebecca. I wouldn’t care, but all she did was catch his attention. If he kept his eyes in his head, I wouldn’t have such a problem.”
“Say no more, Rookie.” Carlion grabbed my shoulder. “His fat ass is outta here if he puts one finger on her.” His smirk lengthened. “There no one here you fancy the look of? There’s plenty females to go around. Miss November doesn’t have to find out.”
Like I would cheat on Angel. I wouldn’t be, but Carlion didn’t know that.
“Rookie, fix yourself. What, are you missing her? You’re a big enough drag tonight you could win the fucking race.”
So I drank some more—pumped my head full of that woozy fog. Sometime after one a.m., I lost the feeling in my legs, the sensation stopping somewhere around my knees. Rounding the pool that flowed into the grotto, a forceful shove under my shoulder blades drove me off the edge and I hit the water feet first, my glass and drink separating from my hand in the splurge.
Losing Seven (Falling for Seven Book 2) Page 25
