Kickin' It (Red Card #2)(44)

I wouldn’t be wondering what it would look like if she had nothing on at all.

I wouldn’t feel like the worst sort of man for wanting to cover her body with mine, spread her legs, do all the dirty things my mind could conjure up—but it was Parker, hurt Parker. Parker who needed gentle. She needed that and time.

Disgusted with myself, I looked away.

“How did you manage to start the agency all on your own? I mean you only played a few seasons.” Her voice filled the room like a soothing balm. I exhaled, inhaled, repeated the process, greedy for more air even if it smelled like her.

After a few seconds, I answered. “Willow and I both have trust funds. Our parents died when I was still in high school. I practically raised Willow, which is also why seeing her naked with Jagger made me want to grab a knife and throw it at him. I used the trust fund to put myself through college and open the agency. The rest is history, right along with Jagger’s body once I find an accomplice.”

Parker chuckled. “It’s your job to be protective, that’s what big brothers do. If you didn’t try to physically harm her boyfriend I’d lose respect for you.”

“Try telling her that.”

“Trust me,” she said in a low whisper. “She knows.”

“And who protects you?” I wondered out loud before feeling like an ass for even saying it.

“Me. At least I try.” Her voice was sad. “Not always successfully.” She seemed to crawl into herself as she spoke. “My dad isn’t really a huge supporter of my soccer career. We aren’t close, at all. I think he forgets he even has a kid.”

“Well, I have an opening, you know . . .” I joked and then backpedaled. “I mean not to be your dad, but to protect you, not like a brother . . .” Shit.

She didn’t laugh.

“Parker?”

The fog cleared and then she was in front of me, hands on hips. “I’m not your sister, Matt.”

“Fuck.” I wiped my forehead. “Trust me, I know that.”

“I don’t want that sort of protection. Besides, if you’re doing all the protecting, who’s going to protect me from you?”

Called on my bullshit, I just stared her down. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“That”—she threw her hands in the air—“that wasn’t an accusation! I just, I don’t want you that way, I don’t need a brother . . .”

Our eyes searched each other. “I don’t think I can be anything else.”

She backed away slowly.

“Parker . . .” I reached for her.

“No. It’s fine. I get it . . .”

“You don’t fucking get it,” I said in a low voice and then stood. “I can’t be anything to you, that’s the truth. I respect you, I respect us. We have something here, I know it, you know it. I’m so damn proud of you and the strength that you have, how could I not want that? Don’t you think I want more? Don’t you think it tortures me at night? The way you taste? The feel of our palms pressed together, damn it, every touch from you, none of it is enough. You have to know that. But it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter that you drive me crazy in every way possible.”

“Matt—”

“I won’t be him.”

“You aren’t him.”

“You’re wrong,” I said sadly. “I would be just like him if I took what I wanted just because I wanted it.”

“You wouldn’t be taking,” she whispered.

I hung my head. “I’d be crossing a professional line that I’ve flirted with for over a week, Parker. Don’t tempt me, it’s not fair.”

“That sounded like him,” she said sadly.

She got up, grabbed her bag, and then walked to the door. Her footsteps haunted me, they sounded like a clock ticking, reminding me that whatever this was, was over. The door opened and clicked shut.

And I knew I was alone.

And I’d messed up.

Again.





Chapter Twenty-Three PARKER

When I took a shower that night, my self-worth circled the drain right along with all the dirt and sweat from my body. And when I went to practice the next day, I felt sluggish, my body weighed down by guilt.

“Parker!” Matt yelled. “Focus!”

It was our last practice. I couldn’t focus on anything but the fact that he’d said he was just like Erik, and then it was like he accused me of . . . seducing him.

Like I couldn’t help but make every man want me.

When I just wanted him.

When for the first time in my life I wanted more than a goal, more than to make it on a professional team, I just wanted him to want me back in a way that was real, purely us. And I knew that I was asking a lot, so I gave him chances, what girl wouldn’t? I knew I had baggage, so I was giving him a free pass, and the accusations against me weren’t exactly helping. I just wanted him to look past it all and see me. I needed him to see me.

I squeezed my eyes shut against the onslaught of tears.

“Stop.” Matt blew the whistle. “We’re done for the day.”

My head jerked up as panic seized my chest. Was he giving up on me? Was he firing me as his client? “No, no, no, I’ll try harder!”