Kickin' It (Red Card #2)(4)

“He’s sweet! Bring him cookies!” We hadn’t been in Seattle for even ten minutes before Willow hopped out of the car and instructed me to use her brother’s sweet tooth against him. Stranded, I had no choice but to follow the directions to his mansion and hope for the best.

I exhaled and rang the doorbell, half expecting a butler to answer and ask me to take off my shoes before coming in or maybe mistake me for staff and tell me to enter through the back.

Note to self: this wasn’t a historical romance novel.

This was my new life.

Hopefully, the start of a new career if I could get someone like Matt to negotiate on my behalf.

It was business.

Not personal.

I wasn’t using my friendship.

I was just . . . networking.

Footsteps sounded on the other side of the door, and it jerked open so fast that I took a step back and almost dropped the plate of cookies. I shoved them forward. “These are for you.”

As far as a first impression went, I could have done worse, right?

And then I locked eyes with him.

Not Matt.

I felt my body stiffen, my eyes widen. Jagger. I was staring at Jagger Komokov. One of the best goalies in the entire world.

He grinned. His long brown locks had been cropped, which is why I had thought he was Matt. “These for me?”

“Um . . .” What should I say? No? “Yes?” came out of my mouth.

“Matt!” Jagger yelled, not taking his eyes off me. “Girl Scouts are making the rounds . . .” I tore my gaze away and squeezed my eyes shut so I didn’t further the stupid coming from my body or mouth.

“Girl Scouts?” a male voice yelled. “The hell! Get rid of them, we’re in a meeting!”

Jagger shrugged, plate still in hand. “Sorry, but I think I’ll keep these.”

They were on a plastic plate.

With Saran Wrap.

They looked nothing like Girl Scout cookies, jackass.

I crossed my arms. “I’m here for Matt.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Matt Kingston? That Matt? You sure?”

I ground my teeth. “Pretty sure.”

“Sorry, I’m his new security, nobody gets past me.”

I was killing Willow later. Give a girl some warning next time! Like, oh hey, there may be professional athletes just hanging out, try not to put your foot in your mouth like usual!

“You’re not.”

“Excuse me?”

“Security.” I grinned. “You’re Jagger Komokov, giant chip on your shoulder the size of the exact space some lucky bastard was able to get a ball into your net, what was it, from like seven feet?”

“Bullshit!” he roared.

I sidestepped him.

He moved.

I moved.

And then he took a cookie out from under the wrap and jammed it in his mouth. “Mmmm, peanut butter? You trying to kill him?”

“No!”

“What if he’s allergic?” He grinned.

“His sister would have specified!” I was hot. Exhausted from our plane ride. And just needed to ask him where to put my bags! “Look, I’m tired. Can we do this whole weird interrogation later?”

I tried to get past him again.

He braced one hand against the door.

“Jagger! Stop eating all the fucking cookies and get your ass in here for damage control!”

“Told you Grandma was off her rocker!” Jagger called back over his shoulder and then whispered to me, “She called Matt a Russian spy when I got stopped for an interview outside a restaurant, it’s all over the news. He shouldn’t have worn red, and he sure as hell shouldn’t have checked up on me, I got my shit handled.” He shrugged and took another bite. “So, what will it be, little girl? You leave on your own or am I escorting you back to that . . .” He frowned. “Jetta.”

“Nothing wrong with a Jetta.” It was a cheap rental until . . . well, until my future happened.

“More of a sports-car kinda guy, you understand.” He winked.

I was losing patience.

And my temper, which I’d been told was one of my worst qualities and just another one of the many reasons that some of the teams were leery of giving me a bigger contract. I was a risk they weren’t sure they could afford to take!

“Move before I rip your balls from your body,” I said with a smile and then swallowed and added, “Please.”

He grinned. “Yeah, okay, small fry, go right ahead.”

“Really?”

“No.” He started closing the door. “Good cookies, though!”

The door clicked shut in my face.

I rang the bell a few more times.

And then I started aggressively pounding my hands against the solid wood.

It swung open.

“Listen, jackass—”

I almost swallowed my tongue as Matt Kingston stood to his full six-foot-four height and crossed his arms over a broad chest. A nice chest covered by a white button-down tucked into black trousers, and shiny shoes. He looked like he’d just had dinner with royalty.

His sleeves were rolled halfway up his forearms, and I could see golden muscle flex hard like he was clenching his fists in irritation. His light-blue eyes took inventory of me as if I wasn’t worth him wasting any sort of words. His blond hair was mussed like he’d been running his hands through it.