Kickin' It (Red Card #2)(15)

“Darius.” Matt’s tone changed. “All I’m saying is you owe me a favor, and because nobody else will even touch this girl—” He sighed. “Look, I’m desperate. I have to get her another interview and tryout with at least one club.” Matt leaned against the railing. “She’s not that bad.” His face said I was actually that bad, and for some reason it hurt more than it should.

I felt myself start to become smaller, the way some people do when they don’t want to be noticed, and I hated it. I hated it so much. That was part of what made me angry and always ready to lash out.

Because I had never been that girl before last year.

I once believed I was born to be brave and free.

I once believed I was born of fire.

And all it took was one person to steal that fire and leave me with nothing but ash.

I drew in a deep breath and decided to let him have his privacy. I knew I couldn’t take it personally. To a lot of people I was that emotionally unhinged girl who attacked her coach on national TV, not exactly what you want on your team.

I wasn’t sure what I was thinking in coming here.

That he’d be able to perform a miracle?

Defeat slammed down so hard that my shoulders ached.

“The stats prove it. Let me just work on the rest of the package.” Matt’s voice hit me just as I touched the sliding glass door. His laughter sounded a bit cruel. “I know, I know, but we can’t all be my sister, alright?”

I flinched.

“She just needs a little bit of polishing.” Another laugh. “Yeah, maybe some anger management, or at least a tip on how to bring in sponsorships that don’t reference dog food, am I right?”

He laughed harder.

Anger and sadness fought each other as I clutched the door handle, unable to let go as his voice floated over the pounding of my pissed-off heart.

“Thanks, Darius. Tell the wife I said hello!” Another hard laugh. “No, no, I promise she’ll be every bit as good as the hype.” When he hung up, I didn’t miss the way he uttered, “At least I hope.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn’t look at him and couldn’t trust myself not to either cry or jump to his balcony and hold his body over the edge with a cruel smile on my face, all the while asking him what animal I looked like in that moment before I ripped his pretty smile off.

Maybe that was a little harsh.

Maybe the anger-management comment wasn’t far from the mark.

“What team?” I finally found my voice.

“Damn it!” He didn’t hide his irritation. I heard stomping, didn’t see it, my eyes still closed and all that. “What the hell are you doing outside my office?”

“I was outside the living room, big difference, and I was taking in some fresh air.” I finally turned and opened my eyes. “What team?”

“How much did you hear?” His eyes flickered from the door to my face. I couldn’t get a read on anything except that his posture was tense and his face looked anything but apologetic from the strong line of his jaw to the eyes that seemed to look past my soul toward something darker, something locked up forever.

He was the sort of man that wanted to see a person’s heart, understand how it worked, and ask you to trust him.

But he wasn’t the sort of man a woman trusted.

He was just like everyone else.

A chameleon.

He was who he needed to be when he needed to be it.

And in that moment, I hated him more than I should.

“What. Team?” I finally hissed out a third time.

“Seattle Reign.” He grinned like I should be happy, when all I felt was despair that the one team I’d really wanted needed to be bribed. “Wow, no ‘Thank you, Matt’? ‘You’re the best agent in the world because you got me a tryout with the Reign’? Everyone’s first choice right now? What an incredible opportunity to not fuck something up.”

“He owed you a favor,” I said lamely, voice hoarse. Was I really that bad?

“Doesn’t matter,” he clipped harshly. “What matters is—” He frowned. “What matters is you need to stop wearing your ponytails so tight, it makes you look angry all the time, and if you don’t stop scowling at me I’m going to force Willow to go show you a true Botox experience.”

“Why use her when I could just ask you?” I answered sweetly.

He glared. “Everything you see is real, Cheetah Girl.”

I gawked. “Who told you?”

“Willow did a very extensive report, at least the early report she sent before I got on that last phone call was”—he smirked—“enlightening.”

Heat rushed into my cheeks while my brain basically screamed, Upper hand, get it back, fast! He’s your opponent, don’t give him the damn ball! Steal it back!

But I had nothing except, “At least I was good enough to get a nickname.”

He stopped smiling immediately. “Low blow for someone who holds your future in his hands, don’t you think?”

“I’ve heard that before.” It was out before I could stop myself.

Confusion marred his face. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” I cleared my throat. Just then, I was saved by the doorbell. “I got it!”