“I’m so sorry, Mom. Someone’s at the door. I’m going to have to go.”
“I just want what’s best for you, Duckie. I can’t stand the idea of having a daughter who ends up alone because she left it too late. You don’t have options like your sister does.”
“Love you too, Mom. Bye.”
Ending the call, I dropped my head onto the desk and winced at the impact. Worth it.
Maybe if I killed enough brain cells, I could forget the conversation and pretend my mother didn’t think I was so hideous that I needed to be set up with a nose picking stalker to get laid.
Making a note in my calendar to ensure I would be indisposed on Friday, I turned back to my laptop, determined to finish my work. At least there was one area of my life where I was valued.
My hand knocked against the boba cup and, without shifting my eyes from the computer screen, I lifted the straw to my lips. Peach green tea shot into my mouth in a fresh rush, my body relaxing in sugary contentment as I burst the mango popping balls against the back of my teeth.
As my family-induced poor self-image took a backseat, I refocused on the still of Oscar Cavanaugh aka Caveman. The third line winger was a PR dream. A goofy, good-looking guy who was respectful to everyone and utterly devoted to his wife.
He was good people.
Unwittingly, my eyes shifted to the other person in the still. Dark brown hair cascaded from his head in an artfully styled wave that rested at his collar. That head was tilted back, straight, white teeth visible as he laughed at his friend’s antics. Even his freaking laugh lines were beautiful, and despite them being crinkled with mirth, I knew the exact shade of olive green his eyes were when he was in that mood. Mindlessly, I traced the perfectly groomed scruff of beard on his jaw and wondered—not for the first time—if those lips were as soft as they looked.
A knock at my door pulled me from my musings, and as the smell of greasy fries and melted cheese hit my nose, I cursed myself.
He may be beautiful, but Cian O’Leary was an asshole.
I might have had a moment of weakness in the privacy of my own home, but there was no way that I would ever consider him anything more than the self-involved, better-than-everyone type of character that all people blessed with good genetics were.
He’d end up with some supermodel in the near future who could sit with him during their boring, beautiful dinners and trade compliments about their appearance until they went to their beds.
For beauty sleep, naturally.
Those type of people ran the world.
Just ask my sister.
Cian
“It'sa stunning eighty-nine-degree morning here in Austin, Texas, and you're listening to 105.4 AARX FM. Stay tuned for the latest highlights in the GWL. The San Antonio Rattlers are going head-to-head with The Chicago Engines—"
Killing the engine, I bounced out of my truck, practically skipped to the property’s front door, and let myself in without bothering to knock.
Oscar and his wife, Mia, had moved into this two-bedroom villa in Barton Creek shortly after we were drafted to Austin. Six months later, after I'd tried the transient accommodation provided by the team and found it less than inspiring, I'd rented my own single bedroom place two blocks from them.
"Wakey wakey, time to go, Caveman!" I called, slamming the door hard behind me. While I had no problem inviting myself in, and Oscar and I had lived together for years in college, I'd walked in on them in compromising positions one too many times to risk catching them unaware.
The smoky scent of bacon flavored the air, and I followed my nose to the kitchen to find the man bent over the cooktop.
"I'll be ready in a minute, just making sure Mia eats today."
As he spoke, he dipped a thick cut of bread into an eggy mixture and threw it on a second pan. A rush of cinnamon and butter made my mouth water, and if it hadn't been the first day of training camp, I would have insisted he fry some up for me.
"That smells amazing, but if that's in your gut, I'm not going to envy you in a couple of hours."
"Oh, don't worry. I had granola. Only Mia gets the good stuff today."
"Damn straight.” Mia breezed into the room in a cloud of theParadox by Pradaperfume that I helped Oscar pick out for her for Valentine’s Day. Her long, black hair swept around her hips as she sashayed over to her hubs and pulled him into a kiss. These guys were goals, for real.
I let them have a minute, but when Oscar’s hands started wandering, intervention was required to avoid us being late. Snatching a tea towel, I twisted the fabric into a tight curl and snapped it at his ass, enjoying the squeal of surprise almost as much as the glower I received for my efforts.
“You’re an asshole.”
