Kickin' It (Red Card #2)(11)

Or maybe I was just feeling sorry for myself because I had two college graduates putting their toothbrushes all over the place!

Yeah, I was going to go with that.

“Because,” she said in a sweet voice as she gripped my hands and squeezed, “you should be settling down and getting married. I mean look at Slade.”

I did a double take. Had I said any of that out loud?

“Man, look at you!” She slugged me in the shoulder. “You look like I just told you to take up synchronized swimming!”

“Do not,” I argued.

“Your eyes bugged out of your head like you needed an oxygen mask. So yeah, good to know that fear of commitment is still strong in you.”

I scowled. “It’s not that. Trust me, you’re not even close.”

She nodded slowly and then took a seat on the couch, pulling a blanket over her lap. “I see, so when was your last serious relationship?”

I opened my mouth but she held out her hand to stop me.

“With a female who wasn’t your client,” she added with a knowing grin.

I swallowed and then shrugged. “I date some.”

“Define ‘some.’”

“I’ve gone on a few dates.” Lame. How many dates that weren’t business dates, though? Or networking dates? Or meetings?

I tugged at my shirt and licked my lips.

“Yeah, okay, I’m setting you up.”

“The hell you will!” I roared.

“Do you want to die alone?” she countered.

“Seriously? You come into my house, eat my food, beg for me to give you a job, and after one day I’m suddenly dying alone?”

“At least you don’t have cats . . . yet.” She winked.

I just rolled my eyes. “Stay out of my love life, Willow.”

“Or lack thereof!” She cackled as I paced in front of her, then I grabbed a throw pillow and flung it in her general direction as hard as I could.

“I’m happy.” I spread my arms wide. “I party with celebrities and athletes on a daily basis. I get to summer in the Hamptons—”

She made a gagging motion.

I glared. “The right girl will come along. I’m just . . . patient, not because I’m lonely but because I’m happy.”

“You’re patient because you’re . . . happy?” She narrowed her eyes just as Parker walked into the living room and took a seat next to her.

Surrounded by ovaries, wasn’t I?

“He’s happy?” Parker just had to ask in that snarky little voice with her hair—I gulped and did a double take.

Out. Of. The. Ponytail.

My eyes burned as I watched her sigh and then pull her hair around her neck and inspect it for what I could only assume was split ends.

Even that seemed sexy.

She had shots of caramel and red in her auburn hair, how had I not noticed that?

Or the thick, natural waves that fell past her breasts.

Shit, now I was noticing her breasts.

Does no one wear a bra anymore?

“No,” Parker said drily. “Burned those during the parade, right, Willow?”

Must have said that out loud. I grimaced. “And to answer your question,”—I addressed her with a sternness that reminded me of my father and made me simultaneously want to strangle myself—“yes, I’m happy.”

“Are you really happy if you have to convince others that you’re happy?” She tilted her head, dropped her hair against her chest, and crossed her arms.

“Sleep.” I shook my head. “I need to sleep. Try not to stay up too late.”

Fuck. It was out before I could stop it.

Try not to stay up too late?

I hesitated, waiting for a rebuttal.

But both girls just shared a smile.

I glanced one last time at her hair, at her smile, at the easy way she talked with Willow like she didn’t need a wall to protect her.

And then I shook my head as I walked back toward the master bedroom and stared at myself in the mirror.

I was happy.

Wasn’t I?

I had everything a man could want.

Everything.

Then why did I feel defeated?





Chapter Six PARKER

I was so nervous I couldn’t sleep.

He said Willow would draw up my contract in the morning. My contract. Between Matt Kingston and me.

Matt. Kingston.

The same Matt Kingston whose eyes I couldn’t look away from last night. The guy who oozed sexuality like it was an extension of his expensive cologne. The guy that I caught staring at me with such heat I pretended to be staring at the tips of my hair. Since when have I ever cared about my hair?

He was rude.

Often irritated, if I was to judge him based on the last twenty-four hours.

But he was also something else.

Really damn good-looking.

And rich.

And successful.

And one of the best agents, if not the best, in the sports world.

I squeezed my eyes shut as my heart thudded against my chest. I had to be up in a half hour if I was going to get a run in before breakfast.

Willow usually slept in until nine.

I wasn’t sure what Matt’s schedule was, and I berated myself when I realized I wanted to know if he got up early and worked out. If he still missed the game, hungered for it in the way I would every day of my life if I didn’t get signed to a team.