Risky Play (Red Card #1)(25)

His clear blue eyes locked on mine. “No, you just made me wish I had been a better friend to begin with.”

“You were Alton’s friend.”

“Ouch.” He sighed. “I wanted to be yours more than his. You’re prettier, and his name is Alton, so that’s already a scratch against him.”

I laughed, tears still in my eyes. “Dinner it is, then.”

“What’s your number?”

I fired it off and immediately heard a buzz in my purse.

He winked. “Just sent you a text.”

“Great.” I beamed, feeling lighter than I had in weeks, just as Slade walked by and purposely bumped into Jagger.

“He always like this?” I wondered out loud.

Jagger hesitated a bit, then said, “On the field . . . yes . . . off the field . . .” He didn’t say anything more. “I’ve never seen someone look so . . .” It’s like he couldn’t find the word, like it didn’t exist in the English language yet.

A word did not exist to describe Slade.

To describe the man he was.

And I couldn’t figure out if that meant he was just that extraordinary or the exact opposite.

“Send me your schedule.” Jagger pulled me into his arms again and kissed my forehead. “And let me know if you have any food allergies, can’t have you dying in my arms.”

“Hah.” I rolled my eyes and started to walk off, then stopped and called after him. “Hey, Jagger . . .”

He paused and crossed his arms.

“Thank you.”

Another wink.

I drove back to Slade’s house feeling lighter than air—that is, until I made it into the actual house and saw that Alfie had had a little . . . problem.

“ALFIE!” I roared. “No, no, no, bad boy!”

He whined and then puked something up that looked a hell of a lot like a bird. There was dog poop all over the main hallway, in a trail that led into the huge kitchen. I followed it, covering my mouth. A giant puddle of God-knew-what was near the barstools.

I shuddered, grabbed an entire roll of paper towels, a trash bag, and floor cleaner just as I heard the sound of a sports car’s engine turning off.

“No!” I stared wide-eyed at the door, then glared at Alfie, who was panting and smirking like it was the best day of his life. Probably because he finally got whatever the hell that was out of his system.

The door slowly opened.

I closed my eyes and waited for the yelling.

And then opened them when Slade said nothing.

He stared at Alfie, then at me, then back at Alfie. “Which one of you did this?”

I clenched my teeth. “Before you start yelling at me, remember that I brought you the duffel bag, and I cook for you. Remember that I’m a human and that you shouldn’t throw things just because you’re pissed off at the world, alright? Got it?”

He opened his mouth.

“Wait! Always count to ten so you don’t do something you’ll regret.”

He sighed, then slowly held up one hand and started a fun little countdown. One, two, three fingers, he continued until he had both hands up, then dropped them and turned to Alfie. “Hey, buddy, are you sick?” He knelt down as Alfie waddled over to him and licked his thigh. “I’ll get you into the vet.”

“Not to interrupt, but I think he ate something . . . like a bird or rodent or whatever that object is down the hall, and you know . . .” I made a puking motion.

“That’s one strike.” Slade stood. “Two more and you’re fired.”

“How is this my fault?” I asked. At least he wasn’t yelling. “I was bringing you your bag, the bag you need—”

“I have a spare.” He shrugged. “I always keep a spare at the stadium, and even then, I can run circles around those guys barefoot and blind. But I do appreciate it. What I don’t appreciate is people who are incompetent at their jobs.”

I was going to kill him.

With my bare hands.

“Alright.” I crossed my arms, apparently I was getting used to the smell of dog shit since I was actually standing there without puking. “How am I incompetent?”

“Easy.” He stood to his full height. “Your main priority is to make sure Alfie gets exercise and is well taken care of—he clearly ate something he shouldn’t have, on your watch.” He moved closer to me until I could smell his aftershave. It sent memories sailing down my spine and, regrettably, my thighs as I tried not to look away in embarrassment. “Second, you left him alone in the house while you came to the stadium. You need to crate him if you’re gone for a long time.”

“Had I known I was going to be gone for longer than a half hour—”

He pressed a finger to my lips.

They parted on impact.

Like he was a freaking lip whisperer.

“Always prepare for the worst,” he said in a hoarse voice before pulling his finger away.

“That’s not a way to live, Slade.”

It was one of the first times I’d said his name out loud, rather than using Hugo.

He tensed and then gave his head a shake. “Trust me, it’s the only way.” He grabbed the paper towels from my hands. “You’re dismissed.”

“Dismissed?” I said, trying not to screech. “Dismissed?”