“For starters, the jungle outside could conceal a small elephant.”
“My lawnmower’s busted.”
“Fix it.”
“I will, just haven’t had time.”
“Pay someone.”
“To do something I can do? No way in frigging hell.” His chin jutted out and he crossed his muscular arms over his chest, drawing Kelsie’s eyes to his bulging biceps and the dusting of hair on his forearms. She licked her lips. He cleared his throat.
Kelsie’s head shot up. She’d been caught gawking. “Your shrubbery is taking your house by siege.”
“My trimmers need sharpening.”
“Let me guess—and you haven’t gotten around to it.”
“Nope.” He scratched his ample chest and leaned back in his chair, regarding her with hooded eyes, very sexy, hooded eyes, the kind a girl would expect to see in a bedroom. The stubborn set of his chin warned of more trouble to come.
“The boxes in the hallway?”
“Haven’t gotten around to unpacking.”
“The Harley in the parlor?”
“Need to rebuild the engine and—”
“You haven’t gotten around to it.” Kelsie buried her fingers in her hair and glared at him in frustration. Death by slow poisoning sounded good about now. His death, not hers. Hmmm. Then again…
“This is the perfect house for an intimate black-tie affair, after some cosmetic changes.”
“Intimate, huh?” His mouth turned up at the corners, a wolfish grin, which made her the lamb. “As in you and me?”
“And two hundred other people.”
“If that’s what you’re into, honey, I’m game.”
“You hate me,” she reminded him. He couldn’t have forgotten that one fact. Yet for a few short minutes, he’d been civil and almost friendly.
He frowned, as if he’d lost himself for a moment. His usual glower followed. His teasing brown eyes turned dark and grumpy. They were back on common ground.
“We need to hire a lawn and garden service, refurnish the rooms, and get a large dumpster delivered.”
“We aren’t doing a damn thing. I’m not holding a black-tie affair, a white-tie affair, or even a T-shirt affair. Understood? You want it cleaned up and all that other fancy crap, you take care of it. I’m not shelling out a penny for this bullshit. It’s bad enough I have to attend your classes, and you’re damn lucky I agreed to do that.” Zach was paying her back for his earlier loss of mind.
“I wasn’t aware you had any options.”
He shrugged. “I’m not holding a party.”
“Yes, you are.” She stared at her notes as if they mattered. He’d just hacked her future to pieces in a few sentences. No black-tie charity gala, no money for Kelsie, no business referrals, no nothing.
She met his eyes. His hard exterior softened a bit. “Hey, look, I know you think I’m being an ass, but I feel strongly about this. I’m not gonna compromise my principles to satisfy the owner’s spoiled brat daughter. This is who I am. If they don’t like it, tough.”
Easy for him to say. The roof over his head and food in his mouth didn’t depend on this gala. “I wasn’t aware you had a vote in this.”
“I never said I’d spend my own cash on this gala.”
She squared her shoulders and sat up straighter. Zach wasn’t making this easy. “Running a charity event of this caliber costs money.”
He dug in, his stubborn jaw jutting out even more. “I’m not spending money on the yard. It’ll be dark. They won’t see it anyway.”
Exasperated, Kelsie considered wrapping her fingers around his thick neck and squeezing. “Fine, I’ll do the work myself.”
“You? Are you effing kidding me? You wouldn’t know how to mow a lawn if it was artificial turf.”
“I’m quite handy, I’ll have you know.” Kelsie stood and gathered her stuff, vindicated by the incredulous expression on his masculine face. “I’ll be back in the morning, and you’ll have the lawnmower fixed.”
She hurried out the door before she came to her senses and begged for his help.
~ ~ ~ ~
Zach knelt in front of the lawnmower he’d dug out from under a pile of boxes in his garage. He didn’t enjoy doing stuff like this, but he’d be damned if he’d spend his hard-earned money on something he could do himself. Call him a tightwad, and he’d gladly answer that call. Except when it came to this house. He’d paid a small fortune for this place.
From the time Zach was old enough to know other people didn’t live like he did, he swore if he ever got rich, he’d never be one of those pompous assholes with fancy furniture in a house a guy couldn’t get comfortable in. Money would never change him. And this beauty queen with a stick up her butt wouldn’t change him either.
Zach loved his house. He’d promised his baby brother that someday they’d have a house like this, put down roots, and never move again. This was his forever home. He had it all planned out, and Zach didn’t like it when anyone messed with his carefully laid-out steps. One: Win the Super Bowl and get a ring. Two: Retire. Three: Get hired for that UW coaching vacancy coming up next summer. Four: Get married and raise a family and grow old all in the same house.
The minute the real estate agent showed him the old Victorian, he knew it was the house, the one he’d imagined when he escaped to that safe place in his head whenever his father beat the crap out of him.
When Kelsie and her friends had humiliated him, he’d sworn he’d show them all one day. They’d kicked him and taken him as far down as a man could get. He hadn’t even been a man. He’d been a seventeen-year-old kid with a murdered brother and mother and an abusive father in prison. Memories of their cruelty and devious planning twisted his insides into a mass of pain. If only he’d stayed home that night—
Zach gave the wrench one final vicious twist, wiped his greasy hands on a towel, and stood up. He righted the lawnmower, then added gas and checked the oil. Kelsie would need more than a regular lawn mower to tackle this lawn, but a vengeful part of him would enjoy watching her try.
A twinge of guilt tweaked at his conscience. Revenge wasn’t nearly as fun as he’d thought it’d be. He didn’t like the idea of kicking Kelsie while she was down, even though she’d shown him no mercy in the past. Somehow that made him no better than her and her friends, even if she deserved his hatred.
Okay, buddy, you’re getting soft. Mean girls like her don’t stay down for long. She’ll use and abuse the next poor sucker, and that poor sucker is probably you. She sees dollar signs when she looks at you. Big, fat green ones.
And what did Zach see when he looked at her?
God help him, he wanted to see a mean bitch who no longer held the power to reduce his knees to mush or the beauty to turn every male head in any room, especially his. And he did, most of the time, but seeing her that way was getting harder.
She was playing him.
Zach yanked the starter cord. The damn thing broke and catapulted him several feet, causing him to slide on his ass across the yard and into a thorny bush. Muttering several curses, he clambered to his feet.
Damn it. He glanced at his watch. She’d be here any minute. As much as he’d like to witness her struggles, his practical side warned him to stay clear of the woman. He’d planned on being gone before she showed up for a multitude of reasons, most of which he chose not to explore. He fought his way through the dense weeds and overgrown bushes to the side of the house to the open garage door. Somewhere in this mess he might find an extra lawnmower cord. Zach dug through box after box, throwing the contents onto the already littered concrete floor.
Then he caught the whiff of magnolias on a summer breeze followed by soft footsteps. His entire body snapped to attention and his dick saluted.
Zach clutched the spare lawnmower cord in his hand, took a deep breath, and turned around. Kelsie stood a few feet away, gaping at the carnage in the garage. Her smooth brow furrowed as she clutched a tiny dog close to her chest.
Zach wanted t
o be that dog, so he could bite her, of course, no other reason.
She pursed her lips and pinched her nose as if something smelled bad. Probably him. Old feelings of inadequacy and doubt threaded through him.
“Obviously you don’t park cars in here.”
“Obviously.”
The little dog bared its teeth at him and growled.
Kelsie tapped its nose and uttered, “Shush.” The animal focused on him with suspicion, watching his every move with its beady little black eyes.
“What the hell is that?”
“This is Scranton. He’s a toy poodle, comes from a long line of champions. Very well bred.”
And Zach wasn’t. Yeah, he got the message. The dog had better bloodlines than Zach. By far. “I prefer real dogs. Big dogs. Dogs who can chase balls, retrieve ducks, or ride in the back of a pickup.”
“I’m not surprised.” The smile in her voice burrowed right into his heart. Their eyes met. Hers were teasing and amused, and her nose had come down from its lofty perch. He liked her like this. Like a real person. A nice, approachable person. He took a step closer, drawn to her by an invisible magnet of mutual attraction. Scranton snarled and ruined the mood. He didn’t know whether to thank or strangle the poodle.
Zach turned away. “I’ll have the mower fixed and be out of your way in a jiff.” He looked her up and down. “You’re doing lawn work in that?” Not that she didn’t look damn fine in those formfitting clothes, but they’d be more appropriate in a Calvin Klein ad than in his overgrown backyard. His heart thumped madly, and try as he might, he couldn’t convince any part of his body how wrong this woman would be for him.
Kelsie looked down at her skinny jeans, leather flats, and cotton shirt. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”
“You’ve seen my yard.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Suit yourself.” He touched the brim of an imaginary hat and grinned at his good manners, mentally patting himself on the back.
“Well, what do you know? You can teach an old linebacker new plays.” Kelsie rewarded him with one heck of a dazzling smile, like lightning hitting a tin roof. He puffed up like a bandy rooster, quite pleased with himself for earning a rare compliment. He wanted to duplicate that smile, to see it light up her face again and again. Hell, more than that, he wanted to touch those full red lips. Just a touch to see if they were as soft as he’d dreamed. He stepped forward, raised his hand—
Kelsie didn’t blink, didn’t move, except for a fleeting wrinkle of her brow in confusion, as if uncertain about his intentions. Zach ducked his head, as the heat rose right up the tips of his ears. He headed back to the lawnmower, and she tagged along. He wished she’d stay away, let him get this chore done, so he could get the hell out of there with what little pride he still possessed.
“You need to let things go.”
He turned to face her. “Such as?”
“Me.”
“Would you trust you if you were me?”
She tapped her index finger against her plump lower lip. His throat went dry. “I suppose not, but people change.”
“Not in my experience.” She hadn’t been there that night, hadn’t watched her brother fight for every breath, struggle to survive, and fail.
If she had it tough now, well, karma was a bitch.
“So? You haven’t changed either.” She leveled an accusing gaze at him.
“Money will never change me, make me someone I’m not.”
“Everyone has room for improvement.”
“Even you?”
She dipped her head then looked at him through lowered lashes. “Especially me. I know you have good reason not to trust me or even like me, but maybe if we work together, we can achieve our mutual goals in the most painless and expedient way possible.”
“You don’t have any idea how much of a reason I have.” Zach regarded her for a moment. Once she’d been the princess of his dreams. Only she wasn’t a fairy princess. She was an evil witch disguised as a princess.
“Zach, I’m so sorry about high school. So very sorry. I didn’t understand how cruel I was because I was too selfish to see how much I hurt you. You seemed so big, so strong, so invincible, while I was a screwed-up, insecure mess, needing my friends’ approval.” She clutched the dog closer, as if it were her protection. Her deep blue eyes shone with sincerity, but she’d always been an excellent actress. She blinked back tears. “I’m so very, very sorry. If I could only change that night—”
“You fucking have no clue how much I’ve wanted to change that night. Drop it.” He jerked away, desperate to put some distance between them and build the walls higher. Very few people in his life had ever hurt him as much as she had. He wouldn’t go down that road again. The brief flash of regret in her eyes almost undid him, but he barricaded his heart against her. “Look, I’ll read your book and learn your lessons, but I draw the line there. I’m not going to change who I am or what my place looks like for a bunch of rich people who show up and drink my alcohol and eat my food for free.”
“It’s for charity.”
“What charity?”
“The homeless, including veterans, families, the mentally ill. She calls it Hearts for Homeless. It’s Veronica’s pet charity. She sponsors this gala every year.”
Homeless families? Indecision paralyzed him. He almost caved, said fine, he’d cooperate. Instead, Zach stood, pulled the cord on the lawnmower several times until it started with a huge belch of black smoke and a racket loud enough to wake the dead. Kelsie jumped back, and Scranton yelped.
With a grimace, Zach bowed. “Your chariot awaits, madam.”
Then he got the hell out of there.
~ ~ ~ ~
An hour later, Kelsie pulled the cord on the lawnmower, just like she’d seen Zach do. Once. Twice. Three times. Her shoulder ached and a cramp started in one butt cheek and traveled down her thigh right to her big toe. After several more body-wrenching attempts, the smoking beast roared to life. She lined it up with the sidewalk, the least overgrown area, and pushed, putting her whole body into it. The mower lurched forward. It bogged down in the first five feet and shuddered to a pitiful, grinding halt.
Sweat ran between her shoulder blades and down her spine. Her hair fell out of its once tidy ponytail. After almost throwing out her back, she managed to get the sorry thing started again. In another two feet, she hit something. Something big. A metallic bang and earsplitting screech sounded the mower’s final cry as it died a slow death after a few backfires and more ominous black smoke. Grabbing the cord, Kelsie yanked hard and almost dislocated her shoulder as the cord froze in mid-pull.
The beast had mowed its final blade of grass. She didn’t blame the poor mower. The task was daunting to woman and machine. She moved it aside and kicked at the grass with her feet, looking for what she’d hit. Several rusty pieces of metal lurked in the knee-high jungle.
With a defeated sigh, Kelsie plopped down on the creaky front steps, put her hands over her eyes, and cried. Flat-out broke down and cried. Scranton slipped off his comfy seat on the porch swing and crawled onto her lap. His wet tongue licked the hands covering her eyes. Kelsie only cried harder, deriving little comfort from her faithful companion of ten years.
She’d broken every fingernail, put a hole in the knee of her expensive jeans, and lost the battle—and probably the war—with the blackberries laying claim to the property. The danged thorny devils wrapped around her legs like boa constrictors, dug in their thorns, and refused to let go, branding her with nasty scratches on just about every part of her anatomy.
Kelsie wiped her eyes and sniffled. She looked up and surveyed the progress she hadn’t made. She wasn’t cut out for this, didn’t know the first thing about yard work or the various equipment and tools. The emotional deluge started again. Her shoulders slumped, and her eyes burned from the tears and smoke. She heard Scranton growl and glanced up.
“Hey, Kelsie?”
Kelsie rubbed her eyes and looked up a
t Zach. His hands were jammed in his pockets, and he looked ready to flee the first chance he got. His handsome face screwed into a puzzled frown—that same face she’d depended on in her first few years of high school when he’d been one of her most loyal friends. Until she’d sold her soul to do the bidding of the most popular girl in school, and the meanest, Marcela—never to be called Marcie. Marcela’s boyfriend hated Zach for knocking him out of the starting position, along with Mark, the quarterback and the man Kelsie eventually married. She’d tried to walk down the middle, but eventually they’d forced her to choose.
She’d been so awful to Zach. So very awful.
“Hey, are you okay?” He repeated the question, looked back toward his pickup, then yanked his hands out of his pockets and crouched on his haunches next to her.
“I’m okay.” She didn’t sound okay, even to her own ears. She sounded shaky and defeated.
“You didn’t get very far.”
“It was a homicide.” She hiccupped and stared down at her scratched and damaged hands.
“Excuse me?”
“The lawnmower. I murdered it.” She gazed at him through bleary eyes, certain her mascara had run. He managed a tentative smile, then reached out toward her, as if to pull her into his arms. If only he’d wrap his big, strong arms around her and pull her against the safety of his muscular body. He’d protect her, and she’d never worry about a thing again. Except this little fantasy happened to be just that—the fantasy of a delusional woman who wanted to believe this man who held his grudges near and dear to his heart would actually forgive her. As if reading her thoughts, he pulled his hands back and shoved them in his pockets. He stared at the grass-stained lawnmower covered with soot. “Well, it was old anyway.”
Kelsie glanced up, sniffling, knowing her eyes had to be red and puffy. She summoned the same inner strength that had brought her to Seattle in the first place. “I am doing this for you. I could use a little help.”
His face hardened, erasing all signs of sympathy for her plight. “Are you certain? Or are you doing it for you, just like always? I got roped into the class, but this stupid dance wasn’t my idea.”
Offsides: The Originals (Seattle Steelheads Book 3) Page 6