“Ya think?”
“Wedding?” Slade just had to ask.
“You know what would be great right now?” I spread my arms wide. “If I just went . . . away, and you guys did your thing, with the cleats and . . . running. Balls. Do your thing with your balls.”
Jagger hid a grin behind his hand while Slade’s lips twitched.
“Stay.” Coach had me in a viselike side hug that immediately caused sweat under my arms. “I insist.”
“Well,” I said through clenched teeth. “If you insist.”
“Let’s go, men.” He clapped his hands.
Slade’s eyes narrowed at me before he shook his head. “Have you always been a compulsive liar, or is this new?”
“Oh, it’s new.” I flashed him a middle finger. “And this whole jackass routine you’ve got going on. That new too, or has it always been in your possessed, flesh-eating soul?”
“Flesh-eating.” He nodded. “Nice. And honestly, it comes and goes, depending on the company.”
“Lucky company.” I glared.
We were at a standstill.
I wanted to lunge at him, poke those perfect eyeballs with my pointer finger, and kick him in the balls.
“Slade!” Coach called.
“Better go play with your tiny balls, Slade. And before you say something childish like ‘You would know,’ remember”—I lowered my eyes—“I really would.”
His face broke out into a smile. That was all it took to transport me back to the guy I’d first met, not the one I was working for. His smile quickly faded, though. It slid into the abyss of whatever anger and sadness he was carrying around in a suitcase.
Forcing me to remember all the reasons I was trying to cheer him up.
Why fighting with him felt more helpful than good—just another one of life’s great mysteries.
Chapter Twenty-One
SLADE
Drill.
Run.
Drill.
Run.
Repeat.
I had no time to look at her because she was sitting as far away from our practice as she physically could. It pissed me off that Jagger knew her.
And it pissed me off that I’d been such a tool. And she probably had more money than I’d ever seen in my entire life.
The things I said.
Even if they were true.
Still weren’t right.
My neck felt hot and itchy as I peeled my shirt off and dribbled the ball between the cones, right left, right left, fake, strike.
Repeat.
More sweat fell from my forehead until I was almost blinded by it, and when we started to scrimmage and I was pegged against Jagger, I almost tripped over a shoelace when he blew a kiss over at Mackenzie and pulled his shirt off. I never knew it was humanly possible to take off a shirt that slow, but he accomplished it with finesse that would probably earn a triple take from the stands.
“Trying to seduce the help?” I asked in a bored tone.
He rolled his eyes. “I would give up my entire soccer career for that woman to look twice at me, so yeah, I guess I am, though I wouldn’t be such a dick. Her dad owns most of Seattle and has a winery empire that would make an Italian weep.”
“Winery empire,” I repeated as Coach blew the whistle. “Then why is she working for me?”
“Why. Indeed.” He said the words slowly as though savoring them, and then the second whistle went off and all thoughts of Mackenzie vanished.
Chapter Twenty-Two
MACKENZIE
What was that about not liking soccer? Not understanding all the running? The sport just earned a new fan. I watched the guys run back and forth as I tried to focus on their intricate footwork instead of the sweat dripping off multiple six-packs and pecs.
Slade had taken his shirt off first.
And I swore to myself that if I started staring at his body I was going to cut out all sugar for a month—including wine. It was a bet with myself, against myself, in order to protect myself.
I squinted at the opposite end of the field, then watched as Jagger tried to dribble the ball around Slade, only to get it stolen.
I would not clap.
I would not be impressed with Slade’s feet.
Or his abs.
Or the fact that he was easily the best player out there.
Ignore, ignore, ignore. “Watch out!” a voice called. I blinked to the right and saw the ball sailing toward my face.
I ducked just in time and almost face-planted against the chair in front of me.
“Sorry.” Slade jogged over. “My tiny ball must have slipped.”
I glared. “Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”
“I bet you’d love to find out,” he countered.
“Yes. I would love to find out and then somehow chain your body to a bed so I can force you into marriage . . . seriously, it’s on my bucket list right next to tea with Satan.”
He barked out a laugh. “Yeah, alright, catlike reflexes.”
I scowled. “I was paying attention to the game.”
“If you were paying attention you would have seen it coming.”
I sobered. “Sometimes it’s hard to call the shots when you don’t realize you’ve been put in a game, Slade.”
His face went from mocking to something else that I couldn’t pinpoint until he started walking away with his head down.
Shame.
I stayed until the end, then tried to sneak out, but my heels were like loud bombs going off against the concrete once I made it off my plastic seat.
“Mack!” Jagger called. “Wait up.”
I forced a smile and crossed my arms. “Yeah?”
He was still shirtless.
Still shiny with sweat.
Still showing absolutely no body fat.
Jagger ran a towel down his chest in what could only be described as slow motion. His grin was the perfect mix of arrogance and beauty, and when he did an effortless I-just-look-this-way hair flip, my jaw nearly came unhinged from my face.
“I know things with Alton are probably still a bit . . . raw.”
Oh good, my favorite topic of conversation. Being abandoned. My stomach clenched so tight I felt like I was going to hurl all over his cleats. It didn’t work with Alton, and apparently I didn’t even know how to do a one-night stand right without the guy assuming I wanted to marry him.
I clenched my hands into tiny fists and waited for the rest of whatever Jagger was going to say, forcing my eyebrows nearly into my hairline so I looked more surprised than sad.
“So . . .” He grinned wide. “I was thinking—it would be fun to go to dinner, just as friends. Like I said, I know things are still new even though it’s been over six months, but maybe you could use someone to talk to other than Slade’s fucking dog. Besides, the only reason you’d be working for that dick is because you can’t stand to be in the same room as the one who left you at the altar.”
You know when you expect one thing? And life throws you something completely different? Something so unexpected and just . . . kind, that you lose all logical control of your emotions?
It happened.
Rather than lie through my teeth like I had been for months.
I let a tear fall.
And then another.
And then I was in Jagger’s arms while I cried softly against his chest. It wasn’t just Alton; it was Slade too. It was the fact that I’d always seen my world with Alton, even though part of me knew it didn’t quite fit, only to have the best hours of my life with a complete stranger who made me feel free—and then realize it was all a farce.
Jagger embraced me like we were best friends, his arms secured tightly around my body as I slowly got control of myself and then pulled away and wiped under my eyes. “Did I just lose my chance at a nice dinner by crying over your potential friendship?”
His clear blue eyes locked on mine. “No, you just made me wish I had been a better friend to begin with.”
“You were Alton’s friend.”
“Ouch.” He sighed. “I wanted to be yours more than his. You’re prettier, and his name is Alton, so that’s already a scratch against him.”
I laughed, tears still in my eyes. “Dinner it is, then.”
“What’s your number?”
I fired it off and immediately heard a buzz in my purse.
He winked. “Just sent you a text.”
“Great.” I beamed, feeling lighter than I had in weeks, just as Slade walked by and purposely bumped into Jagger.
“He always like this?” I wondered out loud.
Jagger hesitated a bit, then said, “On the field . . . yes . . . off the field . . .” He didn’t say anything more. “I’ve never seen someone look so . . .” It’s like he couldn’t find the word, like it didn’t exist in the English language yet.
A word did not exist to describe Slade.
To describe the man he was.
And I couldn’t figure out if that meant he was just that extraordinary or the exact opposite.
“Send me your schedule.” Jagger pulled me into his arms again and kissed my forehead. “And let me know if you have any food allergies, can’t have you dying in my arms.”
“Hah.” I rolled my eyes and started to walk off, then stopped and called after him. “Hey, Jagger . . .”
He paused and crossed his arms.
“Thank you.”
Another wink.
I drove back to Slade’s house feeling lighter than air—that is, until I made it into the actual house and saw that Alfie had had a little . . . problem.
“ALFIE!” I roared. “No, no, no, bad boy!”
He whined and then puked something up that looked a hell of a lot like a bird. There was dog poop all over the main hallway, in a trail that led into the huge kitchen. I followed it, covering my mouth. A giant puddle of God-knew-what was near the barstools.
I shuddered, grabbed an entire roll of paper towels, a trash bag, and floor cleaner just as I heard the sound of a sports car’s engine turning off.
“No!” I stared wide-eyed at the door, then glared at Alfie, who was panting and smirking like it was the best day of his life. Probably because he finally got whatever the hell that was out of his system.
The door slowly opened.
I closed my eyes and waited for the yelling.
And then opened them when Slade said nothing.
He stared at Alfie, then at me, then back at Alfie. “Which one of you did this?”
I clenched my teeth. “Before you start yelling at me, remember that I brought you the duffel bag, and I cook for you. Remember that I’m a human and that you shouldn’t throw things just because you’re pissed off at the world, alright? Got it?”
He opened his mouth.
“Wait! Always count to ten so you don’t do something you’ll regret.”
He sighed, then slowly held up one hand and started a fun little countdown. One, two, three fingers, he continued until he had both hands up, then dropped them and turned to Alfie. “Hey, buddy, are you sick?” He knelt down as Alfie waddled over to him and licked his thigh. “I’ll get you into the vet.”
“Not to interrupt, but I think he ate something . . . like a bird or rodent or whatever that object is down the hall, and you know . . .” I made a puking motion.
“That’s one strike.” Slade stood. “Two more and you’re fired.”
“How is this my fault?” I asked. At least he wasn’t yelling. “I was bringing you your bag, the bag you need—”
“I have a spare.” He shrugged. “I always keep a spare at the stadium, and even then, I can run circles around those guys barefoot and blind. But I do appreciate it. What I don’t appreciate is people who are incompetent at their jobs.”
I was going to kill him.
With my bare hands.
“Alright.” I crossed my arms, apparently I was getting used to the smell of dog shit since I was actually standing there without puking. “How am I incompetent?”
“Easy.” He stood to his full height. “Your main priority is to make sure Alfie gets exercise and is well taken care of—he clearly ate something he shouldn’t have, on your watch.” He moved closer to me until I could smell his aftershave. It sent memories sailing down my spine and, regrettably, my thighs as I tried not to look away in embarrassment. “Second, you left him alone in the house while you came to the stadium. You need to crate him if you’re gone for a long time.”
“Had I known I was going to be gone for longer than a half hour—”
He pressed a finger to my lips.
They parted on impact.
Like he was a freaking lip whisperer.
“Always prepare for the worst,” he said in a hoarse voice before pulling his finger away.
“That’s not a way to live, Slade.”
It was one of the first times I’d said his name out loud, rather than using Hugo.
He tensed and then gave his head a shake. “Trust me, it’s the only way.” He grabbed the paper towels from my hands. “You’re dismissed.”
“Dismissed?” I said, trying not to screech. “Dismissed?”
He let out a sigh like I was the annoying, angry one. “You can go home, I’ll clean up. And Mackenzie?” My body did not react with chills. It didn’t. I rebuked said chills and decided it was just nippy in his house . . . with the heat on . . . “Stay away from Jagger, alright? He’s not . . . fuck.” He growled. “Just . . . you’re my employee, alright? It looks . . . bad.”
I gaped. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea having a friend would reflect badly on your already stellar image.”
“Friend?” He barked out a laugh. “Yeah, no, Jagger doesn’t have friends who are women. Trust me, he doesn’t want your friendship, he wants your perfect tits and amazing ass, alright?” The minute the words fell out of his mouth he sobered and then looked away like he’d just been caught with both hands, legs, and his balls in the cookie jar.
“Perfect tits and amazing ass . . . huh?” I shrugged. “Better watch it, sexual harassment is no joke.”
I handed him the spray. “Enjoy cleaning up shit. And Slade? I’m allowed one friend.”
“You have friends.” He said it so matter-of-factly that I almost choked up again.
“People like us don’t get to have friends . . . at least not ones we trust.” I grabbed my purse and reached for the doorknob.
His hand was on my shoulder. “Look, I’m sorry for—”
“See you tomorrow.”
“Stay away from him.”
“Have a lovely evening!”
“Mackenzie!”
“Food in the fridge!”
“Mackenzie, I’m—”
I was already getting in my SUV and starting the engine.
I promised myself I wouldn’t look back.
And three seconds later.
Did exactly what I shouldn’t have done, as the man with the orgasms and hateful words stood on the doorstep and watched me leave.
His eyes penetrating past the shield of my car and into my chest, and for two seconds I contemplated turning around.
Chapter Twenty-Three
SLADE
“Jagger asked her out,” I growled as I took another bite of pizza and wiped my face with a napkin.
Matt’s confused expression wasn’t helping. “Who’s this ‘she’ you’re bitching about?”
I let out a grunt. “Mackenzie.”
“Okay . . .” he said slowly. “And she must have said yes?”
“Damn it, why am I the only person in the universe who actually sees through his constant bullshit? He’s a fucking womanizer!”
Matt’s eyebrows furrowed like he was in deep thought; he even stopped chewing.
“What!” I roared.
“Have I ever told you what a joy you’ve been recently? No? I wonder why . . .” He started chewing off another piece and then leaned back against the couch. “Something tells me Mackenzie’s a big girl. She can take care of
herself.”
“Why didn’t you tell me who she was?” The pizza tasted like cardboard in my mouth as I made eye contact with him and waited.
He stared me down, then finally said, “Does it matter?”
I laughed.
He started choking.
I pounded him on the back. “What the hell, man?”
“Sorry, it’s just the last time you laughed was at least a year ago.”
“I call bullshit.” I sobered. “And it’s more of an ironic laugh, not one full of humor.”
“And you’re laughing ironically now because?”
Guilt crept down my spine. “I, uh . . .”
“Damn.” He tossed his napkin on the table. “Tell me you didn’t seduce her already. Tell me we don’t have a lawsuit on our hands. She works for you, man! She signed a contract! You signed a contract—well, actually, I acted on your behalf, but you can’t touch the help! Especially if the help is worth more than two of you!”
“Seriously? That’s . . .” I frowned. “If she doesn’t need to work . . .”
“Maybe she just enjoys your cheerful demeanor,” he said sarcastically.
I pulled at my long hair and stared into the glass of water. “I slept with her.”
“Fuck.” He grabbed his phone.
“About a month ago,” I added.
He dropped the phone in his lap and narrowed his eyes at me. “I’m confused. You know her?”
“Long story short . . . she was the woman I was with the night . . .” I couldn’t bring myself to say it. “That night.”
“You went on vacation with her?” Yeah, he still wasn’t getting it.
“We met on vacation,” I clarified. “On the plane . . . and we kissed—the plane lost an engine and she thought she was going to die and one thing led to another and I just . . . I was drawn to her and she was so fucking happy and carefree and in need of an adventure while I just wanted an escape. It was . . . perfect, until . . .” I threw my hands up in the air.
“And she was fine with a one-night stand with soccer’s biggest star? I hope you made her sign something for legal, hell, do you still have the paper? What do I tell you, always travel with the paper—”
“She didn’t sign shit . . . ,” I said quickly. “She thought my name was Hugo.”
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