She stuck out her tongue.
We smiled at each other a minute before my sister waved her hand in front of my face. “Matt? Hello? They want you both to fly out tomorrow!”
“Tomorrow!” Parker screeched.
“Tomorrow.” Willow did a little wiggle with her hips. “It’s perfect. I can hold down the fort here, you guys take the first flight out after practice. It’s a short flight anyway, stay the night and—”
“She’s not ready,” I interrupted.
“What?” both girls yelled in unison. I had half a mind to grab the ibuprofen from my right drawer and chew it dry. The voices, so loud, always so damn loud.
“She’s doing great!” Willow insisted.
“I’m working my ass off!” said Parker, glaring at me.
“See?” Willow pointed at her. “She’s ready!” She slapped Parker’s ass.
Parker winced. “Ouch.”
“Sorry.” Willow rubbed it, right in front of me, sparking some weird sinful envy inside as I shook my head at both girls.
Parker had excitement in her eyes, and Willow went back to hopping on both feet.
If she clapped, I was going for the ibuprofen.
Hell, if she screamed or said yay in that high-pitched voice I was going for something stronger, like whiskey.
“Fine,” I grumbled. “Willow, make yourself useful and get the flight and hotel booked. Double-check with the LA team, also known as the Fliers.” I said it slowly, hoping it would stick, but hell, who was I kidding? My sister only listened when she wanted to. “Find out their schedule, and get us a dinner booked, no tryouts. We’re just there to talk stats.”
“Yes!” she squealed. Wasn’t as bad as a yay, but I still winced as she ran out the door, leaving me and Parker alone.
“You really think I’m ready?” She plopped down into a seat and put her feet up on my desk. Her brown hair was down again, kissing her bare shoulders and making her look more approachable than normal. The familiarity was going to kill me—it already was.
I flicked her Converse with my pen and shook my head. “As long as you keep your feet off the table, dress your age, and try not to burp during dinner I think we’ll be okay.”
She made a face. “I know how to be a lady.”
“You have a chip.” I nodded toward her chest. “On your shirt right there.”
She pulled her feet from my desk and pointed her finger at me. “I’m going to impress the hell out of them. You won’t even recognize me.”
And for some reason, that made me sad. “Parker,” I called as she started stomping out of my office. “Don’t change who you are . . .” I cleared my throat as her face softened. “Maybe just . . . polish up a bit . . .”
She was almost out of my office when I laughed to myself.
“What?” She poked her head back in.
“You have Pringles in your hair.”
“Son of a bitch!” She marched off yelling.
And I held back my tongue. What I was going to say? My confession? You’re more beautiful with a Pringle in your hair than you are with a fancy blowout?
I liked messy Parker.
Messy Parker was real.
I wasn’t sure I would survive any other type, because she had me hungry for more. Hell, I was already fantasizing, already wanting what I knew I had to keep at arm’s length.
Parker acting like a foul-mouthed lady might just set me off.
I reached for the ibuprofen.
And quickly bypassed it for the whiskey.
Chapter Fourteen
PARKER
I wasn’t the type to take selfies.
But I had a pod.
In first class.
So I took ten.
Much to Matt’s dismay, I kept snapping photos of everything from the plug-ins to the special eye mask they gave me along with a wine list and appetizer list.
“You travel like this all the time?” I put my feet up on the little stool that only first-class people had and waited.
Matt set his phone down next to me and motioned for the flight attendant. “Whiskey neat.”
“And what will you have, miss?” The flight attendants on Delta were all dressed in pretty purple dresses that almost looked out of place.
“Water,” Matt answered for me.
I gave him a pleading look.
“And a light beer,” he added, “with lime.”
“Beer?” I hissed under my breath when she left.
“Beer helps your muscles, liquor just makes you dehydrated. Not that beer doesn’t, but it does help recovery, and you limped like Quasimodo all the way through security.”
“Glad you noticed. Not enough ibuprofen in the world when it comes to you, Matt Kingston.”
“And not enough whiskey in the world when living with you,” he said sarcastically. “Put your phone down. People are staring, and usually I fly private.”
I almost dropped my phone. “Private, as in, just you?”
“Yes.” He thanked the flight attendant as she handed us our drinks.
“Wait, like just you, the pilots, and—”
“A flight crew, that’s it.”
“How much does that cost?”
“More than your college degree, why?” He grinned. “It’s part of the lifestyle.”
“Oh.” Suddenly insecure, I put my phone down and looked around, wondering what everyone’s jobs were, if I was even capable of living the sort of lifestyle where people recognized me.
And then there was Matt.
I knew he was loaded.
But reading about it and experiencing it were two very different things, weren’t they? Because when you read about it, your imagination is never as good as the reality, is it?
Like I thought first class just included free drinks and bigger seats.
I was wrong.
And as I watched more and more people laugh over champagne, talk on their cell phones, open up their fancy computers, and ask the flight attendant to put away their nice jackets—I knew I was in over my head.
What was I thinking?
I was an athlete.
I didn’t do polish.
I did nice, tight college-girl dresses and sneakers.
Panic overwhelmed me as I gripped the armrests.
“Parker?” Matt’s low voice was soothing as I felt his touch on the back of my hand. It was warm, strong. Without thinking, I flipped my hand over and interlocked our fingers.
He squeezed tightly as I exhaled.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he whispered as my heart thumped against my chest loud enough for everyone in the cabin to hear. I just wasn’t sure if it was the fact that I could hold his hand and not have a panic attack, feel his warmth and like it (love it?), or that I’d suddenly come to the conclusion that I didn’t just need his help getting the attention of a team, I needed his help getting and keeping the team. Period.
I swallowed the dryness in my throat.
My pride.
And slowly turned my head to the right. His eyes were always so blue, so stark against his light hair and easy all-American smile. But he wasn’t smiling now—no, he looked concerned, the man wasn’t even blinking.
I opened my mouth. “I think I need more polish.”
The corners of his mouth lifted up at the sides, giving him a boyish look. “Like nail polish or polish polish?”
“Oh no! I didn’t even paint my nails! Do I need to paint my nails? Are they going to notice that I’m not—”
Matt’s free hand covered my mouth in a manner that would have normally set me off, but the way his eyes drilled into me, the warmth from his body, even the way he smelled, like something rich and elegant, and all I kept thinking about was the cologne guys wore in high school that made you sniff just a little bit harder, it was that but refined, not overwhelming. And I didn’t feel manhandled by him, more like he was trying to calm me down the only way he knew how.
“I don’t like polish,” he whispered. “
Fingernail polish, that is. Never have.” His smirk grew into something more tantalizing, beautiful, his shining white teeth adding to the devastating effect that was Matt Kingston’s face. I tried not to sigh.
I failed.
“Furthermore . . .” He pulled his hand away and gripped my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re an athlete. All the team cares about is your stats and that you’re not a media risk and you’re a hard worker. Just be you, Parker.”
“A week ago, you would have said to be anyone but myself,” I countered in a whisper.
His eyes lowered to my mouth then back up to my eyes. “A week ago, I judged you like everyone else.”
“That’s the problem.” I felt my lower lip quiver. “All they know is what they’ve read, they don’t know the truth, you don’t know the truth.”
“I know you work hard,” he said quickly. “I know you let me drill you until you’re exhausted and ready to burst into tears.” He bit down on his bottom lip and looked away like he’d said something wrong. “I know I respect you as an athlete. And I know you want this more than anything.”
Not more than anything.
I almost gasped.
Did I just think that?
It had been forever since I’d felt . . . since my heart had jolted like someone just brought me back to life.
I exhaled slowly. “Okay, so what do I do?”
His smile was bright. “Drink your beer.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah, they’re going to take it away before takeoff.”
“Monsters,” I grumbled to his laughter while I chugged the rest of the beer just in time for the flight attendant to stop by. I handed her the plastic cup as Matt’s fingers grazed my right cheek.
I grabbed his hand at the same time, ready to swipe at the drop that had escaped my mouth.
And there we were. His hand pressed against my cheek. My hand covering his—again.
And me wanting nothing more than for the warmth to stay.
“You two,” the flight attendant said as she collected Matt’s plastic cup. “So adorable. How long have you been a couple?”
“Uhhhhhhh.” I shook my head. “No, no, it’s not, no, really, we’re . . .”
“Friends.” Matt finished with a shrug, pulling his hand away. “Best friends ever since I gave her that stuffed dinosaur.”
I rolled my eyes while the flight attendant laughed and then winked at him. “I like stuffed animals.”
Matt gripped my right arm, pinning me to my spot as he chuckled and said, “Duly noted.”
She walked off.
I mentally wished a hundred curses on her and every stuffed animal in her life and then continued glaring until Matt cleared his throat.
“What?” I pulled away. “She was hitting on you in front of your . . . friend.” I gulped. Saying it out loud, right, I was an idiot.
“She’s clearly a monster who deserves to break out in hives.” Matt nodded solemnly. “Relax, watch a movie, I’ll catch up on work and make sure Willow hasn’t bankrupted me.”
“So many shoes, so little time.” I laughed.
He stared at me, like really stared, like he was trying to see if I was being serious, and then he leaned in. “Do you like shoes?”
“Converse.” I shrugged and grabbed my headphones. “I love Converse and Nikes. Heels are fine, but you can’t run in heels. I mean I could if a bear was chasing me or if I was chasing a taco, but I’d prefer Converse.”
“I mean heels can be useful. What if you were starving?” Matt joked. “You’d have to use your stilettos to kill your own food in the wild, versus wearing Converse and catching it.”
“Exactly!” I threw my arms wide. “Why does nobody understand this?”
He held out his fist, I bumped it. “I get you.”
“Yeah.” The pitter-patter of my heart was back. “You do . . . when you’re not yelling.”
He opened up his computer.
“Or using your damn whistle,” I muttered under my breath.
He leaned in, his lips caressing my ear, I think by accident. I think? “Don’t make me pull it out.”
I let out a weary sigh. What was happening to me? I couldn’t calm the erratic beat of my heart any more than I could get a good deep breath in. “Bet you say that to all the girls.”
Did I just say that out loud?
To my coach?
Friend?
Agent?
Well, good-bye, LA and Seattle. I was going to hell and getting dropped!
Matt burst out laughing, earning the attention of several people sitting in our area as the plane taxied the runway. “Yeah, I deserved that one.”
“Totally.” I exhaled in relief and stared wide-eyed down at my phone as I tried to find a song, any song to listen to.
“For the record,” Matt said in a bland voice, “I don’t.”
“Don’t?”
“Say that . . . to all the girls. In case you were wondering.” With that, he put his own earbuds in, leaving me wondering if there was a line we were crossing that I wasn’t aware of.
I fell asleep with the memory of his skin on mine.
And for the first time in a year.
When I closed my eyes, I did it with a smile on my face.
Chapter Fifteen
MATT
I judged men who watched women sleep.
It was a thing.
A line you didn’t cross.
I never found it romantic in movies, and I didn’t find it romantic now. That wasn’t why I was doing it. I wasn’t hoping she’d wake up and go, How long have you been staring? If anything, she’d grab her shoe from her foot and hit me over the head with it repeatedly until I apologized and handed her a testicle on a silver platter.
No, I watched her out of the corner of my eye because she’d looked so peaceful, because a selfish part of me wanted to know what put that smile on her face, and the competitive part of me needed to know what it took to keep it there.
The plane landed too soon.
I stopped staring.
The smile was gone.
And I felt its loss like someone had just taken away a few extra beats of my heart and refused to give them back.
A town car was waiting for us after we grabbed our luggage, and the closer we got to the hotel, the more Parker fidgeted with the bangles on her wrists or the short fingernails she was hell-bent on destroying.
With a sigh, I finally grabbed her right hand. “You may need your fingers later.”
“Huh?”
“You’re chewing your nails down to nubs. I’m aware there’s a very serious no-hands rule in soccer, but you may need them to catch all those tacos in the wild later.”
She just exhaled and looked out the window. “Yeah, good point.”
“Nervous?” Why the hell wasn’t I moving my hand?
Furthermore, why was she letting me touch her? When days ago confronting her had her eyes bugging out of her head and her claws directed at my dick and everything else my body held dear?
“Dunno,” she said.
Her hand became clammy, and then she dug her left hand into her mouth. I cleared my throat.
With an eye roll, she sat on it. “Better?”
I snorted out a laugh. “Thought only toddlers sat on their hands.”
“You would know,” she said sweetly without making eye contact.
“You’re afraid,” I whispered.
“I’d rather be angry.”
A peculiar answer. One born out of knowing fear, facing its ugliness and deciding that to go down fighting and screaming, biting and cursing, was better than rocking in the corner and letting defeat take hold.
Way in over your head, Matt.
I almost chuckled.
Leave it to Willow to drop this one on my doorstep.
Damn it, Willow.
“What are you wearing tonight?” I changed the subject so that she would stop focusing on her fear and her need to lash out in order to
send it packing. “A dress?”
“Masking tape and Sharpie.” She flashed me a smart-ass grin. “You want first dibs on doodling?”
“I wouldn’t trust me with a marker where you’re concerned.” I smirked.
Her eyes narrowed. “With my luck you’d draw penises all over me in full middle school humor.”
“I was thinking something along the lines of tits, but yeah, that works too.”
“Why draw what I already have?” she asked sweetly, causing me to flash a look at her chest and then look away. “Caught ya.”
“I’m a guy. You say tits, I look. It’s biology.” I tugged at the collar of my shirt and then cleared my throat. “Seriously, though, what did you bring? Are you confident about your outfit?”
Silence. Followed by a noncommittal shrug.
“Right.” I leaned toward the driver. “We need to stop off at the nearest department store, Saks, Barney’s, Nordstrom—whatever’s closest.”
“Nordstrom is a block from your hotel.”
“Perfect. You’ll wait for us.” I handed him a crisp hundred-dollar bill. “Keep the car running.”
“Sir, yes, sir.”
When I leaned back into my leather seat, Parker was giving me a confused look.
“What?” Suddenly feeling insecure, I dropped her hand and faced her. For some reason holding her hand made me uncomfortable, out of control, and I didn’t like submitting control to someone so chaotic. Even though it was one of the things I loved about her most.
Shit, I was completely losing it.
“Nothing.” She eyed me up and down. “Never mind.”
“You can’t give me a look like—” I frowned. “Wait, are you blushing?”
“Of course not!” she scoffed with a weak laugh as her cheeks reddened even more, and then she was running her palms down her white Nike joggers.
“You are.” I leaned in and touched her right cheek with my fingertip. It was like I couldn’t stop touching and provoking her. Maybe I liked the smiles, the blushes. Maybe I liked the yelling and the fighting. Maybe I wanted all of it in one chaotic, hurricane-filled package.
She shrugged away from my touch and was practically koala-hugging her door when she gave me an irritated look and said, “I was just going to say that was hot, what you just did, and now my embarrassment is complete, so if you could just give the nice man another Benjamin Franklin, I’ll let him run me over with this nice, heavy piece of machinery.”
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