Kickin' It (Red Card #2)(21)

“Obviously you love soccer.” The first prick of the needle had my body feeling ill as I squeezed my eyes shut.

“He put me through a lot of training yesterday.”

“Who? Your new coach?” How much blood did the woman need?

“What? No.” I licked my dry lips. “I meant Matt.”

Ten vials? Was she taking ten vials?

I swayed a bit.

“Oh,” was her answer. “I mean, that’s interesting. In all my years, I’ve never seen Matt coach one of his clients. He typically pays a trainer . . . something about not getting involved in the specifics.”

My eyes shot open. “Really?” Why did that make my stomach drop? What was it about me? Or was he just that concerned I wasn’t going to make the cut?

“Maybe he just has a vested interest in the pretty ones.” I knew she meant it as a compliment, but the compliment went right past my ears, stabbed me in the heart, and whispered one thing and one thing only.

“That’s all you’ll ever be good for . . .”

The cruel smile.

The smell of peppermint and antiseptic.

“All done!” she announced, placing a blue bandage on my arm. “You can go now, careful as you get up, and for your trouble . . .” She produced a red lollipop that made me nostalgic all over again.

It was a disorienting feeling. Wishing for the past, hating my present, terrified of the future, holding a lollipop between my fingers like it was the only thing I could trust to be real.

I tugged the wrapper off and stuck it in my mouth before I burst into tears, and she squeezed my hand and said, “It’s going to be okay.”

I almost confessed it all.

Almost.

Nobody had gotten in.

And yet a friendly doctor almost did it with a short talk and a sucker.

Or maybe I was the sucker in this scenario.

I made my way back into the living room and found Matt freshly showered and on his phone again. Surprise, surprise.

“No! I said no! No parties and I don’t care whose birthday—” He growled. “Why do you do these things to me? Fine, fine, just nothing late, I know your schedule this week. At least now I can babysit you morons.” He hung up.

Willow was stretched across the couch with a blanket over her legs, flipping through the channels on TV, and I was suddenly frozen as a shiver wracked my body.

Matt narrowed his eyes on me, and the beauty of them terrified me. Was he friend or foe? Enemy or worse? “You look rough.”

“Nice.” I snorted. “At least I got a sucker for good behavior. That’s much better than a lame sticker, hmm?”

He glared. “Using my childhood against me gets you nowhere.”

“Fine,” I bit out. “I think I’m just going to go lie down.”

“Good idea.” His gaze didn’t waver. “I’m going to ask you again, Parker, is there anything I should know? As your agent? As the guy saving your ass this season? Anything at all that you haven’t told me?”

My throat all but closed up as I shook my head slowly and whispered, “Nothing you need to know.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“It’s all you’re going to get.” I turned on my heel and walked off, then shut the door quietly behind me, lay against it, and slid to the floor as tears dripped from my face.





Chapter Eleven MATT

Lately I’d been on edge without anything to alleviate the anxiety rippling through me.

For starters my sister was currently flirting with Jagger over a bottle of Heineken, stars in her eyes, and wearing a short dress that I’m 99 percent sure was supposed to be a tank top—for a preteen.

Problem number two was Jagger’s bad-boy reputation paired with his grandmother, who still managed to be headline news even after charges weren’t pressed against her.

And then there was Parker.

She hadn’t come out of her room since April’s visit.

And normally I wouldn’t have minded, but it was loud, very loud in the house. Music pumped out of every Bose speaker I owned, drinks were flowing. All in all, it was a controlled party but a party nonetheless.

I burned a hole through the wall several times with my stare just willing her to get up and make an appearance so I knew she was okay.

Which also pissed me off because she wasn’t mine to check up on.

And I was surrounded by pretty women on a daily basis.

But none of them played soccer the way she did.

With pure joy.

With die-hard focus.

One thing was for certain: after today, I at least knew she had extraordinary talent, so why the hell throw it away over a bad attitude? Over an asshole coach?

I took another draw of beer just as Slade Rodriguez walked up. “Heard you just moved into coaching?”

Great, another client feeling the need to chime in with an interest in my job. I rolled my eyes. “Short notice, we have less than two weeks to get her into shape so I took on the job.”

He saw right through my bullshit. His creepy golden-brown eyes narrowed in on me just as his wife flashed a wave our way. “Why don’t I believe you? I mean, under fourteen days? You’re Matt Kingston, couldn’t you just pick up the phone permanently attached to your hand and make a call?”

I gulped. “Maybe.”