Kicked: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (40 page)

“This guy is Addi's boyfriend's brother. She's known him for three years, Flor. Back off.” I opened my eyes, plastered a welcoming smile on my face and moved forward to meet the guy. Flor's hand on my upper arm froze me in place. He'd been careful, ridiculously careful, not to touch me since the night we shared our single and only kiss. And I mean
careful.
He didn't push me playfully anymore after that, didn't grab my arm to stop me from leaving during a fight, didn't even let his leg brush mine when we sat in the back of a car together.

I looked over at him with a puzzled expression and found the same mirrored on his perfect face. He dropped his hand and stepped back.

“Abigail,” Addi said, drawing my attention back around. I was sure my pupils were huge and my lips parted, that I looked half-paralyzed with the emotions that were boiling up in my belly. Well, maybe not emotions. Maybe they were hormones and maybe, just maybe, they weren't from my belly, but my – “This is Patrick's brother, Dorian.” I reached out a hand, letting my eyes meet the new guy's. They were green, like Flor's, but not as intense, more like a new sprout than the thorn of a rose.
I want to get punctured; I want to bleed.

I swallowed back the dark thoughts swirling in my brain.

“Nice to meet you,” we said in unison and then smiled shyly. Flor was suddenly there at my shoulder, ruining the moment like he'd done so many other times with other boys. I swear, after that night, that kiss, he took up the brother mantle and he ran the gauntlet with it. He intimidated new dates, threatened exes, and essentially made my dating life a living hell. I was even under the suspicion that he still thought I was a virgin.

Dorian glanced over at my stepbrother, his pale throat moving in a nervous swallow as he released my hand and reached out for Flor's. The two men stared at each other for a long moment before Flor put a wicked smile on his face and shook his hand.

“How's it going?” he asked, like he actually cared – which I knew for a fact that he didn't, not unless this guy's intentions had anything to do with getting me into bed. And then his only mission was to make sure that didn't happen. I appreciated the idea that he cared enough to take an interest, but it felt like too little, too late. His familial concern did nothing to replace that empty, icy ache he'd left me with. “I'm Abi's brother.”

“Stepbrother,” I corrected while Addi rolled her eyes to the frigid autumn sky.

“They've been living together since they were five,” she told Dorian, wrinkling her nose a bit at the nervous beads of sweat popping up on the man's pale forehead. He had bright red hair, like his brother, and thin pink lips. But, unlike his younger sibling, he had nicely muscled arms, a wide sexy chest and an obvious six pack.

“Since Abi was five; I was eight,” Flor corrected and then turned away, satisfied that he'd screwed up the meeting well enough that Dorian wouldn't even consider asking me out on a date. I narrowed my eyes as I watched him hop back into the truck and then turned back to Dorian, reaching out to loop my arm through his.

“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked, guiding him towards the steps to our apartment. “I ran to the grocery store this morning and stocked the fridge full of stuff. If you want it, I probably have it.”

Dorian cast yet another glance towards Flor and then smiled down at me, letting me guide him into my new house and my new life.

Whether Flor liked it or not.

CHAPTER TWO

“I can't believe he asked you to the Saturday Market,” Flor said with an exasperated look up towards the ceiling.

I was standing in his shop, flipping through his portfolio, my fingers sliding across the plastic of the pages as I gazed at photo after photo of brightly colored ink. No matter how big an asshole he was, Flor was at least a true artist. He blended ink and skin like an oil painter mixes his colors on a canvas, only he did it twice as fast and with little room for error. I paused on a particularly striking chest piece, the colors inhabiting that delicate space between the breasts and collarbone. I traced the vines to the center, to a vibrant purple rose, and wondered what it would feel like to have Flor touch me there, to press the stencil into my skin and slide his fingers across it, smooth it into place. My lashes fluttered against my cheek as I forced myself to turn the page. Luckily for me, he shattered the illusion by proceeding with his general assholery.

“You've lived here your whole life, been there a million times. What kind of date did he think that would turn out to be?” I stared at Flor, surprised that his client was still smiling at him while he blatantly ignored her and focused instead on belittling the news of my first date with Dorian. At least he was still easy on the eyes, his dark hair like liquid, soft but sharp, strands sliding across his forehead as he leaned over and focused on his client's upper arm with eyes like emeralds. The piercings on either side of his lip were black, like the ones in his left brow, and he had on about a million colored rubber bracelets, like the kind you get from fundraisers. They striped the tattoos on his left arm like a rainbow, drawing my attention to the lavender eyes of the wolf girl below his elbow. “What'd you even do? Pick out organic kombucha together? Sample some free-range goat cheese? Not like
that
was going to get him laid or anything.”

I pursed my lips and crossed my arms over my chest. He was fishing for information – as usual. Fat chance that he'd get any out of me. I knew better than to share sordid details with Flor, not that there were any from my latest date, but there was this one time I admitted to kissing Tyler Caprico by the gym building. The next day Tyler'd had a black eye and very little interest in talking to me. I'd railed at Flor, hit him in the chest, called him a stalker and a freak and an asshole. I'd later found out that Tyler was a 'cherry picker'. If you don't know what that means, you probably don't want to know. It has a little something to do with girls and their virginity and Tyler's infatuation with taking it.

I sighed as I watched Flor tattoo his client's flawlessly smooth skin with a bright orange and pink flower, so detailed it looked like it was popping off her shoulder, unfolding in a sea of perfect petals and tropical fragrance. The eye that dotted its center, blood leaking from the pupil and dripping down the stem, looked like it could, at any moment, up and blink at me. When I'd first walked in, she'd glared at me, but as usual, Flor was quick to label me as his stepsister and her possessive glower had immediately faded away. If she only knew.

“It was a nice date, Flor,” I told him, thinking of Dorian and his sweet smile and gentle hand. If I was honest with myself, it was the only date I'd been on in over a year that hadn't flopped completely. Or that Flor hadn't ruined. “He's a nice guy and I think you should get to know him.” Flor lifted his gloved hand, machine clutched between his fingers, and stared at me. His eyes ripped holes in my soul. Or at least it felt that way.

“You just used the word
nice.
” He paused and his lips twitched with another infuriating grin, one of those ones that's so loaded with self-satisfaction that it deserves to be ripped right off the face. “Twice.” I watched as Flor dipped his needle into one of the little ink cups on the table. He was now satisfied that Dorian wasn't going to be ripping off my panties in any scorching evening of passion. I felt my tongue rub subconsciously against my lower lip, my fingers curl in my hair. In one of my psych classes, we'd been taught that some signs are universal, that most – if not all – cultures participate in them without even knowing it. Lip licking and hair touching? Definitely both fell into that category. They were flirty moves.

I forced my hands down by my sides. How come whenever the word
passion
came into my mind, Flor's face followed after it?

“There's nothing wrong with nice guys,” the girl in Flor's chair said, turning to smile at me. She had pale pink skin, fluffy blonde hair and lipstick the color of bubblegum. Her long lashes and overdone makeup made me think
drag queen,
like she could work the club with Theo
,
but there was no doubt she was a woman. I found her campy look charming and tried to smile, even though she'd given me a glare when I'd first walked in. If I'd ever thought to write off female relationships because of looks like that, the only person I would've been able to hang out with was Addison.

“If
nice
is what you're looking for, you came to the wrong shop,” Flor growled and although I was pretty damn sure he was talking to his client, he was looking at
me.
I stared at him, my heartbeat thumping rapidly against my chest, my breath caught in the back of my throat. For a moment there, I could almost imagine that I'd just walked in the door and met him, that he hadn't stolen my Barbies and burned their hair off when I was six. I'd have moved confidently across the black and white tiled floor, past the purple couches and the wall of framed artwork, and I'd have smiled at him. He'd have smiled back, and maybe, just maybe that little cinder I'd tended to for so long wouldn't have gone cold. Maybe it would've burned us both to ash?
But what a beautiful death it would've been.

I looked away, bit my lower lip and turned towards the door.

“You come all this way just to tell me about your shitty date?” Flor asked, sensing that I was about to make a run for it. He was good at that, sensing weakness and all. He loved calling me out on it. I paused and listened to the buzz of the needle, let my body soak in the smell of ink and Aquaphor and disinfectant. “I haven't been by your place since you moved in.”

I glanced over my shoulder, happy that at least today my hair was behaving. The brunette curls slid over my back and I think I caught a random wink from Flor's client. I let my lips curl into a smile.

“That was only a week ago, Flor,” I said, watching as he squinted at the printout taped to the mirror next to his station. He didn't bother to look up at me.

“Invite me over for a beer, Abigail,” he commanded, and I sighed. Even if I said no, he'd come over anyway. Flor was kind of a dick like that.

“Friday at eight,” I told him and then left the shop in a hurry.

I opened the door to my fridge and paused, listening to the sounds of downtown Eugene leak in through the cracked windows.
I have my own place.
God. It had felt like this day would never come. I shoved the six-pack of beer onto the glass shelf and shut the door, turning around and leaning against the stainless steel surface as I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Somehow I could sense that I was standing at a crossroads and that in front of me, a hundred doors sat waiting for me to pick a path – if only I wasn't blind enough to not notice what was standing in my way.

“Are you being contemplative again?” Addi asked me, stumbling into the kitchen with a different heel on each foot. She paused and held her arms out to either side, looking sexy and confident in a white cotton T-shirt dress with a graphic print splashed across the front. “Don't answer that. I know you were, so don't lie to me. Now, stop being so goddamn intellectual and be shallow with me for five seconds. Gray suede bootie or classic black pump?”

“I, uh,” I began, but Addison held out her hands, palms forward. Her nails were splashed with color, flickering like little orange fireflies as she gestured at me.

“No, no, no. You're right. You're so right. Just because I'm going to dinner with Patrick's parents doesn't mean I have to dress like a frump.” Addi kicked off her black pump while I chuckled and watched her limp back to her bedroom. “It's not like I haven't met them before, you know?” She reappeared a moment later and paused, her phone in her hand and a frown on her face. It took me a second to realize that she meant tonight. She was going out
tonight.

“Wait,” I said, fear gripping my throat like a noose, choking the air out of me. Last thing I wanted was to end up here by myself with Flor. Needless to say, we didn't spend a lot of alone time together. I mean, moving day had been the exception, not the rule. I blinked to clear my irrational fear of my stepbrother and took a breath. “You didn't tell me you were going out tonight.” The words tumbled out as an accusation and I watched as Addi raised an eyebrow at me.

“It was last minute. Patrick's actually thinking of moving here, Abi. If he does, that could change my life. You know how I feel about long distance relationships, even one as strong as ours. I thought I might lose him when I moved here.” She smiled at me, and I smiled back. I knew why she'd moved here: for me. It's not often that you find friends who'll choose you over their boyfriends or girlfriends. As far as I knew, it was virtually unheard of. But Addison and I had grown up together, quite literally. My dad used to take me to 'Mommy and Me' playdates hosted by Addi's mom. The other moms thought he was a weirdo, but Addison's mom saw him for what he really was: a man whose wife had given birth and bailed. He was just trying to take care of me the way he thought she should've, be both a father
and
a mother. I think that was another reason Addison had moved all this way for me; I had this aura about me that drew out the maternal instincts in people, like I was this motherless vacuum that needed to be filled with nurturing and caring. I hated to admit it, but that was probably true in a lot of ways. I mean, it wasn't that I couldn't take care of myself, but rather that I was almost
too
good at it. Fun was usually only in my vocabulary when it was forced on me.