Kickin' It (Red Card #2)(27)

I tossed the soccer ball in the air again just as the door to my office flew open. “Guess what!” Willow clapped her hands and then dragged Parker in behind her. Parker had a can of potato chips open and was currently licking her fingers. Disgusting. Alluring. Sexy as hell. Damn it!

I nodded to the chips and then reached into my desk and tossed her a packet of whey protein.

She handed me the chips with a pissed-off look and scrunched up her nose at the protein pack. Peanut butter. Yum. I knew firsthand it was the worst flavor, and apparently she did too.

“What?” I finally said, acknowledging my sister, who was still able to bounce from stiletto to stiletto without spraining an ankle. She was wearing black leggings and a tank, making workout leisure look a hell of a lot more leisure. I’d be shocked if she could dribble a ball.

“So the LA team, whatever their name is, tried to reach you.” I sighed in annoyance. “Whatever, I’ll learn the names of all the teams, and balls, and yay, sports! Anyways, I was just too excited. Apparently they caught wind of Parker’s tryout for the Seattle Reign and said they’d be interested in a meeting. They heard something about an attitude transformation and wanted to see if it was true.”

“Attitude transformation?” Parker huffed. “I have a great personality.”

“When you’re not sticking your foot up people’s asses, some might say shining.” I winked.

She stuck out her tongue.

We smiled at each other a minute before my sister waved her hand in front of my face. “Matt? Hello? They want you both to fly out tomorrow!”

“Tomorrow!” Parker screeched.

“Tomorrow.” Willow did a little wiggle with her hips. “It’s perfect. I can hold down the fort here, you guys take the first flight out after practice. It’s a short flight anyway, stay the night and—”

“She’s not ready,” I interrupted.

“What?” both girls yelled in unison. I had half a mind to grab the ibuprofen from my right drawer and chew it dry. The voices, so loud, always so damn loud.

“She’s doing great!” Willow insisted.

“I’m working my ass off!” said Parker, glaring at me.

“See?” Willow pointed at her. “She’s ready!” She slapped Parker’s ass.

Parker winced. “Ouch.”

“Sorry.” Willow rubbed it, right in front of me, sparking some weird sinful envy inside as I shook my head at both girls.

Parker had excitement in her eyes, and Willow went back to hopping on both feet.

If she clapped, I was going for the ibuprofen.

Hell, if she screamed or said yay in that high-pitched voice I was going for something stronger, like whiskey.

“Fine,” I grumbled. “Willow, make yourself useful and get the flight and hotel booked. Double-check with the LA team, also known as the Fliers.” I said it slowly, hoping it would stick, but hell, who was I kidding? My sister only listened when she wanted to. “Find out their schedule, and get us a dinner booked, no tryouts. We’re just there to talk stats.”

“Yes!” she squealed. Wasn’t as bad as a yay, but I still winced as she ran out the door, leaving me and Parker alone.

“You really think I’m ready?” She plopped down into a seat and put her feet up on my desk. Her brown hair was down again, kissing her bare shoulders and making her look more approachable than normal. The familiarity was going to kill me—it already was.

I flicked her Converse with my pen and shook my head. “As long as you keep your feet off the table, dress your age, and try not to burp during dinner I think we’ll be okay.”

She made a face. “I know how to be a lady.”

“You have a chip.” I nodded toward her chest. “On your shirt right there.”

She pulled her feet from my desk and pointed her finger at me. “I’m going to impress the hell out of them. You won’t even recognize me.”

And for some reason, that made me sad. “Parker,” I called as she started stomping out of my office. “Don’t change who you are . . .” I cleared my throat as her face softened. “Maybe just . . . polish up a bit . . .”

She was almost out of my office when I laughed to myself.

“What?” She poked her head back in.

“You have Pringles in your hair.”

“Son of a bitch!” She marched off yelling.

And I held back my tongue. What I was going to say? My confession? You’re more beautiful with a Pringle in your hair than you are with a fancy blowout?

I liked messy Parker.

Messy Parker was real.

I wasn’t sure I would survive any other type, because she had me hungry for more. Hell, I was already fantasizing, already wanting what I knew I had to keep at arm’s length.

Parker acting like a foul-mouthed lady might just set me off.

I reached for the ibuprofen.

And quickly bypassed it for the whiskey.





Chapter Fourteen PARKER

I wasn’t the type to take selfies.

But I had a pod.

In first class.

So I took ten.

Much to Matt’s dismay, I kept snapping photos of everything from the plug-ins to the special eye mask they gave me along with a wine list and appetizer list.