Homecoming King

by Jami Albright

  “There’s no shame if it wasn’t filled out correctly, Tiger. Those sorts of forms are very complicated. They can be really hard to understand. No one blames you, dear. We all think you’re as pretty as ever, but—”

  “Everything is under control for the meeting, Collette. If there’s nothing else, then I should get back to work. Thank you, bye.” I disconnect before she has a chance to answer, and I swear smoke is shooting from my ears.

  It’s always the same old thing. Pretty little Tiger without a brain in her head.

  “Thanks for nothing, you stupid quarterback.” I refuse to say his name. He who shall not be named is a jerk to the nth degree, and if I saw him now, I’d kick him in the nuts. How dare he turn his back on this town?

  I hear the front door open and close. The tile guy must be getting an early start this morning. I grab my coffee and go to meet him. “Stan, is that you?”

  No reply.

  I round the corner and run headlong into the Voldemort of Ryder, Texas.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” we say at the same time.

  Did I conjure him with my thoughts? Is he an apparition? I have no idea, but I probably need to lay off the Harry Potter movie marathons.

  I step back and place my hand on my stomach. For some ungodly reason, it flips like a gymnast gunning for Olympic gold, which only pisses me off more. “I asked you a question. Why are you here?”

  Three

  Cash

  “This is my house.” What is Tiger Lyons doing in my house?

  A dark cloud passes over her beautiful face. “You have the money to buy Wayland Estate, but … you’re unbelievable.”

  Are you kidding me? This chick still thinks I’m not good enough. “Yes, I have the money. I’m not that King kid from the poor side of town anymore, Kitty Cat.”

  “Oh, believe me, I’m well aware what side of the tracks you’re from, Bullet.”

  She calls me by the nickname I’ve had since college because of how hard, straight, and accurately I throw a football. It’s usually used as a compliment but coming from her lips it sounds like the foulest curse around. “What are you doing in my house?”

  “I work here.”

  “As what—the hostess?”

  Her arms cross under her spectacular breasts, and believe me, I’m none too happy that her breasts are distracting me right now. Thankfully, I quickly forget about her chest when I read the logo stitched there—Lewis Construction.

  “I’m the project manager, you jerk.”

  “Of what?”

  She spreads her arms wide and lifts a brow like I don’t have a lick of sense. “This renovation.”

  I’m aware that I should understand what she’s saying, but I don’t. If she’s the project manager, then who’s living in the pool house?

  Oh, hell no. “You’re not living here.”

  Her arms return to their defensive position and cross her chest like a shield. “Um, yeah, I am.”

  “Sorry, Kitty Cat, but you’re about to be kicked out on your ass.” I’m not sure why I’m being so mean, but with the convenience store incident, and my mom ditching my calls, and the perplexing interaction with the realtor, who refused to look me in the eye and only spoke when absolutely necessary, I’m pissy as hell.

  Her full lips lift on one side, and it’s not sweet or seductive. The effect is downright cannibalistic. I’ve seen friendlier looks on a three-hundred-pound defensive lineman out for blood. There’s no sign of the sweet high school girl who listened to my sad tale about my pathetic life, who brushed my hair from my face and called me brave after I told her about standing up to my dad when he hurt my mom. I cannot stand that she holds my secrets. I gave her a piece of me when I told her those things, and seeing her again reinforces what I’ve known but buried deep, deep in my soul—she still has possession of it.

  I want it back.

  “Check your contract, football player,” she says. “I’m to remain here until this project is complete. I just spoke to Donny, and he told me that was clearly stated in the agreement. And who the hell buys a house sight unseen? That’s a real smart move, by the way.”

  I pull my phone from my pocket and wave it at her like that’ll somehow drive home my point. “We’ll see about that, missy.” Missy? What is wrong with me? I’ve now turned into the disgruntled principal monitoring study hall. “Nice billboard, by the way. The mustache is a really great touch. You might want to see someone for that condition.”

  She snorts and rolls her eyes. “Idiot.”

  I am acting like an idiot but can’t seem to stop. Seeing her and knowing she’s right has cut the cord on my self-control. I should’ve read the contract. I did stupidly buy the house sight unseen because I wanted to impress—

  Never mind why I bought it. It’s mine, and her being here is excavating all kinds of nasty feelings that I thought long buried beneath four all-American awards, nine Pro Bowl appearances, a Super Bowl ring, and more money than I can ever spend.

  Her hand goes behind her ear. “What’s that? Nothing to say? Cat got your tongue?”

  My eyes rake over her. “Is that an invitation?” I can see the moment the offensive gesture hits its mark.

  “I’ve never offered you a thing, jerk face, and you damn well know it. Regardless of what you told the whole school.”

  Even though her face is all hard lines and outrage, she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And by their very definition, overalls are not sexy, but they become something different when they’re covering her delicious curves, curves she didn’t have twelve years ago. She still gets to me, and that only makes me angrier.

  “I wonder how fast my lawyer can find a loophole in that contract, so I can get rid of you.”

  She steps into my space and pats my chest. “Good luck with that, superstar. Meanwhile, some of us have real work to do, work that doesn’t involve running around in a pair of tights tossing a ball to our buddies.” Her head cocks to the side. “But since you probably don’t understand that kind of life, I’ll play a game with you. Truth or Dare?”

  I widen my stance and cross my arms over my chest. “Truth.”

  “You’re a colossal ass, Cash King. That’s my truth.” With a flip of her braid over her shoulder, she marches to the upstairs.

  Something in my gut revolts at the idea of her using that game against me. “Not so fast, Kitty Cat.”

  I can practically see the irritation slither up her spine. She turns in a slow semi-circle and glares at me. “Stop calling me that.” Her gritted teeth shred the words as she speaks them.

  “I don’t think I will.” I know I’m being a dick, but I still can’t seem to stop. “I have to run an errand, but when I get back, I want a complete accounting of what is going on here and what you plan to do to get this project wrapped up as soon as possible. But first, show me the house.” I rub my chin like a thought just came to me. “Maybe I won’t try to get rid of you. I like the idea of bossing you around.”

  The flaming hatred shooting from her eyes should incinerate me. Finally, she spreads her arms wide. “Here’s the house.”

  “Nice.” I know I did a shitty thing to her in high school, but that was twelve years ago. Her hostility seems over the top. Then again, so does mine. “What exactly is your job again?”

  “Not catering to a spoiled football player. I have real work to do, so show yourself around.” Her steel toe boots stomp up the remaining stairs. That’s another thing I’m not happy about. She even makes them look sexy.

  A furious growl is all I hear before she disappears out of sight, and I can’t help the chuckle that works its way up my throat. It’s the first time I’ve laughed in months. One injury after another has successfully sucked the enjoyment out of my life and out of football, which are virtually the same thing.

  Who knew a run-in with the former homecoming queen could lighten my mood so much? But just because arguing with Tiger is entertaining doesn’t mean I want her living here.
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br />   Four

  Tiger

  “Got something I can destroy?” I stomp into one of the upstairs bedrooms where my crew chief, James Miles, is working.

  He glances over to me. “I don’t know.” Then he cuts his eyes to the other men who are around. “I wouldn’t want you to break a nail, pretty girl.” The laughter from his buddies isn’t mean-spirited. This pretty girl thing has been a running joke for more than a year.

  “Ha-ha.” I hold up my hands and wiggle my fingers with my short nails. “No risk of that.” I pick up a sledgehammer that’s resting against the wall. “Put me to work.”

  James points at the sledgehammer. “They teach you how to use one of those things in beauty queen school?” More laughter.

  I rest the head of the mallet on the ground, place my palm on the end of the handle like a cane, and pop a hip. “Nope, but they did teach me to smile when idiots say stupid things to me.” I flash him my biggest and brightest smile.

  There’s a beat of silence, then the whole room cracks up.

  Too bad I couldn’t employ that strategy with the jerk downstairs.

  “Good one. I see what you did there.”

  The laughter that fills the space is easy and harmonious and the best thing about this job. These guys could give two figs about what I look like or what I used to be. All that matters to them is that I do my job in such a way that it doesn’t make theirs harder.

  James hooks his thumb over his shoulder. “Come with me. The cabinets in the master bath need to be taken out.”

  I salute and follow him down the hall.

  “Got some issues you need to work out?”

  “Yep.”

  “That bad?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Brad?”

  I blow a stray hair from my face. “Men in general, present company excluded.”

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  I heft the hammer. “Demolish first, talk later.”

  His yellow teeth peek between his lips. It’s only a slight parting of his mouth, but with James, that’s as good as a belly laugh. “I understand.” He reaches into his carpenter’s apron and withdraws a pair of safety glasses. “Here, you’ll need these.”

  “You don’t need them?”

  He shakes his head, and his gray shoulder length hair sways back and forth. “I need to sort out these measurements.”

  I take the glasses and head into the bathroom. I roll my shoulders to loosen the tight muscles after my run-in with Cash. Holy hell. Cash King owns this house. “What am I going to do?”

  “What?” James asks from the other room.

  “Nothing. Just thinkin’ out loud,” I yell back.

  “Think quieter. I’m doing math in here.”

  “You got it.” I slip on the glasses, pull a pair of work gloves from my pocket, and get to smashing.

  I swing at the bathroom counter like James taught me, using my legs and not my back. The vibration of the hammer hitting wood zings up my arms. Sweat pops out around my hairline. Soon the back of my shirt is wet and sticking to me. I love every minute of this work. It proves my body is tough and made for more than how it looks.

  This reno is a lot like my life. I’ve had to smash it apart to build it into something I’m proud of. Something better, stronger, that reflects who I’ve always been on the inside. The part of me that only a few people have cared to see or get to know.

  I swing the hammer again and take out another section of cabinet and drawers. If I’m honest, that’s why I’m so upset and why a small, broken piece of my heart has always belonged to Cash King. We grew so close while working on that science project, we both shared things that mattered, and I believed that he saw more than what was on the outside. Something in his eyes every time he listened to me talk told me he did. I’ve never experienced that kind of soul-searching stare since.

  But I was wrong. He hurt and disappointed me when he started that vicious rumor, and he’s done it all over again by not giving us the grant to save the rec center.

  When people show you who they are, believe them the first time.

  My favorite Maya Angelou quote shoots through my brain. She was right, and Cash King has certainly shown me who he is more than once. The problem is I can’t get the image of a thirteen-year-old boy standing up to his abusive father, then driving his battered mother to a women’s shelter to save her life out of my head.

  After twenty minutes of swinging the sledgehammer, the counter is in ruins around me, and I’m less stabby than when I first walked into the room. Thank goodness. I still have the rec center meeting tonight to deal with, and frankly, I have no clue what we do next. You can only have so many bake sales in one small town to raise money.

  I wipe my forehead on my sleeve and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. It’s the first time I’ve seen my full image in a while.

  The breath whooshes from my lungs. I knew I’d put on a few pounds. I’d intended to put on weight when I left Brad. I was far too thin before and never liked the way I looked. But I like what I see in the mirror now.

  I look healthy and strong. In the midst of all the insecurity and uncertainty of how things will turn out for me, I’m learning to handle my life … mostly.

  “Nice job.” James leans against the bathroom door with his arms crossed over his barrel chest.

  “Thanks.”

  “Wanna talk about it now?”

  I lean the sledgehammer against the wall and squeeze past him into the bedroom. “No, but I probably should.” The air I draw in through my nose smells of new construction, the fragrance of my life. “Cash King bought Wayland Estate today.”

  “Damn.”

  “Yep.”

  “You alright?”

  I gesture to the demolished bathroom.

  “So, not okay.” James knows about the grant denial and how upset I’ve been about it. Plus, there’s the little matter of the crappy rumor Cash started. Hell, the whole town knew about that within hours of it happening. “Want to smash some more shit?”

  I check my watch. “Yes, but then I need to get ready for the meeting at the community center.”

  “Any idea what you’re going to do to raise the money?”

  My hands go to my hips, and I stare out the window into the backyard. “No. But I’d do just about anything to get the money, because without it, we can’t pay the lease on the land or for the improvements, and the community center can’t stay open.”

  It breaks my heart to think that this town could lose a place that brings everyone together. When kids and adults are at the rec center taking classes, playing a sport, or attending a meeting, there isn’t any Ryder East or Ryder West. They’re just people in a community interacting and getting to know one another.

  James squeezes my shoulder. “You’ll figure something out, Tiger.”

  “I hope you’re right, James. I hope you’re right.”

  Five

  Cash

  I show myself through the deconstructed living area of my new house to the kitchen and pull up Donny Lewis’s contact on my phone. I’m glad I put it in when I signed the papers to the house. He answers in three rings.

  “This is Donny.”

  “Hey, Donny, it’s Cash King.”

  “Cash, everything alright with the house?” He sounds like a man who just got a lot of my money.

  The afternoon sun glints off the shiny new stainless steel appliances in the nearly finished kitchen. I rub my forehead to ease the stress headache building behind my eyes. “No, not really.”

  “What’s wrong?” The concern in his voice should be an indication that my next statement is ridiculous, but I keep going.

  “It’s about Tiger.”

  “What about her? Is she alright?”

  “Yeah, yeah. She’s fine. It’s just that I didn’t know who the project manager was when I signed the papers to buy the house.”

  “And that’s a problem, why?” The easygoing tone is no longer in his voice.
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br />   “She’ll be living here until the project is done. I’m not happy about that, Donny, and I’d like her replaced.”

  “Really? Has she done something to warrant you wanting to fire her, and in essence, fire my company? Because if she doesn’t stay, then I’ll pull all my men from the job.”

  What? “No, no, I don’t want that. It’s …”

  I can’t be around her without feeling like a humiliated eighteen-year-old kid with an inferiority complex.

  She’s a reminder of all I’ve tried to leave behind.

  She’s too tempting and will throw me off my game.

  Even in my own head, it all sounds ridiculous, except maybe that last bit. That could be 100 percent true.

  Donny blows out a breath. “Is this about what happened in high school?”

  “No.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Yeah, my old friend doesn’t believe me either. Which is incredibly embarrassing considering I’m a grown-ass man. “I’m honestly not sure she’s the right person for the job. This house is for my mom, so it’s very important that things be done correctly. I mean, how much does she actually know about construction and managing projects of this size?”

  “More than you.” There is so much dryness in his words that I’m surprised my eardrums aren’t chapped.

  A burst of laughter comes from upstairs. “I don’t need her screwing around and distracting the other workers. I wouldn’t think you’d like it either.”

  Donny’s bark of laughter shoots through the phone. “Screwing around with the men.” More laughter. “Thanks, man, now I’ll have that image in my head for the rest of the day.”

  “I don’t know why you think it’s so funny. It’s not a very professional way for your employees to act.”

  “First of all, if you think Tiger has anything sexual going on with any of the men, then you’ve taken one too many hits to the head. And second of all, I resent the implication that me or my employees are anything but professional. You’ve been there all of an hour? You have no clue how we work.”