Page 25 of Hard to Love

“You could ask me directly,” I interject.

“Now why would I do that when I can get an honest response from him instead of a bullshit one from you?”

I glance over to Kellen who is shifting his feet, trying to figure out this dynamic. “I look decent,” I respond at the same time Kellen tries to speak. “I’m slow on my break and have a slight delay on my timing but it’s all things that are fixable with repetition and training.”

“And are you?” Finn asks as he pushes off the wall and takes a step toward me so that now he’s in clear view, and I hate that for a brief second, I’m at a loss for words.

I’ve seen Finn in a tailored dress shirt the first night we met.

I’ve seen him in a polo shirt and jeans yesterday in Carson’s suite.

Hell, I’ve even seen him butt-ass naked, but right now as he stands across the court from me in a perfectly tailored suit, there’s something about him that has me reminding myself to breathe. He may be fully clothed but there’s something about the way he wears his suit that has me recalling the feel of his naked chest beneath my palms. The feel of his hard length against my fingers. The taste of his kiss when I don’t ever remember tastes of kisses nor do I want to.

Get a grip, Stevie. You don’t like suits. You never have. You like men with tattoos and shaggy hair and a touch of the reckless thrown in. You like the rebel without a cause so that it and he doesn’t interfere with your life.

You don’t like this—styled, perfected, aloof. Cold. You’re not attracted to him—driven, domineering, demanding.

Yet I’m staring at him stumbling over simple words and easy thoughts wondering, if I’m not attracted to men like him, then why did I pick him for my Cards O’ Fun one-night stand then?

And more importantly, why are any of these thoughts in my head? That’s probably the most important question.

“Stevie?” he asks. My name almost a taunt to tell him what I’m thinking so hard about.

“Yes? What?”

“I asked, are you?”

“Am I what?” I hate that I sound flustered, but I am.

“Are you going to put the work in?” He takes another step toward me, his question irritating because, what does he care?

“What’s it to you besides a guaranteed paycheck?” I ask.

“I have plenty of guaranteed paychecks, so yours is just unexpected icing on the cake.” His chuckle is low and discernable. “But after today, my name will be associated with yours so yes, it matters if you put the work in. I don’t like to be made to look bad.”

I snort. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to make Finn Sanderson look shitty in the press’s eyes even though I’m more than certain your halo is crooked most days.”

“First, there is no halo. I never claimed to be a saint and I assure you I’m not. But I’m not the face-of-a-generation tennis player like you are. Second, you’re goddamn right it’s my reputation now attached to yours whether I want it to be or not. Remember that. Put the work in or else now you answer to me.” Our glares hold for a stretch of time as the muscle in his jaw ticks. “Are we clear?”

I take back every single one of the thoughts I had seconds ago. He’s not attractive. He’s infuriating and frustrating and arrogant and Jesus Christ, how is this ever going to work with him being my shadow?

“Crystal,” I grit out and grab my bag, hoisting it over my shoulder.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks.

“Back to the hotel to meet up with my friends,” I say, thinking of how I’m going to strangle Vivi and Jordan for Cards O’ Fun and picking him for my dare. Without them, none of this would have misaligned the way it has. “I’ve put my time in here, have I not?” I glance over to Kellen but don’t wait for his response. “And I will again tomorrow. For now, I’m off the clock.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Excuse me?” I ask.

“I took the liberty to tell Jordan and Vivi that it would be best if they head back home. That—”

“You what?” I screech and stalk up to him, more than pissed. “Who the hell do you think—”

“You heard me.” The lift of his eyebrows is a taunt all in and of itself. “I told them that you’ve all had your fun, and they could either be known in the media as the friends who helped destroy your career or the good friends who knew when to step away. They chose wisely.”

“So you fucked them too?” I ask, my irrationality suddenly pulling the question out of the air without any basis other than pure, green jealousy. How did he know where to find them? How did he talk to them? How did—