I turned and stepped forward until we were chest to chest. “This coming from the guy who did a burger commercial holding a ball in front of his dick with one hand while rubbing fries over a girl’s stomach with the other?”
He flinched. “It was . . . art.”
I burst out laughing while Matt pressed his lips together and let out a snort. “You ran ketchup down her thigh—and they had to pull it because people complained about the controversy.”
“Sold a hell of a lot of burgers, though,” Jagger said smugly.
I turned to Matt and sighed. “Didn’t this prick sleep with the model too?”
“Careful,” Jagger growled.
“Want to know what I think?” Matt asked.
“No!” we said in unison.
Of course he just took that as an invitation to keep talking. “You’re both shit role models, and you both need to get your heads out of your own asses before you ruin what should be the best year of your careers, on the same fucking team together.” He shrugged. “Make it work. You report Monday morning to Kamiakin Elementary. Oh, and bring some signed shit, because even though I know how worthless you two can be when you’re in the same orbit, the kids don’t, and they deserve better than your sad side-by-side-my-dick-is-better-than-yours game. Honestly? It’s getting old.”
And then Matt.
Our manager.
Friend.
Abandoned us in the middle of the street.
“That was . . . out of character,” I finally said after a few minutes of silence.
“You think his blood sugar’s low?” Jagger asked as he pulled out his phone.
“Maybe he’s on a diet. He’s like an angry soccer mom when he’s on a diet. Remember when he tried that Whole 30 thing a year ago and almost burned down his house trying to find a Snickers?”
Jagger grinned wide and then looked up from his screen. “I have a confession to make.”
“What?”
“I ate the Snickers the day before.”
I laughed. “Does he know?”
“Hell no!” Jagger joined in the laughter. “He’d have my ass! He searched for three hours and flipped over his couch into that massive fireplace with nothing but hunger and brute strength. No. I told him it was probably in the living room.”
“Ah, so the cause of the fire, all . . .” I pointed at him.
“Take it to your grave, Slade.”
I chuckled. “Let’s at least try not to let the kids see blood, alright?”
“Or us comparing dicks, because not only is that shit weird but people go to prison for it.”
“Yeah, smart-ass, I’ll . . . attempt to not kill you. You’re lucky my anger is more directed at Alton right now. Fucking Alton. I hate him.”
“I think he knows,” Jagger said. “And if he forgets, he can just look in the mirror and remember who gave him the bruise.”
“You helped.”
“Because of Mackenzie.”
Not because of you. I knew where the rest of that was going.
“He never deserved her in the first place. I could never quite figure out why they were together, and when things went . . . badly, it made sense.”
“So you and Mack . . .” I cleared my throat.
“It’s getting late.” He shrugged. “We have practice.” He turned around and started walking down the street toward his car.
“Is that your answer? Ignore the question?”
“You need to ask!” he called back.
“Are you dating her?” I hated the way that sentence tasted. Full of bitterness and longing.
“That was a question.” He laughed and just got into his car. While I stood on the street and watched him take off. While I wondered if I’d lost her the minute I accused her of stalking me and forcing me into marriage.
I cringed.
A fucking van full of flowers.
Ten vans.
Shit, at this rate I was going to need to plant an entire garden for her and buy a flower shop just to stay on her good side or at least, possibly, get another chance to taste her mouth.
I sighed and made the slow trek back to my car, feeling more depressed with each step.
How was I supposed to win her if I wasn’t even allowed to play the game?
Chapter Thirty
MACKENZIE
“Hey, Dad.” I kissed his soft cheek and made my way past him into the enormous home he and my mom shared on Lake Washington. The marble floor seemed to swirl and come alive beneath my feet as I flipped on a light in the hall and walked into the kitchen to grab my favorite wine and my favorite wineglass to go with it.
Dad followed me, as was tradition when I stopped by late at night.
Wordlessly, he grabbed his glass and sat on the barstool opposite where I was standing. “What’s going on?”
I took a deep breath, then took a drink of the dry red before speaking. It tingled against my lips and breathed life into my parched soul. “Alton was at the restaurant with you tonight.”
“Are you asking me?”
“No, I know he was.”
“Potential buyer, but I left early to make it home for Mom’s and my show . . .” My parents were obsessed with The Voice, as in, they refused to be distracted and would save it until they could watch it together, full volume, one bottle of wine, a cheese board. It was basically a weekly holiday and excuse to drink. “Why? What happened? Did he talk to you?”
“Yeah.” I cringed. “One sec.” Two more small sips. “He sort of insulted me, in a very inappropriate way in front of my . . . er . . . date? And in front of the man I currently work for.”
Dad sucked in a breath. “What did he say?”
I felt my face flush. “Let’s just agree it was horrible and I almost cried.”
“Honey . . .” He reached out. I took his hand and squeezed.
“So,” I continued, using him for support, “my employer punched him in the face, and when he wouldn’t stop saying cruel things, my date punched him in the side of the head. The police came . . .”
Dad released my hand. “What sort of punks handle things with a fistfight?”
“Ones trying to defend my honor and stand up for me. Something Alton wouldn’t do in a million years.”
Dad’s face softened. “He’s just not the fighting type, honey. He uses his words—”
“Oh, trust me.” I scowled. “I know he uses his words, he needs someone to staple his mouth shut. The point is, he deserved it, and I don’t want him to press charges.” I licked my dry lips. “Dad, you didn’t fire him after the wedding even though I begged you to. I don’t want to work with him, I don’t even want to see his face.” My chest felt heavy with each confession. “Since you’re his boss, you have pull. Can you please just tell him not to press charges?”
Dad frowned. “Do you know if he did?”
“No. But I do know he was angry.”
“Honey, he was punched in the face by two men. Of course he was angry—your date was a man, right?”
I narrowed my eyes. “As opposed to a turtle?”
“No.” He laughed awkwardly. “I just meant, after Alton, if it were a . . . woman.” His face turned serious. “That would be okay.”
“Thanks? I think?” I gave my head a shake. “But it was a man, an attractive man—we’re getting off topic. I just need you to talk with Alton, let him know it would reflect badly, or could reflect badly, on us.” It wouldn’t, but I was hoping that would at least help sway him.
Dad stood. “Honey, I understand your concern, but if Alton wants to press charges, I’m not going to stop him just because you want to protect some punks who don’t know how to fight like men.”
“But—”
“Topic closed.” He smiled like it wasn’t a big deal that he was basically choosing Alton over my needs or wants—again. Playing favorites . . . or at least that’s what it felt like. Why was I suddenly remembering all the times I had to compete with Alton for my dad’s attention? For the accolades tha
t made me think I needed to do whatever it took to be part of the boys’ club.
I’d begged my dad to fire him or at the very least put him in a different department after Alton left me at the altar, but my dad said keeping Alton was business, not personal. I was making it personal.
Of course it was personal! He. Left. Me.
And while I appreciated my dad’s strong business sense, sometimes a girl just needs a hug, she needs to be told it’s okay to make it personal! I loved my dad but he wasn’t acting like my father, he was acting like a shrewd business owner, which was a side of him I rarely saw or maybe just refused to acknowledge.
“Dad.” My eyes filled with tears.
He pulled me into his arms. “Trust me, things will look better once you get some sleep. Are you staying the night?”
“No.” I jerked out of his embrace, possibly for the first time in my life. His look was a mixture of confusion and hurt. “I’ll just take another Uber home.”
I walked past him. I held my tears in.
And two minutes later when my car pulled up.
I felt those tears slide down my cheeks and drip off my chin.
Fight for me.
I closed my eyes.
I wanted someone—someone to fight for me. Not try to do what was best for me.
A vision of Slade slammed into my consciousness.
He might be a lot of things.
But when I’d needed him most.
He threw a punch.
Even if he said things he shouldn’t.
I appreciated that punch more than he’d ever know.
“Hey!” I snapped out of my sadness. “Can we stop somewhere really quick, I’ll tip?”
“Where to?” the driver called back.
I fired off Slade’s address and prayed he’d still be up.
I didn’t really have a plan.
Other than a thank-you hug.
And . . . something?
I told my driver I’d be five minutes.
I knocked on the door twice.
Nothing.
And then two barks.
Cursing.
I smiled just as the door opened, revealing a shirtless Slade and low-slung sweats on what could only be described as the V straight from heaven.
I should have taken that bottle of wine from my parents’.
“Hi, hey, hi.” I said hi twice, didn’t I?
He frowned. “Are you drunk?”
“What?” I gave my head a shake. “No, do I look drunk?”
“You said hi twice.”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t catch that.”
“Too obvious not to catch but cute that you’re holding onto hope like that . . .” His lips twitched into a small grin while I narrowed my eyes.
“You’re making this harder than it should be.” I crossed my arms.
“And you make me harder than I should be. And yet, here I am.” He crossed his arms.
Don’t look down. Do not. Look. Down.
I gulped.
His smile broke out into a huge grin. “You were saying?”
I bit down on my bottom lip and then took a step toward him, then two, until I could smell his spicy body wash and minty breath. “Thank you. Just . . . thank you for standing up for me—even though you also confessed to the whole restaurant that I slept with you.”
“Weak moment,” he admitted. “And you’re welcome . . . if that guy ever speaks to you again, just tell him I’m coming for his other testicle.”
I burst out laughing. “Yeah, but maybe I won’t word it that way?”
Slade stared at my mouth, then his eyes flickered back up to mine. “Great idea.”
“So,” I croaked and then wrapped my arms around his middle.
He stood still for a few seconds, making me feel slightly stupid, and then he was hugging me back.
He hugged just as good as he kissed.
With his whole body.
I closed my eyes.
And then, I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek.
“My other cheek feels left out,” he whispered in a dark voice that sent chills down my spine. I could have sworn his golden eyes were glowing at me as an electrical current of awareness shot through my body.
I rolled my eyes, trying to play it off, then moved to his right cheek, only to have him capture my lips right before I was able to make contact with his skin.
He kissed me softly, never even using his tongue as his lips slid against mine, and then he pulled away.
“You promised.” I wasn’t angry. Who would be angry? I was more . . . drugged.
“I slipped,” he said in an innocent voice. “Plus it’s really dark and it looked like you were going for my ear. You’ve been embarrassed enough tonight, can’t imagine what would happen if you fell face-first against the doorbell.”
“How . . . chivalrous of you.” I shook my head in disbelief.
He put his hand on his chest. “Thank you, that was my aim.”
We stared at one another for way too long without speaking.
It was becoming a nasty habit on my part.
So I cleared my throat, another nasty habit, and stepped away from the temptation, away from the cliff I wanted to jump off. The only thing that kept me grounded was the knowledge that last time I jumped . . .
The only one to break my fall was me.
And that was a very depressing and lonely thought.
“Night, Slade.”
“You should stay.” He leaned against the doorframe. “We can watch a movie.”
“It’s late.”
“Dessert, then?”
“Slade.” I eyed him suspiciously.
He hung his head. “You could sleep over?”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He just grinned. “Had to try.”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t give it a little effort—friends, though, remember?”
“Only because you keep reminding me,” he said softly. “Be safe.”
“I live five minutes away. I’ll be fine.” I gave him a little wave and got back in the SUV before I did something stupid like say yes to a movie, which we both knew wouldn’t have just been a movie.
It was late. I’d had wine.
He was being nice.
And he’d given me a sample of his flavor again, the way he tasted.
Of course it wouldn’t be a movie.
It would be dessert in his bed.
And I’d hate myself for it in the morning.
I squeezed my eyes shut and leaned back against the soft leather. Why did things have to be so complicated?
Chapter Thirty-One
SLADE
“Let’s just get this over with,” I mumbled to myself as I pulled up to the Kamiakin Elementary School.
Jagger was leaning against his car like he’d been waiting for me since the ass crack of dawn. I rolled my eyes and purposely took my time cutting the engine, opening my door, staring him down, slamming said door, and crossing my arms in response.
“You look radiant this morning, sunshine. Something crawl up your ass and decide to stay there, or do you always look like that and I’ve just now noticed it?” I grinned from ear to ear.
“You’re probably just now noticing on account of your head being stuck in your tiny prick for God knows how long,” he countered with a grin of his own.
“Touché,” I grumbled as we fell into step next to each other and walked onto the field.
It was Monday morning—our conditioning practice started in two hours, and yet there we were. Getting a week pass so we could coach some kids who probably wouldn’t know what a goal was if it hit them in the ass.
The younger ones were fun, don’t get me wrong, some may even call them adorable—even with the runny noses and constant farting.
I just wasn’t feeling it.
That meant I wasn’t feeling inspiring because I wasn’t inspired. Because I was feeling jealous about Mack’s date with Jagger—and becaus
e she had barely answered my texts.
And maybe because every time Jagger pulled out his phone I wondered if he was texting her—I wondered if he was winning.
And then I felt like an ass for even thinking it.
She’d done nothing except be an easy target when it came to my grief. I wasn’t sure why it was finally clicking for me, just how much I blamed her for my father’s death.
Maybe it was a hard look at jealousy, staring its ugly face down and realizing that if I didn’t do something, I was going to end up alone, without the only girl in my entire life who’d ever made me feel truly alive.
How’s that for honesty?
“Who you texting?” I just had to ask as I leaned over Jagger’s arm.
He shoved me away with his elbow. “Do you mind?”
I spread my arms wide. “Just a question.”
“Dipshits.” Matt made his way over to us with two Starbucks cups. He was wearing sweats.
I frowned. “Are you depressed, man?”
“Huh?”
“Yeah.” Jagger took one coffee. I took the other. “What’s with the sweats? Get dumped?”
Matt just glared between us. “You know what I need? A pet.”
“Because you’re depressed?” I added knowingly.
Jagger elbowed me. “He doesn’t even have gel in his hair.”
“A nice pet,” Matt continued, “that almost lacks the will to live—I need that level of lazy so I feel like I’m actually adequate at taking care of things.” He sighed. “No, I’m not depressed, I’m just here to help because I’m a good manager and a good friend. Seriously, if you looked up saint in the dictionary, my face would be smack dab next to Mother Teresa.”
I took a few steps back and looked up. “Huh, I could have sworn I felt lightning.”
“I heard thunder,” Jagger added.
“God forbid you two ever become friends. I’d need a sedative,” Matt grumbled. “The kids should be here any minute. Be nice, be inspirational, and try not to curse.”
I laughed. “Yeah, okay, we won’t curse.” I made air quotes. “Matt, we know how to do our shit.”
“Yeah, fuck, let us handle our damn community service like professionals!”
“Hell!” I said while Matt groaned into his hands. “Those little bastards won’t know what hit them, huh, Jagger?”
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