Risky Play (Red Card #1)(33)

She smiled.

And again I was paralyzed. “Look, Mack—”

“Go!”

“I’m trying to—”

“Slade. When you’re late you have to run more.”

“Damn it!” I slammed my hands down on the granite. “Then I’ll be fucking late, stop trying to manage me!”

Her pretty blue eyes went wide.

“Let a man apologize!”

“Do you always yell your apologies?” She crossed her arms.

“When the person is impossible to deal with, yes!” I roared and then stomped over to her, testosterone pumping through my system. “I’m fucking sorry. I know we’ve been over this. I know I promised I wouldn’t—”

“Then don’t,” she whispered. “That can be your apology.”

I licked my lips. We were at a standstill. I wanted to talk about the elephant; she wanted to pretend it wasn’t standing between us.

“Fine.” I hung my head. “Thank you for the food, thank you for the umbrella, thank you for reminding me of my schedule, and thank you for being . . . you.”

She stilled.

Moisture gathered in her eyes.

And then I returned the favor.

I pulled her in for a hug.

Not for me.

For her.

Because I didn’t know what else to do—and because she didn’t trust words, at least not mine. If she needed actions . . .

I would give her actions.

I was struck by an intense feeling of longing at that moment in the middle of my kitchen.

And it only increased when I felt her heart beat through her chest. And as I left the house and drove to practice, I knew I would hate the day that she wasn’t standing in my kitchen anymore.

I would hate that day.

And it was coming too soon.



Another camera flash went off as I made my way into the swanky restaurant that Matt demanded I meet him at because, according to him, they had the best calamari in the world.

The man had a weird fetish for calamari. If a restaurant didn’t know how to make a good calamari, he believed that the rest of the menu must be shit.

I didn’t even have to open my mouth once I approached the stand in the main lobby of the restaurant.

The host looked up at me and grinned. He had on a three-piece suit and wore black-rimmed glasses. He was bald but had a young face. “Right this way, Mr. Rodriguez.”

I ducked into the dimly lit room. Sconces lined the walls, and each table had a line of blue fire and blue-black glass rocks in the center, making it possible to see people’s faces pretty clearly in the dark.

Matt stood and shook my hand once I made it to our corner of the room. I exhaled, thankful that he let me sit against the wall so I could see every angle of the restaurant. I hated having my back to the crowd; it always made me feel like people were staring, and I couldn’t see them, which made me even more anxious. People were brave when they couldn’t see your eyes.

This way the staring would have to be blatant, and typically people got too embarrassed to continue, which I appreciated.

Sometimes a man just wants to eat a steak in peace.

“Let me guess.” I sat. “You already ordered the calamari, ate all of it, and ordered more?”

He lifted his wineglass. “Cheers to best friends.”

“Cheers.” I lifted my empty wineglass.

“That’s bad luck, and you’ve had enough of that,” Matt said, lifting the bottle and pouring some into my glass before clinking it against his and handing it to me.

“Isn’t that the truth?” I grumbled to myself.

And then because I was drinking wine . . .

I immediately thought of Mack.

Sure enough, the label was completely black and had her family’s name etched across the top in white.

I ran my thumb along the label.

“Should I, uh, leave you alone with the bottle? Or can we talk business?”

I jerked my hand back and sighed. “Sorry, business, let’s talk business.”

Damn it, I could even smell her!

What the hell was wrong with me?

I took another long sip as Matt pulled out his phone and started talking about sponsors and Instagram promotions.

I got another whiff of perfume and sniffed the air.

“You’re acting more manic than normal.” Matt leaned forward. “Are you . . . are things—”

“What the fuck?” I growled, gripping the wine stem so hard I was afraid it was going to shatter between my fingers. “She’s on a date with him!”

“She?” Matt turned around just as Jagger sat down three tables away from us.

Mack’s back was to me.

It was bare.

Please, God, let her be dressed.

I tilted my head to the side. There was a black scrap of something on her legs and hopefully covering her breasts.

Jagger caught my eye and grinned.

All the middle fingers.

That’s what I wanted to send him.

But I had to be mature.

Responsible.

There were cameras.

“I’m going to murder him.” I started to stand.

Matt jerked me back to my chair and hissed, “Don’t.”

“He’s clearly using her!” Did we really need him on the team? I knew people. I could destroy evidence.