Risky Play (Red Card #1)(32)

I reached for the napkins.

At the same time he did.

Insert awkward laughter.

I cleared my head and then held up my hands. “Look, we can be friends. On one condition . . .”

“Only one?”

“Try kissing me again, and I’m cutting your heart out and feeding it to Alfie. And . . .” Don’t cry. Do. Not. Cry. “We don’t talk about it.”

“It?” He seemed confused.

This was hard.

“Mexico.” I swallowed against the dryness in my throat and looked down at the coffee table.

The pain was almost too much.

It didn’t matter that he had a backpack full of sorries.

He’d made me feel alive.

Then killed my soul in one fell swoop.

Because people like Slade, they were used to thinking about one thing and one thing only.

Themselves.

And there wasn’t room for two people in the picture.

I was okay with it.

I just had to make sure he knew where the line was—at least it would make the next three weeks more pleasant.

He held out his hand. “Agreed.”

I pressed my palm against his.

Why did it feel even worse that he agreed we shouldn’t talk about it when I was the one who asked in the first place? My stomach dropped a bit as he held onto my hand and didn’t let go. With a little jerk he had my body closer to his as he whispered, “Soy sauce?”

I inwardly groaned as my cheeks heated. His penetrating golden stare wasn’t helping matters, and all my brain seemed to be able to focus on was the fact that those eyes had seen me naked, those lips had touched every part of my body, and those hands, the ones that had my body trembling—they were dangerous without him even touching me.

What was I thinking?

Three weeks of this guy?

I was probably better off with the jackass.





Chapter Twenty-Seven SLADE

I groaned as another camera flashed. I was in a pissy mood. Which wasn’t rare for me lately—but for the first time, it wasn’t images of my father that burned my brain.

It was an image of Mack shoving fried pork into her mouth.

Fried. Fucking. Pork.

It haunted me all night, and the next day when she walked into the house and handed me a black coffee and a gluten-free muffin and started unpacking groceries, I had tunnel vision.

Her. All I saw was her unpacking groceries.

And my brain did a little click.

She was talking.

I heard nothing.

She was moving around.

I stood still.

The world buzzed around me.

But she was in my house like she belonged there. She was in my life regardless of how horrible I’d been to her, how much I’d hurt her, how much I still had to keep myself from lashing out at her for reasons beyond my realm of understanding.

She was constant.

Beautiful.

And she was the only woman on the planet who didn’t want something from me—who forced a friendship on me when all I’d wanted to do was kiss her for my own selfish reasons. But she’d hugged me, touched me, and didn’t do it for herself.

It was for me.

In fact, everything she did was for me.

And I’d fucked it all up by not only putting the cockblock in place, but making her feel less than.

Less than.

When she’d only ever been more to me.

I gulped as guilt slammed down against my chest until it hurt to breathe.

“Earth to Slade.” She waved in front of my face. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

Damn, her lips were pink today. I had a serious obsession with pink lips of all varieties.

I gave my head a shake. “Yeah, sorry, no. I was . . . thinking.”

“You looked about a second away from thinking yourself into a stroke. Next time let the people you pay do the heavy hitting.” She winked. “Matt wants you to meet with him tonight at some new restaurant. He said he’d text you the details. And you have that doctor appointment after practice.”

I rolled my eyes. “You gonna remind me to brush my teeth too?”

“Yup.” She popped the p. “And don’t forget to floss, say your prayers, and look both ways before crossing the street.” She snapped her fingers. “Should I get you a reflective vest like we have for Alfie?”

“Very funny.” I grabbed my bag. “Do they come in a size big enough to wrap around my eight-pack?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t I call Walmart? If anything, I’m sure we can find something small enough for your dick.” She beamed.

I narrowed my eyes. “That was low.”

She just did a little curtsy and continued unpacking beef jerky and cheese sticks.

“What’s with the groceries?” I jabbed my finger at the paper bags. “Do I not have enough food for you?”

“Pringles aren’t a food.” She opened up the pantry door and walked in. “Seriously, Slade, you’re going to be late. Don’t forget about your appointments, and try not to get struck by lightning on the way to practice.”

“And why would I get struck by lightning?”

Thunder boomed outside.

I nodded. “Gotcha, let me just grab—”

“I put the umbrella in your bag.” She poked her head out of the pantry. “Have a good day.”