I frowned at him before looking back at Diego, who was still glaring at me, “You called her a pet, Jackson. Like, who the fuck does that? After all the shit she’s been through?”
“I was just trying to piss off Malibu.”
“Yeah well, it was fucking stupid.”
“I’m not knocking that.” Malibu kind of has a way of making me irrational. That damn tongue of hers. The fucking glitter. And they say I have anger issues.
Mac was watching us in that careful way of his. “How about we just agree sometimes we can all be dumbasses and move on?”
“Maverick Edward, you watch your mouth.” Mrs. Mills came breezing into the kitchen and fixed her son with a firm look. He smiled at her and her face softened. Literally the only time the guy smiles. We’re a messed-up bunch.
“Hey, now that she’s ditched the ex—”
Diego groaned and sank into a chair. “Don’t even go there.”
Dalton looked between us and I saw the moment the same thought I had crossed his mind. “Shit, man. He’s right. Goal is open!” He held his arms up in a touch down gesture. Diego flipped him the middle finger, but before he could respond further, Mrs. Mills swooped in and grabbed our half-finished mugs.
“Maybe y’all should’ve spent more time sipping and less time gabbing. Guests are starting to arrive. Go out and greet them. Smile. Be friendly.”
She shooed us out the door, and the four of us headed to the parking lot. We could hear car doors and scattered chatter now that we’re out of the kitchen. She must have super hearing or an eerie form of intuition. Wouldn’t surprise me.
“Jackson! Guys! Can you believe this snow?”
I looked over at Rodney. Several of our teammates were following him. Dalton raised his hand in greeting, calling several of them by name. Mac made his way over, giving Rodney shitabout filling his shoes. I sucked at names but joined the throng with ease. Diego was joking around with another wide receiver, and I was laughing at some joke I barely heard when I turned and sawher.
Malibu.
Stepping out of her daddy’s Buick like she owned the place. She was wearing some red sweater dress with a black belt that accented her waist. Black boots that were probably going to get her knocked out in the snowball fight. And a little red Santa hat perched on her mess of blonde curls. Hazel eyes scanned the area like she was looking for a threat. They narrowed when they landed on me. Threat. Found.
“Dude, you’re drooling.”
“Fuck off.” I shoved Dalton into the nearest snowbank.
“He’s not the only one,” Mac muttered. I turned to him, confused, until I saw Diego staring hard enough at Maria that I was surprised the girl wasn’t smoldering. Maria had on a fuzzy purple sweater and leggings, neither of which made much of an effort to hide her slight baby bump. Some people whispered as they passed, the McCarthys making their way over to Mr. and Mrs. Mills. Every whisper was met with a glare from Holly so sharp, I half expected to see spots of blood red in the snow. She shielded Maria with her body, probably unconsciously. But I was starting to realize how much I had probably fucked up with my “pet project” comment.
Later, after dinner, Mac’s dad got a little over serious with teams for the snowball fight. In an attempt to make it a fair fight, he split up the football team randomly. Mac and I were on one team, along with Rodney and a couple other guys, plus a few people from the neighborhood, and Holly’s dad. Dalton was riling his team up, Diego jumping on the balls of his feet like this was legit. Maria and several of the wives sat on the sidelines. I expected Malibu to join them, but she made her way over toDalton, who watched her in the way one might watch a lioness. She said something to him, and I was too far away to hear. But he looked over at me and mouthed, “Oh shit.”
I just grinned.
When Mac’s dad blew the whistle, it was almost immediate chaos. I mean, zero planning. Just one side aggressively hurling bundles of snow at the other. No method, no strategy. It was fucking awesome. About ten minutes in, the noise finally dipped while everyone scrambled to reload. I bent to tighten my laces—then took a snowball the size of a damn melon square in the face. Knocked me flat on my ass. I spat out ice, blinked through the snow in my lashes, and looked up, ready to raise hell.
Dalton? Diego? Nope. Malibu.
She wasgrinning.Not that sharp, defensive smirk I’d gotten used to—this was real. Unfiltered. Her cheeks were pink, her hair full of snow, and for the first time since I met her, she actually looked like a kid having fun. Damn near stopped my heart.
Then one of my own teammates nailed her from the side—hard. She stumbled, smile faltering. I retraced the ball to who had thrown it, and reacted before I could stop myself.
“Hey!” I barked. “Watch where you’re throwing!”
The guy blinked at me. “You do realize she’s onDalton’steam, right?”
Yeah, I realized. Didn’t make me feel any less pissed.
Across the field, Dalton caught my eye. He was grinning like a bastard. “Gonna need you to stop flirting with my MVP, Morgan!” he called
.“Tell your MVP to stop hitting me in the face!” I shot back, but my heart wasn’t in it. She laughed, loud, bright, unguarded, and any thought of payback went right out the window. The rest of the match, my aim went to hell. I missed more than I hit, toobusy keeping an eye onher.Making sure nobody threw too hard. I told myself it was just good sportsmanship.
Even I didn’t believe that shit.
