Kickin' It (Red Card #2)(12)

And fast.

I groaned into my pillow and hit my hands against the mattress.

Too many uncertainties.

Yet another man who held my future in his hands.

Focus.

What was I good at?

Running plays, loving the game with all my heart, and getting into fights when people got in my way.

Well, that and attracting all the wrong sorts of attention.

How the hell was I supposed to get on a team when I couldn’t even manage to make it through a dinner without wanting to either lash out or pass out on the spot from an anxiety attack?

I threw the covers off, grabbed my Nikes and some running shorts, and pulled on a baby-blue sports bra. My AirPods were waiting on the nightstand, and my phone was already in my hand ready to go when I started the music.

I sucked in a breath through my nose, exhaled, and then nodded my head to the beat as my feet took me out of the guest room, down the hall, and out the door.

Just me and the road.

Freedom.

My feet pounded the pavement as my breathing quickened. This was what I needed, an escape, a bit of suffering to remind myself why I was putting myself at Matt’s mercy.

I focused on the job.

On my game.

On my breathing.

On everything but the fact that his eyes haunted me with each step, just like his smug smirk over dinner and his disdain at being forced to work with me.

I stopped and shook my head as Post Malone’s latest pounded in my eardrums.

It didn’t matter.

None of it did.

Because I wouldn’t quit.

Ever.

I was going to make it.

Or die trying.

I kept running with a smile on my face.

Make the world your oyster.

And if that doesn’t work?

Make it your bitch.



An hour later, I stumbled into the house, sweaty and ready to eat anything and everything including the first human who spoke to me. My stomach grumbled as I pulled out my pods and set them on the counter along with my phone. Frowning, I glanced around the dark house.

Did Matt sleep in?

Was he a night owl?

My jaw clenched.

Did it matter what he did with his time?

I gave my head a shake and made my way toward the bathroom. I was in the process of peeling off my sweaty bra just as I pushed open the door and looked in the shower.

The shower that was on.

In the bathroom that was occupied.

Please let it be Willow. Please let it be Willow.

Why the heck wasn’t the door locked?

Slowly, I backed away and was halfway out the door when the shower door opened and out stepped Matt in all his naked, tanned glory.

I took another step backward.

“Morning, Parker!” Willow chirped, making her way down the hall with a cup of coffee in hand as she headed back out to the pool house, oblivious to my red face and the fact that I was halfway in the bathroom with her naked and, by the looks of it, pissed-off brother.

I gulped. “Sorry, I didn’t—the door wasn’t locked, and I was—”

Matt’s eyes heated.

And that’s when I realized I was holding my bra in my hands.

I was topless.

A good way, some might say the best way, to start a business relationship. Hah. I winced and then tried covering my breasts with the black scraps, only to do it upside down and just show him more nipple.

His jaw clenched.

I stepped back. “Really, just . . . really sorry.”

At least his towel had made it around his hips.

“Shut the door,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Yup!” I moved back and slammed it closed and stared at it a few seconds while my breathing evened.

Something hit a wall. I exhaled roughly and tiptoed back into my room, then waited in a weird tense silence for footsteps down the hall. He passed my room without looking in.

I hated that it bothered me.

That after seeing nipple he wouldn’t even really acknowledge that said nipples belonged to me.

Why did it even matter?

I grabbed my things and dashed back into the bathroom. I turned the shower on just in time to peel my sweaty shorts down and bare my ass toward the very door that then swung open, revealing Matt.

He just stood there.

My heart slammed against my ribs. No . . . it’s not like before.

“What are you doing!” I yelled when I found my words. A navy-blue bath towel hung from the rack a few feet away. I glanced at it but forced myself to meet his gaze, to keep his eyes locked on mine. Not the same, not the same. Don’t back down. Never back down again.

He held up one finger, two fingers, three, and then he tilted his head and grinned smugly. “The amount of seconds you stared before shutting the door. Feels invasive, right?”

“It wasn’t locked!” I said for the second time, my voice wavering.

He rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t lock.”

“Why are you still standing there?” Unable to stop myself, I snatched the towel and covered myself.

He grinned. “Tit for tat.”

“Leave!” I ground out.

“Leaving.” And then he turned one last time. “Walk in on me again, and I’m brushing my teeth while you pee, got it?”

Anger rose, threatened to take over the situation, but I pushed it back with sarcasm. “Wow, living dangerously now, hmm?” My hairbrush was on the floor next to the wall. Ah, that was the object he threw. “Oh, and I’ll be sure to put my brush away next time.”