Sidelined (28 page)

My chest heaves at the sudden rush of air from my sharp breath, and my eyes snap up. I count twenty-four blood-red roses and drop into a chair. I drink half of my glass of wine in one go.

“Fuck,” I whisper, my eyes blurring.

I drop the card and press my hands into my eyes. My mascara smudges and stings my eyes, so I run into the bathroom for a wipe to remove it. When it’s off, my eyes still sting, but it’s from emotion and not makeup.

Slowly, I force myself back into the kitchen. The flowers are sitting there, perfect. A bright burst of color against my pale, pink-and-white kitchen. A damning burst of something I feel slipping through my fingers at a rapid pace.

A painful burst of the fact that I’m balancing myself on a tightrope being pulled in two different directions so quickly that it’s sure to snap.

“Wow.”

“Wow.”

“Wow.”

“Wow.”

“Will you two shut up? Yes, wow, they’re very pretty,” I snap, staring at my best friends.

Ryann sighs. “I want a man to send me roses.”

“I want Corey to send me roses. Why has he never given me flowers?” Leah turns, grasping her wine sippy cup.

“He never forced you on dates with your ex?” I reply dryly, moving to the sofa.

Ry laughs. “Seriously, how do you respond to those?”

“I haven’t.”

“Yet.” Leah grins evilly. “Come on. If you want him to see it before the game, then you have to do it now.” She shoves a bag at me.

I stare at her. “This is dumb.”

“Jack is dumb. You are dumb. Dumb works.” She takes the bag back and tips it up.

A bright-red-and-black jersey falls into my lap.

“Is that…” Ry begins.

“Dumb? Yes.” I pull my shirt over my head, tug the tag from the jersey, and slip into it. “Considering that my relationships are so fucked up they almost make sense and Jack is the one thing everything is most fucked up with, sending him a picture of me wearing a jersey with his name on, in my panties, is not going to smooth everything over.”

“No, but that’s a kind of rough you could get down with.”

“I… Yeah,” I admit, standing to slide my pants down my legs.

I can just imagine Jack’s reaction to this. I can imagine the way his eyes will cloud with desire when he opens the message, the way his lips will thin with determination to own my body entirely.

“Stand by the flowers,” Leah orders, tugging me over to the table. “Thank you. Now, turn your back to me.”

“Swing your hair over your shoulder and look down to the side,” Ryann directs. “What?” she asks at my hard look. “I’ve been in photoshoots all week. I’m practically Gisele right now.”

“Fine, fine,” I mutter.

“Now, lift the jersey a little and pull it tight at the front. We can’t see your underwear.”

“Jesus. I’m not trying to give him a hard-on.”

“Shut up with the moaning,” Leah says. “We’re trying to help you sort out your fucked-upness, and you have five minutes before he’ll have to get ready to go out on the field.”

“Fine. Just do it.”

Silence. Then she says, “Done.”

“Thank God.” I turn and grab my phone.

Huh. It looks pretty good. My ass is better than I thought.

“Send.” Ry leans over my shoulder and presses the button to send it to Jack. I gasp, and she rolls her eyes. “Someone had to do it, Ms. Virginity.”

I narrow my eyes at her and sit on the sofa. My phone rings just as I reach for my pants.
Jack.

“Um, hi,” I answer, looking away from my grinning, bouncing best friends.

“That you right now?” he asks, his voice low and husky. I can barely hear him over the background noise.

“Yes.”

“You’re makin’ it real hard to keep to this ‘leaving you alone for a few days’ thing.”

“I was forced into it. But it’s to say thank you. For the flowers. And that I accept your apology even if I’m not sure what it’s for.”

“It’s for bein’ an asshole. But fuck the flowers. I’m tempted to go win this game and to hell with stayin’ away from you.”

I swallow. “Well, I’m not going anywhere tonight.”

“You watchin’?”

“The game?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Watch us win,” he says, his voice still low. “And don’t fucking go anywhere.”

“Got it,” I whisper.

“And, M?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare get changed.”

W
e win the game 41–18.

“Thought you were letting her see her ex?” Corey asks.

“She put my fucking name on her back,” I answer, throwing my bag in the back seat and slamming the door.

“Blame Leah.”

“Blame her?” I glance at him, grinning. “Thank her for me.”

Corey shakes his head, laughing, and gets into his car. I get into mine and tear away from the stadium. I’m caught in the dregs of the busy game-day traffic, so it takes longer than I want to get to her apartment, but when I do, I barely remember to lock my car before walking to the door and ringing the buzzer.

“Hello?” her voice comes through the intercom.

“Let me up.”

The door buzzes and I push it open. I take the stairs two at a time and knock on her door.

“It’s open,” she yells.

I open the door and look around her apartment for her. She’s standing in the kitchen with her back to me. Her hair is swept over her shoulder, and sure as fuck, my name and my number are on the jersey she’s wearing. The hem of it skims her ass, but I can see the bright-pink panties from the picture peeking out beneath the black piping.

“Macey,” I growl.

She looks over her shoulder, a smirk teasing her pink lips. “Yes?” She lifts a wine sippy cup to her mouth and drinks.

“Macey,” I repeat, just as low, just as gruffly.

“You only call me that when I’m in trouble.”

I walk to her, and she spins to face me. I slam my hands on the counter on either side of her and lean in. “You’re in trouble all right, baby. For sending me that fucking picture before the game and still expecting me to win without a second thought.”

“You’re good,” she hums, trailing her finger across my lower stomach. “You scored three touchdowns and obliterated their defense. You made it look easy.”

“She wears my jersey and talks sense about football,” I murmur, lowering my head. “Can you get sexier?”

She curls her fingers around my shirt. “Why don’t you find out?”

I smile against her jaw and ghost my mouth along the curve until it finds the softness of her lips. Macey leans into me, her grip on my T-shirt tightening as she tries to pull me closer. I wrap my arm around her waist and use my other to push us away from the counter. She gasps as my hand connects with her ass, and I smile.

“That’s for torturing me.”

“Noted,” she breathes, creeping her hands up and taking the material of my shirt with it.

I take it off and throw it on the floor, curving my hands around her tight ass and bringing her back against me.

“Macey?” There’s a succession of knocks at the door, and she freezes.

“Fuck,” she whispers, pushing out of my arms. “What are you doing here?” she yells at the door.

“I need to talk to you.”

“No, you don’t! You’re only here because you’ve seen Jack’s car in the parking lot!” She yanks the door open.

Mitch. Fuck me. Cock-blocking prick.

My erection disappears.

I walk up behind Macey and grab the door. “Do you mind? We’re in the middle of something here.”

His eyes snap to mine, and he clenches his fists.

“Whoa now, buddy. Remember what happened last time you threw those little beanbags around.”

“Jack,” Macey snaps. “Let me deal with him.”

“Fuck me,” I mutter, letting go of the door and sitting at the kitchen table, where I’m only a few feet away.

“What do you want?” Macey seethes. “I told you I couldn’t see you today. What are you doing here?”

“Yeah, well, now, I get why you can’t.” He flits his eyes to me. “Is that a Vipers jersey?”

I smirk.

“Yes,” she replies, calmer.

“You hate football.”

“Actually, I kind of like it now.”

“You fuck a football player and are suddenly into the game? Imagine that.”

“How’s that for a coincidence?” Her voice is suddenly sweeter, but there’s a current of danger mixed with the nicety of her tone. She’s getting pissed off—quickly.

“Right.” He looks at me. “What’s up with you? Three touchdowns in the game not enough? You need to score here too?”

“Enough!” Macey shouts before I can respond. “If you’re here, Mitch, you’re here to talk to me and not fling your shit at Jack.”

“You gotta protect him now?”

“Talk, Mitchell, or so help me, you will be the one in need of protection.”

Shit. She’s sexy when she’s feisty.

“What’s going on?” A guy appears from the opposite apartment. “Macey, you all right, darlin’?”

Darlin’?

“I’m fine, Will. Just feeling a little like I need a heavy object.”

“Mitch? Is that you?” the guy—Will—asks.

“Sure is.”

“I thought you guys broke up.”

“We did,” Macey says through gritted teeth.

“We’re working things out,” Mitch answers.

I snort.

“Wait—who’s that?” A head, presumably Will’s, pops around Mitch’s body. “No shit. Is that Jack Carr?”

“Sure is.” I grin, leaning back.

“Good win today, man!”

I nod in his direction. “Thanks.”

“Jesus!” Macey explodes. “Mitchell, talk or leave.”

“So you can get back to fucking pretty boy in there?” he retorts.

“Actually, you interrupted us before we got there, but I’m not picky, so yes!”

“Nice.” Mitch steps back. “So, you go on a date with me then you fuck him the next day?”

Macey sighs.

Mitch turns to me. “I’m guessin’ she didn’t tell you she was making out with me in the parking lot yesterday, huh?”