Kickin’ It

by Van Dyken, Rachel

  “Night,” I said firmly, struggling to hold onto my resolve.

  “Good night,” she parroted and slowly backed away then turned and walked toward the hall.

  I watched her go, then I grabbed my suitcase and wheeled it toward the other bathroom. I stripped down into pajama pants and brushed my teeth, then flicked off the lights and made my way back to the lonely couch with the TV’s light casting a glow across where I’d spend my night.

  Without her.

  Why the hell was I fixating on what I couldn’t have?

  “Hey, Matt?” Her voice was going to slowly kill me, wasn’t it? Burn me from the inside out, taunt me with everything that was off-limits for a very severe reason.

  “Yeah?” My voice was gravelly, aroused. Perfect. Fucking perfect. She could probably hear the strain.

  She made her way down the hall, hair hanging past her shoulders, tank top showing off a bit of midriff, and my eyes drank in her short red shorts, hips, and muscular thighs. I wheezed out an exhale.

  “I forgot toothpaste.” She made a face. “If I promise not to spit in it or put an eyelash on the cap and screw it back—can I borrow yours?” Her grimace widened into a grin.

  I tossed a pillow at her. “Bathroom, and if I see any hair that’s foreign, I’m waking you up every hour on the hour to do push-ups.”

  “Yeah, okay.” She winked and breezed past me, smelling like flowers and a warm summer day.

  I groaned into my hands, walked over to the little liquor cart, and poured a shot of whiskey.

  “Got any more of that?” she asked behind me.

  “Brave girl, taking a shot after toothpaste.” I handed her a glass. “You should be in bed.”

  “Same goes for you.” She took the shot and winced. “Yeah, that wasn’t a good combo.”

  I took her glass and set it down. “No.”

  “I’m ready.”

  “For?” I smirked. “A bedtime story?”

  “Wait, you have bedtime stories? Have you been holding out on me?”

  “You’ll never know.” I jerked my head toward the hall. “Bedtime.”

  “Bedtime,” she repeated, licking her lips.

  I took a deep breath as she brushed past me, then curiosity got me. “What were you ready for?”

  “Your kiss,” she called over her shoulder with a confident smile.

  “Bed.” My voice shook.

  She nodded her head once, defeat clouding her eyes.

  I wiped my hands down my face as I watched her make her way down the hall, and then my feet were carrying me toward her and I was hauling her into my arms. Refusing to corner her in any dark hallway, I pulled her back into the living room. And there . . . I pressed my mouth against hers. She opened for me so perfectly that the ache in my chest worsened, needing more than I’d realized I needed. I parted her lips with my tongue and explored. She tasted of whiskey and toothpaste. She dug her fingers into my hair and then wrapped her arms around my neck as I pulled her against me. Seconds passed, I prayed for, wished for, more minutes, hours. Instead, I sucked on her lower lip, I memorized the feel of her body pressed against mine, I mourned the loss of it before she was even gone. And I gently pried myself away. And because I couldn’t help it, I kissed her cheek, and then I trailed down her neck with kisses and whispered, “Real men don’t force a woman.”

  “No.” She rose up on her tiptoes and brushed a soft kiss across my lips. “Real men kiss like that.”

  I almost grabbed her wrist.

  I almost tugged her against me and begged her to let me into her room.

  There were so many almosts that hung in the balance between right and wrong.

  So I let her go.

  I watched the sway of her hips as she walked off.

  And I sent a fucking text to Slade when I couldn’t fall asleep.

  Me: I’m fucked.

  Slade: Yeah, you are.

  Me: WTH? Why aren’t you on my side?

  Slade: We’re talking about Parker, right? About the way Jagger says you watch her? About the only girl you’ve ever trained? Tread carefully, my friend.

  Me: We kissed.

  Slade: Uh . . .

  Me: Never mind. Can you put together a night out for everyone this next weekend when training’s over for her? A celebration of sorts?

  Slade: No, but Mack would love to. You know how she is.

  I smiled down at my phone. Yeah, his wife was one of my favorite people. I liked her even more than Slade, and that was saying a lot—the guy was my best friend.

  Slade: Crying into a bottle of wine yet? Breaking shit?

  Me: Not yet.

  Slade: Hah, yeah give it time.

  Me: That wasn’t at all helpful.

  Slade: Get some sleep, you’ll need it.

  I set my phone down and then stared at the blank screen and wondered how I was even going to treat her normally without wanting more from her.

  Yeah, the next week of training was going to be a nightmare, wasn’t it?

  Chapter Nineteen

  PARKER

  I spent the flight trying not to steal glances at Matt while he worked on his computer. And then I spent even more time dissecting every little thing he did. Had the kiss been just to prove something? Was it more? Did it matter? I mean after confessing everything I’d confessed, I wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole—make that twenty.

  But we’d kissed.

  And it had made every other kiss I’d ever had seem like practice before the big game. His lips had been so soft, demanding, yet, ugh. I should not be thinking about his lips while I was sitting next to him.

  My knee started bouncing nervously.

  Matt’s arm shot out and pressed it down.

  I huffed. “Sorry.”

  “Something on your mind?” he asked, not looking up from the computer screen.

  I glared.

  “Saw that.”

  “You saw what?”

  “You stuck your tongue out at me.” The corners of his mouth lifted into an amused smile as he kept typing. Tap, tap, tap. With each tap of his fingers my irritation rose until I wanted to shake him and say something stupid like, DO YOU LIKE ME?

  I mean of course he tolerated me.

  If I was being completely honest, I hadn’t expected him to respond to any sort of kiss from me, I had expected it to be a polite Chin up, or There, there, not all men are monsters.

  Instead it was all passion, heat. It was something I wanted to explore; heck, I wanted to rip it open and bask in it.

  And yet there he was, tapping away!

  Our plane had been delayed, which meant we weren’t getting home until later, which also meant I was a day behind in training, but the sleep would be welcome.

  When Matt didn’t say anything else, I put on my headphones, crossed my arms, and pretended to sleep. Mature, but I had no other option.

  And then I did actually fall asleep because the plane landing jolted me forward. Matt grabbed my hand.

  I tore off my headphones. “We’re home? Already?”

  His smile was bright, and might I even say a bit arrogant as he looked his fill. “Yeah, Cheetah Girl, we’re home.”

  I shook my head at him. “Should have never told you that name.”

  “One day you may have to show me more of those moves.”

  “Think you could handle it? Maybe I’ll rent you a cane just in case.” I winked.

  He glowered. “I’m not . . . old.”

  “Do you get a senior discount yet?”

  “Do you want to walk home?”

  I stared down at our still-joined hands. “Do you promise to hold my hand the whole way?”

  He opened his mouth and shut it as I clung to him. And I smiled in womanly satisfaction when we exited the airplane.

  Still holding hands.

  The house looked dark as Matt pulled the car into the open garage. I yawned behind my hand as he killed the engine. My legs felt like I’d done nothing but run all day, that’s what tra
vel always did to me. I wanted my own bed, a shower.

  I froze.

  Since when was the guest room my bed? Why did it feel more like home than any place I’d ever lived?

  I frowned as Matt grabbed my duffel along with his bag and opened the door to the house for me.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled, not meeting his eyes as I walked in and flipped on the living room lights. “Oh, shit!”

  Jagger stood there with nothing but a smile, and a pillow covering himself.

  “What the hell!” Matt roared. “How do you even have a key? Did Willow let you in? Wait.” Matt’s jaw started ticking. “Where is Willow?”

  “Baby, I’m ready for you!” Willow came bouncing into the room wearing nothing but black thigh-highs and a matching corset and clutching a can of whipped cream in her right hand. “Matt! I thought your flight was delayed?” She hid the whipped cream. I almost slapped my own face. Too late, bestie, too late.

  “JAGGER!” Matt thundered. He was ready to charge like a bull. I quickly put myself in between both men. “OUT OF THE WAY, PARKER!”

  I winced as he yelled over my head. “No! Just take a minute to think this through.”

  “Think what through!” And the vein was making an appearance. “He’s naked in my house alone with my sister—and she has—” he sputtered. “Willow!”

  “Stop yelling!” she yelled right back. “I’m an adult, and if you must know, I told him that the garbage disposal wasn’t working.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to laugh while Matt’s chest heaved like he was storing all his energy so he could decapitate Jagger as soon as I moved out of the way.

  “I fixed it,” Jagger said in a cocky voice. “Just in case you were wondering.”

  Matt lunged.

  “Whoa, whoa.” I held him back. “Hey.” I cupped his face with my hands without thinking. “Look at me, just look at me.”

  Matt’s crazed expression met mine and immediately softened. “I’m killing them, pick who goes first.”

  I grinned. “You’re not killing your only sister, and you’re not killing one of your best players, plus he makes you good money, right?”

  Jagger choked out a laugh. “Voice of reason.”

  “Not now, Jagger,” Willow hissed.

  “You’re tired,” I murmured to Matt in my best soothing voice. “Just go to bed and I’ll talk to Willow. You can talk with Jagger in the morning.”

  He didn’t move.

  I hoped he’d listen. Then again, it was Matt, and he could do whatever he wanted; it was his house.

  Oh no, what if he kicked her out? And me too?

  Panic seized my lungs.

  “Hey . . .” He tilted my chin up. “You okay?”

  “Perfect,” I lied through my fear and the tears that were building in my eyes at the thought of not seeing him again. “I just, I think I’m tired too.”

  “Ummmmm.” Willow’s voice broke through my thoughts and the lingering gaze I was giving Matt. Crap, he was still touching me. “Are we missing something?”

  “Nothing you need to know,” Matt said before letting me go and stepping away. I hated that he dropped his hands like he had no right to touch me in front of other people. I hated it so much I wanted to yell at him, to lash out. But I didn’t. Maybe that was progress?

  “Don’t kill each other,” was all I managed to say as I made my way toward my bedroom, the one in his house, the one he owned.

  I changed for bed.

  I stared up at the ceiling and wondered how I would survive the after.

  After Matt.

  After our friendship was over.

  After I wasn’t living in his house, under this roof.

  After everything changed and I was on a team.

  I was happy.

  For the first time in a year.

  Truly happy.

  I didn’t want that happiness ripped away.

  And it occurred to me in a moment of frustration that soccer wasn’t the only thing that completed me.

  Apparently, my heart had room for more.

  I just wished it was possible.

  I turned over and sighed, I’d completely forgotten that I was blanketed in darkness. Maybe because it was his house, maybe because I was just so consumed with thoughts of his tenderness. Of his loyalty.

  And just as I was about to reach for the lamp, my door cracked open. It was his face.

  The one I knew I’d dream about when I closed my eyes.

  He leaned over the bed.

  I sucked in a breath as he brushed a kiss across my forehead. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded because I knew if I said yes I’d cry or beg him to stay with me and kiss me again.

  “I’m sorry I lost my head, I never want you to think that . . .” His voice lowered and cracked a bit. “I would never be angry enough to be violent, I just wanted you to know that. I would never physically hurt my sister—hurt you.”

  I exhaled and put a hand on his forearm. “I know.”

  Neither of us moved.

  His fingers dug into the comforter like he was contemplating ripping it from the bed.

  Awareness spread throughout my body as I watched his fingers twitch and flex. I wanted him to give in so badly.

  “Parker—”

  “MAAATT!” Willow’s voice echoed down the hall. “I’m dressed now!”

  He stood abruptly and turned on the lamp. “Dream happy dreams, Parker.”

  “Any suggestions?” I asked in a thick, lustful voice I recognized as my own.

  He just shook his head and then winked, closing the door behind him.

  Leaving my body with a hard buzz.

  And my heart galloping in my chest.

  Chapter Twenty

  MATT

  I went to bed aroused.

  Woke up aroused.

  Fucking drank my coffee watching the damn birds outside—aroused.

  Took another cold shower and then hated myself when I wanted to relieve the aching sensation with visions of her mouth on my skin, her taste on my lips.

  I suddenly saw prison in my future as I walked around with a perpetual hard-on. One day, I’d bump into an elderly lady, she’d try to whack it with a newspaper, and because it had been unappeased for so long, that would only encourage it more and well, there you go, national news, prison.

  Death.

  Dramatic. I was being dramatic, and Slade was no help whatsoever, from his laughter that morning when I’d called, to the emojis he’d been sending me since I went to my office.

  It was going to be a long, hard day.

  Hah.

  Hard.

  “Ready!” Parker came flying into my room in spandex shorts and a loose tank top, her hair pulled back in a braid and her skin looking—edible.

  I choked on my cup of coffee. “G-great.”

  “You okay?” She put her hands on her hips. “Did you not sleep well?”

  “You mean before or after I buried Willow’s body out by the dead goldfish last night?” I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hands.

  “Nice one.” Parker pulled out a chair and put up her Nikes on my desk. Again.

  I flicked them with my pencil. “Is this gonna be a thing?”

  “At least my shoes are clean. I could have my cleats on, and leave little patches of sod all over your desk, maybe even a hair from the stadium for good measure.”

  I gagged. “You’re a monster.”

  She smiled sweetly. “I’m what you made me, Coach.”

  Coach.

  Agent.

  Seventh circle of hell.

  I mentally waved as Satan escorted me to my spot in the fiery middle.

  I was here to be her supporter, I was not here to kiss the hell out of her and lock her in my room while making sweet love to her. It would be nice. More than nice, incredible. It was wrong.

  Wrong.

  Wrong.

  Wrong.

  I was all she had. I just needed to keep telling myself that.r />
  Parker dropped her feet and leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah.” I sighed. “Just a long day. I think I need to run it off.”

  “Then let’s do it.”

  Had I been drinking coffee I would have sputtered it all over my laptop and her face. She wanted to . . . exercise? Voluntarily? The woman who threatened me every day during training?

  I leaned closer, felt her forehead with the back of my hand, only to get it slapped away. “You feeling okay?”

  “Hey, I’m just trying to be a good client!”

  And there it was again.

  She looked so happy, so . . . free that I had to laugh and then wince when I realized that I could either sit there and lust after her or join her. “I could use a run.”

  “Remember, it’s six and a half miles to the stadium. It can be our warm-up?” Her eyes were so hopeful, so adorable.

  “Yeah.” Just give me twenty minutes or a year for this to go down and I’ll be right out. Why was my body betraying me? “I’ll just go get dressed.”

  “Great.” She stood like she was waiting.

  “After . . . one last phone call.” I cleared my throat.

  “Oh.” Hurt flashed in her expression before she stood. “Sure, I need to grab my ear pods anyways!”

  She jogged out of my office while I pretended to pick up the phone. I finally calmed myself down enough to stand and make my way to my bedroom. I put on a pair of tight boxer briefs and my joggers, then grabbed a tank and my own pods.

  She was already out in the living room stretching, and a smile broke out on her face when she saw me. “We racing?”

  “Hah!” I wagged my finger at her. “Yeah no, we aren’t racing for over six miles, not sure my old heart could take it.”

  She licked her lips. “Well, at least you have the body of an eighteen-year-old.”

  “Skinny and awkward?” I elbowed her. “Thanks.”

  She burst out laughing just as I jabbed my buds in and bolted out the door yelling behind me, “See you there!”

  She sped past me; I caught up easily.

  And even though we were both listening to music, we ran in perfect cadence, a perfect stride the entire way to the stadium. I was almost sad it was over, until she saw me grab my whistle and her face went from content to murderous.