Wright with Benefits (Wright Series #8) - K.A. Linde Page 0,20

her car door as she plaited her box braids up into a ponytail and then wrapped it all up into a high bun.

“How was your night?” Cézanne asked with an arched eyebrow.

“Fine. How was the party?”

“Boring. You really missed out.”

I chuckled. “Well, I’m so sad that I didn’t go.”

“No, you’re not, and eventually, you’re going to tell me what actually happened.”

“Am I?” I asked as the group of us stepped into the indoor soccer facility.

“What’s Jordan doing here?” Sutton said in surprise.

I froze in place. My eyes lifting from Cézanne’s to stare up into the row of bleachers. And…yep. There was Jordan Wright seated at the end of the row, talking to Julian and Hollin. He’d never once come to a game before. As if he recognized it as my space. And yet, here he was.

10

Annie

“What is he doing here?” I hissed under my breath.

“I don’t think he’s ever been to a match,” Sutton said.

“No, he hasn’t.”

So, what the hell was he doing here now? Sure, we’d kind of reconciled last night, but then I hadn’t heard a peep from him today. It didn’t seem like him to make a scene here. I didn’t see another reason why he’d show. If he was here for Julian or Hollin, then he would have come to games sooner.

Cézanne cackled. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

Jennifer and Sutton looked at each other and then to me.

“Oh boy,” Jennifer muttered.

“What did you do?” Sutton asked.

“Nothing,” I ground out.

Then I pushed past my friends, straight for Jordan Wright. Julian and Hollin saw me coming and beelined for the field to warm up. Which likely meant they knew. Was Jordan going around and telling everyone about his latest conquest?

“What are you doing here?” I asked before he could say anything else.

“Hello, Annie. Good to see you,” he said. His face was carefully blank. He’d been preparing for this moment. The inevitable fight.

“You don’t come to the soccer games.”

“My brother and cousin play on the team.”

“So?”

“I don’t see why you’re mad about me being here. You’re the one who ran out this morning.”

My eyes widened. “I didn’t run out. I had to deal with the flood in my house. I left you a note. You’re the one who didn’t text me.”

His mask faltered. “You didn’t leave me a note.”

“Uh, yes, I did. I left it on the fridge.”

“What? No, you didn’t.”

I looked to the ceiling and prayed for strength. “Fine. Believe whatever you want about me.”

I turned to go, but with whip-sharp reflexes, he snagged my elbow and pulled me back to him.

“Hey, I didn’t know. I thought you’d just ghosted the next morning.” His voice was soft, sincere.

I wanted to believe him, but it was hard to think that he didn’t have ulterior motives.

“Well, I didn’t.”

“Okay,” he said quickly. “I believe you.”

“Thank God,” I said with an eye roll, pulling out of his grip. “Just…I don’t have time for this.”

Jordan opened his mouth, but I pushed away from him and headed out onto the field. I was thrown by his presence. I’d thought he wasn’t interested, and he’d thought I’d ghosted him. We were both wrong, and still…I hadn’t lied. I really, really didn’t have time for whatever this meant.

I needed to focus on this game and not Jordan Wright anyway. I wasn’t the best soccer player by any stretch of the imagination. I mostly did it because Isaac needed extra girls to play on the coed team and stayed because I liked the team.

Blaire did most of the work. She was already running through drills, her typical baseball cap down low over her eyes, her dark hair swinging nearly to the middle of her back in a pony. She was short, quick, and fierce, running circles around everyone.

Isaac and Julian were midfielders. Both having played soccer in college, they dominated the run game. While Cézanne, Hollin, and I played defense. Which usually meant Hollin was a ball hog and Cézanne had to politely tell him to stop being a fuckface. It was entertaining as all hell when Cézanne let loose. Gerome was our mostly silent goalie, six and a half feet tall with long locs and a serious disposition. We didn’t win every match, but the commentary made it worth it either way.

“Hey, Annie,” Blaire said, jogging over.

We slapped hands back and forth and then a fist bump. A handshake we’d had for the last couple seasons. Blaire was one of those disarmingly beautiful people with full black hair and close-cropped bangs. Her eyes