“Hell is what’s going to rain down on you when I get my revenge.”
Again he snorts, long and exaggerated. Then his voice brightens. “So... How was the flight with Pen?”
It’s scary how well he knows me. And annoying. “Fine.”
“Fine, huh? You two crazy kids get along all right?”
“Sure.” I eye the call button. Maybe I can hang up on him and blame it on bad LA reception.
“Uh-huh. Did you ask her out?”
“What?” The car swerves, and I glare at the road. Fucking March.
“Don’t give me that.” He sounds bored. “There were definite vibes between you two—finally. You need to get off your ass and ask her out.”
If he only knew what I’d asked of her.
“What’s with you trying to put me and Pen together, anyway?” It comes out far more annoyed than I want, and any sign of weakness will make March dig in.
“Truth? Because you were looking at her the way you used to look before an upcoming football game. And I’m thinking if something gives you that feeling you go after it. But what do I know?”
The ancient SUV feels too close and too hot. I should never have asked March a question I didn’t want the answer to. Lesson learned.
“The flight was fine. I drove her home. End of story.” For now.Please don’t let it be the end of our story.Shit, I’m in so much trouble.
March, for once, doesn’t push. “If you say so.”
“I do.”
“Welp.” He sighs expansively. “If that’s all, I’m gonna text Pen and ask her what’s up.”
What! And, wait. That little... How the fuck does he have her number?
“Don’t you dare—”
He’s already gone.
“Shit!” Banging the wheel, I’m halfway to calling him back, maybe calling Pen and begging her not to say anything to March. But then I take a breath. March is bluffing. I know it. And if, on the off chance, he’s not, I trust Pen not to talk.
Even so, my head starts to throb.
“I need a fucking nap.”
Pulling up to my gate, I’m reminded of Pen all over. Whileher house, and its gate, are old Hollywood class, my place is new construction ostentation.
Since the new rules for college athletes went in place, I’ve been making money on endorsements for years. Not the obscene amount of the NFL deal, but a lot, as have both my brothers. My father immediately found us a money manager, and my savings were nice and plump long before the draft. It’s a comfort given that the career of a professional athlete is short and brutal. I invested in some properties, but I didn’t buy a home until I’d signed.
Punching in my code, I wait for the brushed steel gate to slide open and make my way down the small incline to my house. Pen’s place—and it is her place no matter what she says—has old graceful trees and flowering plants, ripe with maturity, that lead you like a secret map toward the house. My spot has a few saplings dotted here and there, opening to a flat expanse of new sod lawn that hugs the mountainside with downtown Los Angeles shimmering in the distance.
The house itself is a series of three interconnected and staggered flat squares made up of whitewashed concrete and steel windows. Yes, I bought a soulless, overpriced, modern pop-up mansion that was slapped over the remains of someone’s previous home. It seemed like a good idea at the time; I’d wanted a home not a rental, and the agent, who I’m not going to lie was smoking hot with a sweet smile, persuaded me that this was just the place to settle down in—at least for the next year or so. Here, it isn’t uncommon for the wealthy to move around on a whim.
Looking at it now, with its twenty-foot maple-and-glass front door that opens on a whisper and the endless expanse of gray stone floor, it feels... ridiculous. Why do I need a ten-thousand-square-foot house with two owner’s suites—upstairs and downstairs—an indoorandoutdoor home theater, and three party bars. I don’t even drink that much.
A headache blooms as I park in my empty five-car garage and head into the house via my catering kitchen. Two kitchens and all I can do is make sandwiches. Honestly, what the hell was I thinking?
I wasn’t.
I was more interested in scoring with Jessie the real estate seductress.
