Risky Play (Red Card #1)(12)

Until I heard a vacuum.

Frowning, I peeked over the divider between our two penthouses. Two maids were working tirelessly around the patio, while another was inside vacuuming the living room.

Panic seized my chest. “Um, hola!” I called like the idiot American I was.

One of the ladies turned to me and grinned. “We speak English, miss.”

I mentally rolled my eyes at myself, of course they did, this was Puerto Vallarta. It wasn’t like we were in the heart of Mexico, and even then. I gave my head a shake.

“Sorry.” I finally found my voice. “The man, staying here? Do you know where he went?”

She gave me a curious look and then her eyes roamed over my naked body, the sheet barely covered anything. Understanding dawned on her face. “I’m so sorry, he’s no longer here.”

“He died!” I yelled and covered my mouth with my hands. I’d heard about Americans getting killed by drug cartels in Mexico, but I didn’t know it was true! “Did anyone else get taken?” I gulped as panic seized my lungs. Where the hell was Liam Neeson when you needed him?

She smiled softly. “No, no, you misunderstand, he checked out of the hotel. We were told to get the room ready for the next guest. That’s all I know.”

“Oh.” My stomach sank while my heart thundered in my chest. “Right, I must have gotten my days confused too, I thought he was leaving . . . umm, tomorrow.”

She just smiled like she knew I was lying.

“Thank you.” I forced a smile as my heart lodged in my throat. I stumbled back to my room and sat on the bed, putting my head in my hands. I would not cry. I’d cried too many times over men.

Too many times to count.

It had just been a one-night stand.

Best sex of my life—not that I had anything to measure it against.

Kisses shared with someone that I’d compare every single man to for as long as I lived.

I’d never been a risk taker.

And the minute I decided to live on the wild side, I’d slept with a complete stranger, who’d taken my virginity and then bailed.

Why the hell hadn’t I just bought a lottery ticket?

I let out a laugh.

The laugh lasted two seconds before it turned into weeping as I lay down across the bed and pressed my face against the place he’d been snuggled up next to me.

Men.

All they did was hurt me.

And I truly didn’t think his was intentional.

He’d just seen someone who wanted a good time.

And gave it.

So. Stupid.

Stupid girl.

I wiped the mascara from under my eyes, slowly rose to my feet, and made my way into the bathroom.

When I looked at the floor there was a pool of linen. His clothes from last night.

I kicked them in disgust.

Then picked up the shirt and inhaled.

My body rocked with memories of his mouth, his hands.

I had been left at the altar.

If I could get through that, I could get through anything.

Except my treacherous heart kept demanding that the universe answer the one question I’d been asking for years.

Why was I never enough to fight for?





Chapter Ten SLADE

Two weeks later

I fucking hate funerals almost as much as I hate traveling coach. The only seat I was able to get was on a plane with over three hundred passengers and a high school dance squad who had more pep than normal teenage girls should have. A headache pulsed between my ears as the plane took off for the States.

I put on my noise-canceling headphones, pulled my beanie over my head, and closed my eyes.

I hadn’t slept in days.

And every time I closed my eyes I saw his body.

His calm face.

The casket.

The tears in my mother’s eyes.

And the pathetic condolences from teammates who suddenly gave a shit about me because my father died.

I didn’t remember what I said. I only remembered standing in front of a room full of strangers who wore smiles of pity and telling them how incredible my father was, and they pretended to understand, they pretended to care with their nice words and side hugs, but I knew the truth.

I was alone.

Mom was trying to be strong for me.

And I was trying to be strong for her.

But two broken pieces can’t be strong for each other when they don’t even know how to heal themselves.

Someone kicked my seat.

My eyes slammed open as kick after kick maimed my back, forcing my body to jerk toward the seat in front of me.

I tore off my headphones and turned around. “Do you mind?”

I’d been groomed from a young age to be careful in public, someone always has a phone, someone is always watching. My father had drilled it into me so much that I was afraid to piss at restaurants.

But at that moment, I had no more fucks to give.

I had just buried him.

I’d buried him!

Tears burned my eyes as the gaping teen narrowed his eyes and then kicked again.

“That’s it.” I stood, hovering over him.

He started choking. Little shit probably accidentally swallowed that wad of gum he’d been blowing and popping endlessly while kicking my chair.

“Sir?” One of the flight attendants approached. “The seat belt sign is still on.” She pointed to the light above my head while I continued my stare-down with the punk kid.