Kickin' It (Red Card #2)(6)

“Where am I sleeping?”

I had sudden visions of my sister outside on the patio with one blanket and a bottle of whiskey to keep her warm from the ocean breeze.

“You? Oh, outside. I bought a cot. You’re welcome.” I grinned smugly.

“Funny, aren’t you?” She crossed her arms. “Seriously, where am I sleeping?”

“Mother-in-law suite above the pool house. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to cohabitate this early into your lesbian relationship—big step and all.” I shrugged.

She grabbed a pillow from the couch and chucked it at my face. I ducked just in time. “I’ll have you know that if I did swing that way I probably couldn’t get a better girlfriend. She’s hilarious, extremely loyal, and did you see that girl’s ass?”

I gulped.

No.

Because I’d basically sent her to her room within minutes of her arrival and was seconds away from using Jagger’s body as a human shield to keep myself from staring at it. I’d always been a sucker for women with athletic bodies—calves, I was a calves man. I blamed the soccer, and she had calves I wanted to dig my fingers into. “No. I was too busy plotting your death, but I’ll be sure to add looking it over to my to-do list for Tuesday.”

“Still an ass.” Willow smiled wide.

“And you’re still a pain in my ass.” I sighed. “So I guess we’re even.” I checked my watch. “Hope you can cook.”

“Cook?” she repeated, eyes narrowing.

“Yeah, I have a meeting.” She didn’t need to know it was more like hanging out with friends who just so happened to be clients.

“Perfect!” She rubbed her hands together. “I’ll come.”

“The hell you will! You aren’t an agent yet,” I hissed. “Intern—say it with me—intern . . .” I drew it out slowly and then clapped it out for good measure just in case she was having trouble sounding out the really hard parts.

“You done?” she said in a bored tone.

“I’m never done. Not when it comes to you, sis.”

“Hah!” She stuck out her tongue. “Are you meeting with athletes or friends?”

I rocked back on my heels. “I see what you’re doing, it won’t work.”

“So, friends.” She did a little dance. “I’ve got the perfect dress, who knew? What time?”

“You’re a plague,” I said in a defeated voice, staring down at my fake bear rug and wondering where I went wrong—oh right, I went wrong when I said yes. I was already under stress with the remodel. I’d put everything on hold because my plate was so full, nothing was near finished the way I wanted it, and my little sister was getting her way, like she always did. I didn’t want to fight her because deep down, in the darkest crevice of my mind, I knew that I needed more help with the agency, I just had a hard time accepting her help when I knew the sort of people she would be working with on a daily basis. She needed a tough skin, and because I’d basically spoiled her for her entire life, I worried she might not have it. Add another roommate to the scenario and I felt trapped.

“Aw, Matty!” She fanned her face and then pressed a hand to her chest. “Why, bless your little heart!”

“Poisoning your coffee tomorrow, fair warning.” I loved her too much, that was the problem.

She just shrugged. “Poisoned your coffee every day of high school—you’re welcome for the tolerance.”

I clenched my fists just as a door down the hall shut and feet shuffled across the concrete floor. Sneakers. She was wearing sneakers. My sister wouldn’t be caught dead in sneakers. How were they friends?

Parker poked her head around the corner. She was wearing loose, low-slung jeans that looked like they had seen better days, a white crop top, and a pair of high tops with no shoelaces.

“You can’t wear that.” Willow shook her head. “Lucky for you I bought you a dress!”

“Dress,” I repeated dumbly. “Will, for the last time, you aren’t coming!”

“Oh.” Heavy sigh. Full-on pout. Tear-filled eyes. “I guess we’ll just . . . have a few guy friends over. I think I still have some X left after that last orgy. Maybe we’ll even go to prison, I’ve always wanted to see the inside of one. Do you think I can be someone’s bitch? I mean I’m already yours so . . .”

“Fuck.” I tugged at my hair, then searched inside for any semblance of calm and came back empty. Parker looked from Willow to me like she wasn’t sure if she should intervene or run.

“Matt, admit it, this is a really great opportunity to introduce me to some of your clients without the pressure of it being strictly business. You can wine and dine them, introduce me, and then I can start getting to know them. Admit it, I’m right.” She crossed her arms.

My eye twitched as I tried to conjure up a way to fight her logic. “Fine. You can come, no fangirling, no autographs, no crotch grabs or ass grabs, no phone number exchanges, Snapchats, Instagram photos. If you tag anyone in your live feed, I’ll shut down every social media account you have.” I inhaled then exhaled. “And no flirting. I don’t care if that’s just how you were made.” I made air quotes. “It’s unprofessional. Oh, Slade is married so you’re going nowhere with that one, and Jagger’s one bad choice away from being sent back to Russia.” I sighed. “Just . . . be good.”