They fall back on a man-to-man defense, and I sit forward, elbows propped on my knees, leg jumping. The score keeps fluctuating. We jump up by three points. They tie, then surpass us by five. We come back, then pull ahead.
Shit. Watching, being on this end ... my fingers fist on my thighs. Helplessness, fucking powerlessness, sweeps through me, threatening to drag me under. And I fight, but shit, at this point, I’m a swimmer battling against the tide.
I hate it.
Anger whips at me, leaving bloodred lashes behind.
I hate being weak.
I hate ...fuck.
The peal of the doorbell echoing through the house snatches me out of my downward spiral, and I shoot up from the couch. Pain throbs high inside my thigh, and I grit my teeth against it, embracing it. Grateful for the opportunity to focus on something else besides the bitter, acrid taste of failure in my mouth.
Though I live in an exclusive gated community, and given the small list of people allowed to freely visit without security first checking in with me, I still pause in my foyer and check the video monitor beside the front door. Having money hasn’t stolen my common sense.
Miriam.
The blast of warmth to the chest should take me by surprise. It doesn’t. I’ve become accustomed to this heat that’s a direct hit of sunshine to the veins. The phenomenon hasn’t become common—never that—but it’s not as shocking as it was the first, second, or eleventh time it happened. I’ve almost resigned myself to the fact that my body will flip a switch and come alive at just the sight of her.
A lesser man could resent her for that.
Okay, fine. It’s me.
I’m that lesser man.
After unlocking the door, I pull it open with a grin and fall into the role I’ve appointed and accepted for myself—platonic best friend.
“Marilyn.” I step back into the foyer, arms crossed over my chest. “What’re you doing here? And don’t tell me you’re just in the neighborhood since Castle Pines is nowhere near Stapleton.” I toss back her words from three evenings earlier when I visited BURNED’s office.
When I asked her to go out on a date with Daniel.
The curious mix of anger, pain, and resignation rushes back in without warning, swirling and temporarily choking me. Which is dumb as fuck.Iaskedherto give Daniel a chance. And then I asked her to say no. I still don’t know where the hell that came from. After I’d damn near begged her to see my friend, I’d then turned around and tried to sabotage it? For what?
For me.
For my own selfish needs.
For her to look at me and not want to be with anyone else but me.
But that’s not who we are to one another. That’s not what she wants from me. Who she sees when she looks at me.
Thank God she’d misunderstood my plea. Because explaining would’ve been damn hard when I didn’t even understand myself.
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not going to blow smoke up that beautiful ass of yours,” she says, arching a dark eyebrow. “I knew you would be moping in your wardrobe while watching the game. So I dragged myself all the way over here to distract you.”
“Damn that.” I scowl down at her. “I don’t mope.”
She moves forward, passing me by with a pat on the chest. I lock down the deep inhale of breath that feels too much like a gasp at the back of my throat.
“I apologize. Brooding. I knew you would be brooding.”
“Thank you,” I say, shutting the door behind her. “That sounds much more manly.”
She snorts and holds up the brown paper bag I’d noticed she’d carried into the house. “Of course it does. I brought gifts. Where do you want them?”
“What did you bring me? In the great room,” I add, dogging her steps.
“What?” she asks, throwing me an exaggerated wide-eyed glance over her shoulder. “No magical man cave?”
