“Nah. I’ll do it. Thanks, Trey.” I start to leave but his words stop me.
“So, like, this thing with Shayne…” I turn back to look at him. “I hear you’re dating or something?”
“I’d like to think so,” I answer, because Iwouldlike to think so. But I would also like to think the woman I’m dating would tell me about any life-threatening situations she was in, so at this point…I’m not sure what the fuck we’re doing.
He gives me a half smile as if to show he’s only half joking when he warns, “She’s a smart-mouthed, obstinate pain in the ass, but I love her dearly, so I will fucking end you if you hurt her.”
“Fair enough,” I reply and nod solemnly like I’m accepting his terms—and I am. If I hurt her I will let him kill me.
I text her as I walk across the parking lot.Hey, babe.Where are you?
She responds right away.Are you back?
I am. And I want to see you. Do I head to the police station or your house?
There’s an expected pause after that text. But as I climb into my car she responds.
I’m in a cab on the way home. Meet me there?
On my way,I respond.
I buzz her when I get to her door because no one is walking out and leaving the door wide open like last time. She doesn’t ask who it is; she just opens the front door. I take the stairs two at a time until I’m on her floor. No passed-out smelly drunk guy this time. She has the door open before I can knock. Her pretty gray eyes land on my face and flare. “Holy shit! Your face!”
She reaches up and gently cups the side of my face next to the cut and rocks up on her tiptoes to examine it. She’s barefoot, wearing a pair of very tight, very short workout shorts and a vintage T-shirt with the Eagles’s band logo on the front. “Does it hurt?”
“Not as much as finding out from your brother that you were mugged,” I tell her and reach up and remove her hand from my throbbing face, lacing my fingers with hers, and stare down at her intently.
She looks genuinely perplexed, which perplexes me. “You’re in playoffs.”
“Yeah. So?”
She looks even more confused by that and tries to pull her hand from mine, but I’m not having it. She stares right in my eye and explains. “You can’t focus if people are yammering at you about crap. I was fine. And there was nothing you could do from San Francisco anyway.”
“I could have listened,” I tell her, and I’m really amazed I have to. “Trey said you were upset. Even if it was just over the phone, I could have been there for you.”
She looks even more confused than before, and I have no idea why. What the hell does she think, that I would be annoyed by finding out she was attacked? What the hell is wrong with…
“Is this about your dad?”
“What?” She bites her bottom lip and her eyes shift to the scuffed hardwood, and I know itisabout Glenn Beckford. Fuck, how did I ever idolize this guy? I take a deep breath and pull her into the apartment. I walk her through the room, past her sketchy cat, who’s giving me the hairy eyeball again, and into the bedroom. The light beside her bed is on and the sheets are rumpled like she was in it recently.
“Sit,” I command, and just like I knew she would, she hesitates. I fucking love the way she challenges me, but I add the word please.
She lowers her cute little ass to the edge of the mattress at the foot of the bed, but she keeps her eyes cast downward. “Eyes up.”
She looks up only to glare at me. I grin and my dick starts to get hard. “So your dad used to zone out during playoffs?”
“He was never all that zoned in when it came to family,” she mutters and sighs. “But I know that this is why you guys play the sport. To get to the playoffs.”
“Yep.” I nod and start to unbutton my shirt, toeing off my shoes at the same time. “But there are two kinds of players. The ones who use it as an excuse to mistreat and ignore the people who love them, and the ones who find balance.”
“Haven’t met one of those balanced ones yet,” she mutters.
“Yes, you have,” I say flatly and unbutton my cuffs. I came straight from the airport and the team plane so I’m wearing a charcoal dress shirt and black dress pants.
She looks up at me wordlessly, but there’s skepticism on her pretty face. Man, her dad did a number on her. She bites her bottom lip as I shrug out of my shirt. I try not to flash her a cocky grin but man, I love the way she looks at me. It’s wild: she always looks like she’s struggling to control herself. It’s a battle she knows she’s going to lose, and I know she sees that as weakness but I see it as a sign we’re meant to be. Even though I haven’t known her long, I know her well and I know that she hates when things get under her skin, but she doesn’t hate me and I’ve rattled her in a delicious way since the second we met.
I reach for my belt. “You’re wearing too much clothing.”
