An embarrassing, high-pitched sound shoots from my mouth as I fall headfirst into a wall of man chest. My nose smashes so hard against his swollen pectoral, for sure, it’s broken. His taut muscles surround me and swallow my face.
My god—the man’s muscles are concrete.
Gracelessly, I snort in a breath and his masculine scent invades my nasal passages. Instantly, I’m heady like a junkie who just took a huff of liquid testosterone.
"Whoa! You okay there?" His fingers clench painfully tight on my shoulders as he fumbles with his balance. Quickly, he rights me, a slight wince flashing on his face.
Shit, his knee…
I just hurled myself into a man with an injured knee. I feel like the idiot of the day. I take a hasty step backward.
Before I can issue an apology, a brash grin moves in to hide his pained expression. “Damn, girl—that was a throwback to college. Still got coordination issues, huh?”
Ducking my head to hide my blazing cheeks, I set my purse and fall coat down in an armchair. A series of slicing comebacks sit on the tip of my tongue. Still got epic douchelord issues, huh? Still suffering from assclown tendencies? I bite them back and go with a muttered “sorry” instead.
In moments like these, I really hate being the shy girl. Lexi would not have hesitated to put this jerk in his place. But with me, there’s a whole lot that goes on in my head that never makes it out my mouth.
In any case, I’m going to be a gracious hostess. Like the rental app requires. Long after he's gone, I'll still need to be renting this place out. Plus, I made a commitment to myself that I wouldn’t let my divorce turn me into a bitter bitch. I’m too young to be hard and cynical.
"Let me show you around.”
“Lead the way.” Again, his lips quirk into a delicious curve. And internally, I curse his stupid, perfect, dimpled face. A weaker woman would be disarmed by all that ‘pretty’ but I’m sufficiently acquainted with his rancid personality to not be impressed by the man's charm.
I walk him through the living room, dining room and kitchen, pointing out obvious features. “I’ll clean out a section of the fridge for you.”
I pull open the refrigerator door for demonstration purposes and he leans forward to peer inside. “Hell, that's a whole lot of vegetables." He turns up his nose like a kid.
I glare at the side of his head. “Vegetables are good for you.”
He ignores my comment and mutters. “And I guess that explains the smell."
My brows crinkle over narrowed eyes. “Excuse me?"
"Nothing." He straightens and hobbles away from me to open the snack pantry. He groans when he doesn’t find anything to his liking.
Rolling my eyes, I follow after him. "Here are a couple empty cabinets, if you need.”
He nods and continues limping around the room.
I open the backdoor to show my petulant tenant the outdoor space. I gaze out at the part of the property I’m most in love with.
Late-afternoon sunrays dance through the strong, old trees that dot my lush yard. Beyond the vast lawn, tulips, daylilies and California poppies line the fence. Moonflower vines climb the rustic trellis. The vegetable patch is nearly bursting with tomatoes and sweet peppers. Investing my energy into this garden has helped me keep my sanity over the past few months and I’m justifiably proud at how it’s turned out.
"It's beautiful out here," he remarks, gaze moving over the picturesque landscape.
"Yeah."
"You planted all those flowers?"
I fight off the smile budding at the admiration in his tone. “Uh-huh. I did,” I say, breaking eye contact and spinning to stare out over the yard.
When Kirk and I first moved into the house, I imagined kids rolling around and laughing in that thick, green grass. A bite of agony spasms my chest. I may not miss my ex-husband, but I do miss the hopes and plans of my previous life. I exhale hard, dispersing those unwanted thoughts.
"My niece, Callie, would have a field day out here.” He’s standing way too close, looking right at me. His own smile curves his lips. This one isn’t brash or conceited. It’s genuine. Soft. And very counterproductive to the walls I’m trying to build against him. “Do you mind if I bring her by sometime?”
I blink at the question and take a step back. It’s definitely not something I’d ever expected this man to say.
“Not at all,” I tell him. “There’s lots of room to play. The tree swing is broken, though.”
That smile is in his voice again, wrapping around his words. "It should be an easy fix. I'll take care of it.”
I nod and turn back around.
He's standing right there, inches from me.
I dare to glance up into his dark eyes. Again, his male beauty strikes me like a blow. I mean, he's alarmingly pretty.
I see something brewing in his intrusive eyes. He’s going to ask about my marriage. About Kirk. About my divorce from his best friend.
If he asks, I’m prepared to tell him what a shithead he has for a friend.
I can almost see the questions at the tip of his tongue…
Then, he looks away without a word.
Of course he does. Because Jude Kingston only thinks about himself. He doesn’t care about some lonely, moneyless divorcée he used to know way back when.
Besides, I’m sure Kirk already gave his friend his version of events. Jude probably threw a whole Mardi Gras-style parade when he found out Kirk left me. Beads, boobs, the whole nine yards. I bet they both had a good laugh at me and the pitiful mess of a life I have now.
The thought stings sharper than it should.
Screw them.
Feeling oafish, I drop my gaze from his in search of something else to focus on but now, my attention is on his mouth. His plush, inviting mouth.
Averting my eyes again, I find myself staring at his chest. I silently consider taking up rock-climbing.
Oh, crap. Get it together, Iris.
Mentally, I forbid my gaze from dipping any lower. Because while I’m pretty sure that in my periphery, I can make out a subtle imprint at the crotch of his gray sweats, there’s no way I’m getting caught ‘sizing up’ this man’s package. My dignity is on the line, after all.
When Kirk moved out, I purposely limited my football watching. Years of being forced to religiously sit through Sports Center, just so my ex-husband could complain about not being drafted to the big leagues sort of soured me on the game of football after he left.
But if I hadn’t steered clear of the sports networks, I wouldn’t be so stunned right now by how remarkably Jude grew into a man.
I internally kick myself for ogling him. This man was the primary reason that Kirk was such a pisspoor boyfriend back in college. Jude was the worst kind of influence and Kirk was all too eager to serve as wing-man to the captain of the football team. Where Jude went, Kirk followed. And usually, Jude was headed somewhere dubious. Somewhere with loose girls and free flowing alcohol.
Needless to say, Jude and I weren’t friends. We warred for Kirk’s time and attention. Sometimes I felt like he made himself an obstacle on purpose. He probably enjoyed the thought of me pining away alone while my boyfriend was running around campus like a carefree bachelor.
Again, I remind myself to put my grudge aside. The money he’s paying for renting my spare bedroom will make this crazy, crazy situation more bearable.
If I have to sleep—um, live—with the enemy for a couple weeks to catch up on my bills, then so be it.
Soon, we're back in the living room. Again, when I turn around, Jude is blocking my path, standing there, seemingly in no rush to move, examining my face, making me feel like a thing under a microscope. It’s almost as if there’s something he wants to say but he’s holding back.
Needing something to do with my hands, I focus on straightening the picture frame Jude set on the mantle a few moments ago. I have to deliberately remind myself that I’m no longer that awkward college girl who felt excluded by the cool guy. Jude a
lways did have a way of making me feel a little unsure of myself, like I didn’t measure up. But this is the adult world. I have adult responsibilities. It’s time I act accordingly.
I clear my throat. “Upstairs?” I suggest.
He budges a half-step and another bolt of agony flashes through his expression.
He grunts, blinks, nods.
Wow—this guy is in a lot more pain than I expected.
Before my sympathy can grow roots, that carefree smirk is right back on his face. He sweeps an arm through the air. “After you.”
Then, he’s following me up the stairs, duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
I find myself moving slowly so Jude doesn't feel pressured to keep up with my pace and put extra strain on his knee.
In any case, I'm the one at risk of tripping and falling flat on my face. Enemy or not, my body knows there’s a delicious man in proximity, and instantly switches to self-conscious mode. I think I feel his eyes on my enormous ass, and he's probably judging me.
I know it's silly but it's hard not to feel self-conscious. I’m guessing he only dates fashion models with butt cheeks like firm, little tangerines and here I am, looking like I stuffed a keg down the back of my pants.
When we get to the landing, Foxxy Cleopatra—Foxxy, for short—makes a guilty dash out of the hall linen closet into the bathroom. “You know you’re not allowed in there, you sneaky little thing,” I mutter and I hear Jude chuckle low from behind me.
I point out the two bedrooms, quickly motioning to mine before walking him through the accommodations he’ll call his own.
I stand at the doorjamb as he explores the tiny space. “It’s furnished, as you probably saw in the website pictures. But you can rearrange as needed.” I step back into the hall, and I can feel him on my tail without looking up. “I have my own ensuite bathroom, so the hall bathroom is all yours.”
I glance around the narrow space, chewing on my lip, trying to remember if there’s anything else to cover. It’s really hard to think right now with him all in my personal bubble.
We stop in front of the hall linen closet. I open the door, grabbing a bath towel. For good measure, I slap a hand towel on top of it.
When I turn to hand it to him, Jude is yet again closer than I expected.
I get another hit of his manly scent. I want to huff him. That mouthwatering scent of his should be illegal. In fact, I'm sure it is.
Jeez—where did he get his cologne? The dark net? 'Cause I'm just about sure they don't sell that stuff to the general public at Macy's.
Golden light pours in through the narrow picture window at the end of the hallway. We stand face-to-face, and for the millionth time since our living room standoff, our eyes lock. I can’t look away. The hallway seems to be contracting, shrinking in around us. He just seems so freaking huge in my tiny house.
This is all unbelievably awkward. Our antagonistic history is a big, angry elephant between us. With this man all up in my personal space, I barely have room to breathe.
Despite the bravado he's been slinging around all evening, it’s clear on his face that he is hurting. I find myself replaying the circumstances that put his career on pause and landed him twelve feet from my bedroom.
I’d been at the Frosty Pitcher that night, having drinks with my friends and doing my best to ignore the preseason football game on the flatscreens. I still remember the blast of shouts and angry swearing that had detonated in the room when the hometown hero had gone down on the field, crushed under a pile of massive football players. I still remember the agonizing look on Jude’s face as the medics carted him off the field. Even now, a sharp cringe slices through me at the memory.
“I’ll put some extra ice trays in the freezer downstairs,” I say, surprised by the softness in my own voice. “Y’know, in case you need it for your knee later.”
“Thanks.” He searches my features again with that piercing dark stare. I witness his gaze fall to my bare ring finger where my hand is laying atop the towels I’m stretching out to him. He can’t hold his tongue anymore. His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks. “How have you been, Iris?”
Jude’s expression is soft, and for the briefest of moments, I’m convinced that he gives a shit. About me. About how I’ve been doing since my ex-husband dropped me like a bad habit.
But then I remember. This man never thought I was good enough for Kirk. He always thought his friend could do better. Jude probably celebrated when those relationship-ending pictures of Kirk kissing another girl came to light and I fled Penn State to come back to Crescent Harbor.
“I’ve been just fine,” I say, keeping my tone flat and icy.
Jude throws up his hands in defeat while expelling something between a scoff and a bitter laugh. I’m convinced he’s going to start an argument. To be honest, I’m wishing he would. If he walks out of here right now, I could just accidentally forget to hit that ‘refund’ button on his initial payment.
His marble-cut jaw tightens. He grabs the towels and drags his body past me, careful not to touch me in the narrow hall. I watch as he limps toward his room. So much for getting things off to a good start with my new tenant.
He pauses and leans against his doorframe, not bothering to look back at me. “I know this living situation is less than ideal, but I really need a place to stay and you probably wouldn't have a room for rent if you didn't need some extra cash.” He turns and squares his log-like shoulders, his chiselled face somber and pleading. “So can we just be adults about this?”
I thought it would feel more gratifying, pissing him off. But picking a fight with an injured man only makes me feel sort of petty and mean.
I wring my fingers in front of me. I drop all pretences and go for raw honesty. “Look, do I want to be sharing my house with a cocky professional footballer? No, not particularly. But you just deposited enough money in my account to cover my bills for the next two months." I sigh and my eyes track down his ridiculous body. My attention snags on the lumber in his gray sweatpants. Shit, that is an imprint. The man is packin’. My mouth waters. “So, I've just got to suck it off—”
His eyes widen before I've even processed my slip of the tongue.
What did I just—?
Heat explodes up my neck to my cheeks. "I mean, suck it up," I say quickly. "Suck it up. That's what I meant.”
Jude grins maddeningly and lifts a big shoulder. “Suck it up, suck it off. No biggie. Freudian slip. It happens to the best of us.”
He doesn’t wait for a response. Wearing a vindicated look, he wobbles through the doorway. He’s obviously done with this conversation.
My protest is weak. “That was not a—”
"Good night, Iris."
“—Freudian slip,” I finish.
His bedroom door shuts in my face.
I glance toward the heavens. I’d like to die now, please.
4
Jude
That went well...
Barricading myself in my new room, I drop down onto the squeaky bed and absently rub the tendons around my knee. I wish there were a way to mentally reach in and yank out the pain.
Following Iris’s juicy ass around this house damn near killed my leg, but I had to grin and bear it. Not a chance I'd opt to skip the tour on account of my achy knee. She'd probably gloat her head off if she knew just how much agony I'm in.
My bulging muscles and winning smile may work on the average red-blooded female of our species but Iris doesn't like me. She never has.
We both grew up in Crescent Harbor but since we went to different high schools, I didn’t know her all that well before Penn State. Back when we were all in college together, she was this uptight pris, always looking down on me. From the very start, she acted like this superior being and had this innate ability to make me feel like scum.
I learned to keep my distance from her. While I could never figure out what exactly was stuck up her prim and proper ass, it was abundantly clear she never wanted me around he
r, and eventually the feeling became mutual.
When Kirk and I hung out, I often made sure it was a guy thing, so he wouldn’t be pressured to invite his girlfriend. A dick move? Maybe. But at that age, nothing was more important than football and my boys.
Yet, even through the fog of my testosterone-riddled college brain, I could admit to myself that Kirk was a shit boyfriend. It never bothered him to ditch his girl. He was always down to party, always hitting me up and making plans with our teammates.
Sure, I was doing the same thing, but I was single. I wasn’t the guy going out and flirting with other girls, while mine was sitting alone in her dorm room or studying in the library. Hell, most of the team assumed Kirk was single, playing the field like the rest of us and partying with the football groupies.
A woman like Iris Merlini deserved better.
She’s the total package. Smart. Beautiful. Ambitious. To be completely honest, if I’d been lucky enough to find a girlfriend like her in college, no one would have kept us apart. My idiot teammates would have needed a fucking crowbar to pry me off her side. And, I would have avoided a heap ton of the trouble I got into, that’s for sure.
I would never admit this to Kirk, but there were times that I was jealous of him. While I wasn’t really in the headspace to settle down at that age, it would have been nice to find a girl who was as faithful and reliable as Iris.
And beautiful. Fuck, is that annoying woman beautiful. Those diamond-blue eyes. The silky blonde hair. And curves galore, in all the right places.
But she was always so uptight. Apparently, she still is. And she takes herself too damn serious. That's why I couldn't resist the urge to get a rise out of her today with my smart-ass reminder that she used to be a bit uncoordinated. My comment was immature, though, and I should probably cut it out with the teasing if I don't want to find my butt sleeping on the curb.
Iris Merlini hates my guts. I would do well to remember that fact, and stay out of her way now.
Lying back on the too-small mattress, I twist my neck to take in my new surroundings. There’s not a whole lot in here, but it’s enough. A bed, a nightstand, a small dresser and a television.
Mister Baller: A Small Town Enemies-to-Lovers Sports Romance (Bad Boys in Love Book 2) Page 3