Page 20 of Hard to Love

All four of them jolted through me as I all but choked on that first drink of water when I realized Rhett was who Carson had brought in. When I understood that Cards O’ Fun just backfired in a major way with me being the butt of the joke.

A joke I’m going to try to find my way out of right now.

Talk about complicating things.

And making it more than awkward.

When I turn back around, his attention is focused on me. I study him. This time it’s without the haze of alcohol or the thrill of a contest humming through my veins. It’s sober and without a dare hanging over my head.

And damn, he’s just as handsome as he was in the bar last night. Even more so.

“This is how you want to spend your time?” I ask him with one eyebrow raised. “I wouldn’t want to take you away from your busy schedule and important client list. I’d think this babysitting job would have you losing money and we can’t have that now, can we?”

He folds his arms over his chest and studies me in a way that is completely innocent but that heats my blood. “It’s impolite to talk about money, Stevie. You should know that by now. Besides, how do you know I have a busy schedule or a long list of clients?”

“Because Carson is very thorough—painstakingly so—and he wouldn’t have you here unless you had both.”

He nods. “Very true.”

“I’m just trying to figure out how exactly you plan to reprimand me if I step out of line.” I take a step toward him and lower my voice much like he did because hell, two can play this game and I’m about to play winner takes all. “I’d think it’s pretty hard to reprimand someone once you’ve had your fingers in them.”

I have to give it to Finn. The shocked expression I was hoping for doesn’t appear. He doesn’t flinch but rather coughs out a laugh and gives a shake of his head as he takes a step toward me.

“I know your type,” he murmurs just loud enough so I can hear it. “The good girl begging to be bad but not quite sure how to do that. The revered athlete who is itching to live a little when all she’s had is one practice after another, with structure and schedules her entire life. The grieving daughter who’s pissed at her dad for dying and is lashing out at the world to show them she’s nothing like they thought she was to get back at him in some sick, satisfying way. Yeah, I know you, Stevie Lancaster. You’re all about shock value. Anything to push away the people who are trying to help you the most.” He glances over to Carson and then back to me with a smug smile on his lips, while I try to process him and everything he’s saying that’s too close to the truth and way more than I want to admit to. “Newsflash, Lancaster. You think that subtle reminder from last night will stop me from doing my job, and yet it just makes me want to do it more, even if it’s just so I can piss you off.”

“So you’d take this job just to piss me off?” I narrow my brow and put my hands on my hips, needing something—anything—to say while I hear and reject everything he’s just said.

What kind of jerk knows someone less than twenty-four hours and thinks he has them pegged?

He doesn’t know me.

No one does.

One man did, but now he’s gone, and I will keep doing anything I can to avoid that pain. That loss. That loneliness.

“Big, bad sports agent thinks he can swoop in and save the day. I bet you’re agreeing to this simply to boost your ginormous ego after it was bruised so badly last night. I mean it says a lot about a man when the woman he’s with would rather fall asleep than have sex with him.”

His grimace is barely noticeable but it’s there. “Funny how you insult to redirect away from you. Classic avoidance. You might need to work on that because I wasn’t born yesterday and can see right through your shtick.” He chuckles. “You passed out because you were so busy trying to be something, someone, you’re not. You better thank God it was my room you passed out in because another man might have taken what you offered even when you weren’t coherent. Especially after you came all over his fingers.”

There’s a bite to his tone, a warning that I’ve overstepped, and there’s something about his words that sends a chill down my spine. A chill that says I know he’s right, that so much worse could have happened, but I refuse to let him know that.

“The god complex. Yes. I was waiting for that to make its appearance. Good to know you’re like every other guy I’ve ever met before.” Done with him and this conversation, I pull my phone out of my pocket and start skimming my social media. When he snatches my phone from my hand, I say, “Hey!”

“Better get used to it since it seems we’re going to be attached at the hip over the upcoming weeks.”

“Screw you.”

And now my words are out there, hanging between us. The literal ones I tried to act on hours ago.

His smirk says he’s on the same train of thought. “We could always try that again but I don’t exactly think that’s what Carson had in mind when he asked me to get you back on track.”

Smug bastard.

But his eyes are still hungry when they look at me, and I may take small satisfaction in that.

“Then tell Carson you won’t do it. Tell him you’re busy. Tell him anything and save us both from having to deal with each other.” I punctuate my words with a sweet smile.

“I can’t.” He glances over to Carson again.