Great.
Just fucking great.
A wide-shouldered man bursts from the establishment with a woman’s shoe clutched in his hand. The fans clustered outside roar at the sight of him—Grayson.
Goddamn him.
I sprint into the dark parking lot. He follows me, and so does his pack of followers. Jesus Christ. A bump of fear hits my heart as the mob heads straight for me.
Grayson swears as he glances behind. "Saffie, wait!"
"Thanks for ruining everything!" I scream across the lot.
He catches up, jogging. "That wasn’t my fault. Shit." He faces the group of people screaming for his attention. "Guys, give us some space."
Yeah, like that’ll work. I walk faster, heading toward the lights lining the quiet street and ignoring the concerned looks thrown my way. Grayson grips my elbow, laughing. "Saffie, wait up."
"Will you leave me alone?"
The laughter fades from his eyes. He touches my face, sorrow filling his gaze. "I didn’t think he’d do that. I’m sorry."
"You had to piss him off, huh? I’ve never met my sister-in-law until now, and you ruined it."
"Me? Henry was the one who made shit awkward by snapping at his wife. I’ve known Gisele for years; I wouldn't hurt her like that."
"So what the hell was that?" I stop walking and seize the shoe clenched in his fist, throwing it on the ground. "You were trying to get a rise out of him."
"That was harmless goading."
"By telling him you’re dating his sister? I’m going catch so much shit from him. Thanks for that." I rip my arm from his grasp and head down the street.
"Okay, I’m sorry!"
I wish he’d go away, but his long strides outpace mine, and I can’t sprint in this dress. "What do you want?"
"Let me make it up to you," he says. "We can have a burger or something."
My stomach growls. "I just ate."
"No, you didn’t. I ruined your dinner, and I feel shitty about it."
The restaurant we left glows behind us. "I should go back there."
"You could, but I guarantee it’ll be uncomfortable as hell. Might as well give them space. Send him a text. Tell him you’re sick."
I dig the phone from my purse. "You are an ass."
"You can call me every name you want once I get some food in you." Grayson takes my hand, guiding me into a mom-and-pop diner where I look hilariously out of place. A small group of his fans camp outside the glass.
I slide behind a Formica booth, too miserable to protest when Grayson faces me. His smile irritates me. His very presence pisses me off.
"Why did you say we were dating?"
He buries his amusement. "I did not. She assumed we were."
"You might as well have screamed it from the rooftops." I lean across the table. "Friends with benefits. That’s what we agreed."
"Saffie, I didn’t go there just to poke at Henry. You looked unhappy. I thought I was saving you from an awkward time."
I was upset. The fact he saw that takes the wind out of my sails for a second. "And then you came and made it a hundred times worse. Thanks."
"I know. Sorry."
No, he doesn’t. I’ll most likely be dragged to this Fourth of July party I have no interest in attending because Dad will be there. "The last time I spoke to my father, he told me he would never see me again." Grayson gazes at me, shamefaced. "All I wanted was some semblance of a family, and now my brother hates me."
The waitress brings our food to the table, but even the rich aroma of fat and salt fails to tug at my stomach.
"Why do you give a shit what he thinks? He’s not fit to stand by your side."
I poke at the basket of fries. "He gave me a place to stay."
"Only if you worked as his goddamn maid. Don’t you see how fucked up that is?"
I don’t care. "Look at my life. I’m a broke, out-of-work lawyer with an empty bank account who had to beg her brother for a room in his house."
He touches my hand. "There’s no shame in asking for help."
"For me there is."
"Bullshit. Just because you fell on hard times doesn’t make you a waste of space."
He doesn’t understand. How could a man like Grayson get what I’ve been through? What he’s said about his home life filled me with envy. "It’s my fault Mom died."
Grayson’s voice softens. "What?"
Tears blur my vision, and that somehow makes it easier to keep going. "I was a bad kid. I was always getting into trouble. Dad didn’t know how to handle me. He stopped bringing me on camping trips as soon as Henry was old enough because he couldn’t stand me. They left me behind. I still remember the hole in my chest when I looked out the window and saw them loading up the car with gear without me."
My throat thickens with emotion like it always does whenever I think of that awful day. It’s stupid of me to be this upset over a fucking camping trip, but it’s primal. A childhood trauma rooted deep inside me that wants me to curl into a ball and cry for hours. Every single time.
"Mom tried to make it up to me. She took me to the theme park, the zoo, museums, but nothing distracted from the fact my Dad no longer wanted me around him. He taught me how to fly fish one summer when I was seven. That was the last moment I remember him looking at me without a scowl on his face."
The cheap napkin balls in my fist as I try to stem the flow of tears, but I can’t do it. I’m fucking crying in the middle of a diner, and I can barely hold myself back. It’s like a movie reel of every worst feeling. I can’t turn them off. They run through me, raw. Vivid.
"I—I acted out a lot. Teachers were always calling my parents to report me for my shitty behavior. And then one day they held me in detention for chewing gum in class." A spike of gut-wrenching humor hits me. "She drove to school to pick me up and was killed in a car crash."
Grayson’s hand engulfs mine. "I’m so sorry."
"Everyone was until the morning before the funeral. My dad blamed me for her death and said I would not live at the house anymore. That I was on my own. He would pay for an apartment and my college tuition, but I wasn’t welcome there. I didn’t see Henry again for months, and then only a few times a year for holidays. After a while, I stopped going back. No one wanted me there."
Grayson squeezes me. "They sound like a bunch of assholes. You’re better off without them."
I wipe the wetness from my cheeks, glaring at him. "You don’t know that." I bury my face in my hands. God, this is so humiliating, and I didn’t mean to blurt my life story, but once I started, I couldn’t stop. Tears slip through the cracks of my fingers, and I feel a sudden thump as a heavy body sits next to me.
Grayson.
He pulls me into his barrel chest. My head fits under his chin. I ball my fists against him, but he holds me. Grayson tips me back and kisses me. It’s not carnal like the passion we shared on the beach, but full of warmth. He strokes my hair, fooling me into believing that I mean something. A gust of startled butterflies replaces the pain.
The last unbroken rule dangles from a precarious edge.
Don’t fall in love.
9
Grayson
My voicemail blinks with a new message. I listen to my ex-girlfriend’s voice, which starts off saccharine, "Hi, honey. I’ve missed you so much!" The sweetness turns into sobs as she begs for my forgiveness, "Grayson, it wasn’t all my fault. Our relationship died because we got lazy. Complacent with how things were. It takes two to tango, and I think you know that."
By the time Kris is done listing the ways I fucked up, she’s spitting into the phone. I’m a bastard. A worthless asshole. She ends the call, blaming her temperament on the pregnancy. The unborn baby that might be mine.
I delete the new voicemail along with the others. My lawyer told me to stay the hell away, and I’m only too glad to obey.
Fuck her.
Kris had me fooled. Not that long ago, I was ring shopping, planning to ask her to marry me so we could start
a family. Kris would follow me on tour as we tried for a baby, and hopefully she’d be pregnant by next season so I’d be a father by the time we played the World Cup. Then I would’ve had it all.
I found out about the affair through a string of seedy texts on her phone. I couldn’t believe my best friend—my brother—would do this. So I drove to the hotel. Knocked on the door. Henry opened it, naked except for the towel around his waist. My wife’s perfume clung to his skin.
What happened afterward is something I can’t remember without a pang of shame. My vision went black. I woke up to red glazing my knuckles and Henry sprawled on the bathroom floor, blood spiraling toward the drain. My hands ached. Kris was in the bedroom, screaming. She flinched at me when I left. That’s the only part I feel guilty about—scaring her.
Everyone expected me to tolerate his presence; they don’t understand what it's like waking up every morning to the man who stole my perfect life. Food is ash in my mouth, and it’s because of him.
I’m not the only one he’s hurt. Wasn’t until Saffie told me her story that I realized she might be a victim, too.
I can’t do this. Hurting Saffie would weigh on my mind for years, but she’s the easy way out. It’s only a matter of time before they trade me, and then I’ll be free of that bastard for good.
I peer into the living room, hoping to glimpse her doing downward-facing dog. Instead she’s curled on the couch, a throw draped over her shoulders as she watches TV. Saffie holds the cloth to her chin, deep shadows brushing her eyes with purple. Probably hasn’t slept a wink.
Neither did I.
The whole night I couldn’t get the image of Saffie’s tearstained face from my head. It was a struggle not to charge to the restaurant and beat the shit out of Henry for making her feel guilty.
She’d be so much happier if she cut her brother out of her damn life. "Morning."
Saffie offers me a weak smile. "Hi."
I sink into the couch, trying to make myself not care about the frown creasing her eyebrows. "No yoga today?"
"No energy for it."
I stop myself from touching her cheek. "Want to take a walk?"
She glances at her pajamas and grimaces. "I’m not dressed for it."
"You’ve lived in California how long? People stroll down the streets in flip flops and sweatpants all the time."
"Smartass."
"Come on." I nudge her side. "Let’s go."
Sighing, she grabs the remote and turns the TV off. She stands, cat pants billowing around her legs as she heads toward the front door. She twists her hair into a messy bun, tendrils of black grazing her bare shoulders.
"I guess the paparazzi will have a field day with this," she says in a dry voice. "I’m looking forward to the headlines. 'Grayson Bangs a Homeless Woman.'"
I grab her tiny waist, slipping my thumb under the band of her pajamas. Her eyes spark with life as I glide along her hips. "Is that a suggestion? Should we give them a show?"
Laughter bursts from her mouth, echoing down the hall. "Hmm. I’ll pass."
"I thought our sex was hot enough without spicing it up, but I’m open to trying new things."
She lowers her voice to a whisper. "What about pegging?"
Grinning, I link my arm with hers and guide her to the foyer. "I’m pretty sure neither of us would enjoy that."
"Oh, so my ass isn’t off limits, but yours is?"
I slide my hand through her waistband and pinch her ass. "Sounds about right."
Saffie shoves her feet into the sandals left on the floor, and I open the door. Another bright, cloudless day stretches across the horizon. I follow her outside, admiring the way her pajamas cling to her ass.
"No underwear today?"
She glances over her shoulder with an expression so haughty it ought to be fined. "It’s uncomfortable at night."
We walk through the lawn, which is drying from the heat, and head toward the exit. "So I’ve been meaning to ask you something."
She slows her pace as I open the gate to the neighborhood of sprawling ranch houses. "What is it?"
"Will you be my plus-one to my stupid five-year anniversary?"
The silence grows between us as we pass homes landscaped with drought-resistant shrubs, and a paparazzi van parked nearby. The window rolls down, and a lens pokes at me.
Goddamn it.
"What’s the party for?"
"I signed with the Grizzlies five years ago, and they insisted on throwing a bash at this lounge downtown. I'd rather stay, but I can’t miss it."
Saffie frowns. "Why take me?"
"Because I want you there." I grab her arm, forcing her to slow her pace. "You’re the only girl I’d consider taking."
Pink stains her cheeks. "No dates, remember? That's breaking the rules."
"We already have." Regret pierces my chest when I hint at last night because a frown settles on her forehead.
"This is about yesterday."
Yes. "No, no—"
She stops. "Look, I know you feel bad, and you’re trying to make up for it, but I’m still pissed."
"I deserve that." But watching her cry in that diner was probably the most shameful night of my entire life.
"Yeah, you do."
"You can hate me and enjoy yourself at the party. Everyone in the house is going. Why not you?"
"Because right now I can’t stand my brother."
"We don’t have to run into him. Come with me. It’ll be fun." More than anything, I want to wipe the sadness from her face. "Gisele will be there. You know, in case you'd like to get closer to your sister-in-law."
"I should at least apologize to her." She glares at me. "If you’re lying, I swear to God—"
"I am not." Her eyes narrow even further. "How about this? If I’m not telling you the truth, I’ll consider pegging."
A smile breaks through her gloom. "I think you hit the nail on the head. Pegging’s not my thing."
Good. "Thank God."
She steps closer, running a finger down my chest. Her gaze flicker to mine, the dark pools holding me still. "If she doesn’t show up, I will expect compensation."
That’s punishment? "Sounds like a win-win situation."
"At the party."
I imagine pulling Saffie to a secluded corner, unzipping my slacks and covering her mouth as her legs tighten around me. "Might be tricky."
"And fun," she says. "That’s why we started this. Don’t forget it."
The bet with Saffie consumes my mind the moment she puts on her cocktail dress. As soon as we step inside, I scout for quiet areas. A corner near the bathrooms will do the trick. I’m hoping Gisele doesn’t show her face, because it’ll get my hands on Saffie’s body that much faster. And lately she’s the only bright spot in my day.
The venue, a craft brewery downtown, is decorated in swaths of blue and gold. Streamers, confetti, and team paraphernalia cover every surface. Saffie clutches my arm, missing the homicidal looks thrown her way from my female fans lined up at the door, which is fine. I’m on a mission to make her happy.
Nauseating portraits of me stand on black tables. Blue-and-gold banners hang from the ceiling, commemorating my five-year anniversary, and Coach O’Connor toasts me with his champagne glass. Tanner chews his hairy lip. I tug Saffie’s hand in their direction. I don’t blame Coach as much as the team manager, but he’s just as guilty of trying to sweep everything under the rug.
"Coach O’Connor, I believe you’ve met Saffie. Henry’s sister."
Coach’s smile becomes a grimace. "Yes, we bumped into each other at practice." His gaze flicks to our joined hands.
He’s going to chastise me. I recognize that gleam. Bending, I brush my lips against Saffie’s ear. "Can you give us five minutes, please?"
"I’ll get drinks," she says, eyes sweeping over the frowning men.
"Thanks." I kiss her cheek, and she heads toward the bar.
My mood drops when I face them.
Tanner coughs, his frown visible
under his thick beard. "Have you been dating for a while?"
Fucked her on day three. "A few weeks."
I don’t like the way Coach looks at her with that disapproving glare. If it wouldn’t get me suspended, I’d slap it off. "Henry knows about this?"
"He didn’t want us touching his sister," I purr. "Can’t say I held myself back."
Coach swears under his breath. "Damn it, Grayson. Shut the fuck up. There are reporters everywhere looking for a juicy piece of gossip."
"Really? Shoot, I guess people would turn their heads at a story like this. I did not realize that."
"What the hell are you trying to prove?" Tanner growls. "Fucking around with Henry’s sister won’t help your cause."
I’m counting on it. "Maybe I should’ve left her at home—is that what you’re saying? We’re dating, guys. What does that have to do with anything?"
Even though he’s a full head shorter than me, Coach takes a step forward, menace written all over his tanned face. "Don’t be a fucking jerk. It doesn't matter to me who you are. I’ll knock your ass into next week if you pull that shit here."
"Coach, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Ah, there she is." Saffie returns with two ice-cold pints of beer.
"I got you an IPA," she says.
"Perfect. Thanks, babe."
I take a sip as a short man wearing a bowtie butts in with his camera. "Could I get a photo for the Santa Barbara Times?"
"Of course. Guys, hold these for us." Tanner and Coach grudgingly accept our glasses as I wrap my arm around Saffie’s waist. She wore a blue cocktail dress with a black-and-nude pattern. It sticks to her petite frame, the neckline ending above her tits. Such a shame.
I smile at the camera. It flashes, and I introduce Saffie as my date. I’ll leave that to them to piece together because I don’t want to ruin tonight.
Thanking them, we grab our beers and mingle. Saffie’s enthralled by the decorations hanging on every surface. She plucks a Grizzlies cake popsicle from a bouquet in the middle of the lounge. Blue-and-gold-themed drinks sit at the bar, where Chris sits, already three rum and cokes in.
The Secret Arrangement Page 29