“I can’t say for sure, but we’re going to find out. He’s testing you. He’s seeing which buttons light you up, and he’ll keep pressing them until you do something stupid.”
He huffs. “It won’t take much. If he says one more thing about you. . . ”
He doesn’t finish his threat, but I kind of wish he would.
He’d what? What would he do?
His forceful defense nudges something in my chest that’s locked down tight and overgrown with scar tissue.
I shove the weird sensation aside.
“Yeah, well, if I wasn’t making sure there weren’t threats lingering in the dark, I would’ve taken a hand to his windpipe. I’d like to see him try to talk shit through that.”
Cole’s head rolls in my direction.
“Matthews, you’ve got to keep your cool and your fists down. You can’t get injured during a squabble with that dickhead, but you need to talk to your management about how much he sucks at everything he does.”
He stares at me, not saying a word.
“What?” I finally ask when his gaze begins to make me sweat, and that strange feeling reemerges.
“I should just meet with Greg and tell him that T-Bone sucks at everything.”
I roll my eyes. “No. Use whatever fancy football lingo you want to, but you need to get that waste off your team. He and the rest of his dumbass squad made you lose the game today.”
“You watched my game?” His tone softens.
Almost achingly so, and now my stomach joins the party, doing some kind of swirly thing.
What the hell?
I bite the corner of my lip, needing everything to settle down. “Yes, and the commentators went on and on about how your defense shouldn’t be allowed on the field.”
I peek at him. His blue eyes haven’t left me, but I ignore him and check the mirrors, ensuring he gets home safely.
“So, you talk to Greg, and I’ll have a chat with someone about that parking lot. It’s too dark, and if they let fans line up like that. . . ”
I don’t finish, still feeling his attention on me, and it’s beginning to make me incredibly. . .
I’m not sure. A warmth rolls through me as I side-eye him, and it’s possible pools are starting to collect in dark places, so he needs to knock it off.
He looks tired and worn out, but also. . .dazed, maybe.
“Ok, what?” My stomach muscles activate, needing him tostop it.
“I just. . . You watched my game. Only my family does that.”
I scoff. “And twenty million other people.”
“Yeah, but they don’t know me.” It comes out quickly, but there’s an honesty to it that sounds painful, and from what I know about Cole is it’s probably true.
This man is surrounded by people. Some treat him like he’s to be worshiped. Women ogle him while dreaming up their ultimate fantasy. Others, like he’s gum on the bottom of theirshoe. Tossed and trotted on after they’ve gotten what they wanted from him. But I’m beginning to think that none of them have any idea who this man really is, and he feels every bit of that.
He’s isolated by his name and secluded in a very lonely life.
“It was a good game. . .except for the losing part.” I offer, trying to tune out the dull ache that awakens somewhere in my chest that understands what it’s like to be totally and completely alone. Worse than alone.
He huffs. “Yeah, except for that.”
