Risky Play (Red Card #1)(18)

Downward spiral since his father’s death.

I frowned.

Then grabbed every last magazine I could, and dumped them on the belt, brain spinning.

I was losing it.

Was I really going to be that person? The one who believed everything I read in the tabloids when I’d been on the receiving end of their hatred more times than I could count?

I looked back down—one had him shirtless in Mexico.

My skin flushed.

Yes. Yes, I was.

Because behind him, in that very same picture, was a girl I no longer recognized.

A girl who looked like she’d just tasted freedom and never wanted to go back.

“Ah.” The checker scanned the magazines. “I get it, he’s smokin’ hot, but I bet he’s got a small thing. Most of the good-looking ones do.”

“Thing?” I squinted at her, seeking clarification.

“Peter.” The woman was in her fifties at least, with salt-and-pepper hair and purple lipstick. “All the good ones do.”

He doesn’t, I wanted to say.

Maybe it would be easier to forget him if everything about those moments in his arms had been a letdown.

But he’d been . . . everything.

He’d been gentle, tender. Well, if soccer stopped paying him millions he could probably win Oscars for his performance, because for a hot minute I had believed he actually wanted me as much as I wanted him.

And needed me—maybe even a little bit more.





Chapter Sixteen

SLADE

I woke up to a loud banging on the door followed by Alfie’s howling and then my fucking doorbell going off like the apocalypse was coming.

“Shit!” I jumped out of bed, heart pounding. I hopped across the room, pulling on my sweatpants one leg at a time, then stumbled down the hall.

I yanked open the door.

Her.

It hurt to look at her.

Mackenzie held out Starbucks and sighed. “You’re supposed to take it.”

“Did you poison it?” I crossed my arms.

“Did you want me to?” she countered with a saucy smile that made me want to shove her against the wall and taste the bitterness of whatever she was drinking.

I looked away. “It’s Tuesday.”

“You have practice every day, which means Alfie needs a walk every day, and from the looks of your kitchen I figured I could get you some groceries. Want me to just pick up some—”

“Look,” I growled. “I don’t need your help. You’re here to make sure that I have no more added stress beyond my daily practices. That includes taking care of Alfie, not playing house. Whatever you think is going to happen between us—won’t. Just drop it. I’m not going to marry you just because I saw your pussy.”

I wasn’t prepared for her to slap me so hard that I stumbled against the doorframe.

Tears filled her eyes. “Listen up, you piece of shit. I’m here because it’s my job. I can get insulted by plenty of people who haven’t seen me naked, thank you very much.”

I didn’t know why, but my lips twitched at that.

“I don’t want you to marry me, you narcissistic prick!” Her voice rose, and she gritted her teeth. “You’re a job. A nice-paying one. One that means I don’t have to go back to my old life for two full months. And as shocking as it sounds, I’d rather be here in hell with you than there.” She ducked under my arm and put the coffee on the counter, then grabbed the leash from the door and hooked it on Alfie’s collar.

“Let’s go, buddy,” she said in a sweeter tone and pulled him down the stairs. He followed with a lopsided grin and stared at her tight ass for a few seconds, the dirty bastard.

“Traitor,” I whispered under my breath when she bent down and he licked her face.

“Oh!” She turned. “And you’re welcome for the coffee and the gluten-free muffin with the breakfast burrito, and for cleaning up all your shitty, moldy takeout, and for the pot roast I left in the oven. Really, it was a pleasure serving you.” Her words sliced through the air like the perfect swordplay.

And I was left defenseless and feeling like the biggest ass in the world when I shut the door behind me and leaned against it.

This wasn’t me.

My mother would slap me.

My father would take me out back and make me dig a hole until he was satisfied with its depth.

But my mom was hurting.

And he was gone.

I shoved away from the door, marched into the kitchen, dumped the coffee down the drain, and put the muffin in the garbage, only to search for it five minutes later when my stomach growled. Then I hopped in my car and sped past her as she walked my dog.

I refused to feel guilty for not trusting anyone around me. Not after what I’d been through, not after being alone in this world without my one pillar.

I sped like hell the entire way to the stadium and momentarily toyed with the idea of hitting Jagger on his way across the parking lot.

I hit the accelerator and the car lurched forward a couple of feet. He jumped and shot me a venomous stare, so I gave him an innocent shrug before I pulled into a parking spot and followed him in.

As luck would have it, we were both late, which left the two of us in the locker room in edgy silence.

The sound of us both putting on our gear was more intense than a United Nations meeting.