The Broody Brit for Christmas (Holiday Springs #1) - M.J. Fields Page 0,52
I have work to do. I want to make sure our legacy is a treasure, not a trap.”
“So, you’re going to stick around and make my life even more miserable?” Her tone dilutes her venomous words. Something in her eyes tells me she’s hopeful.
Laughing, I nod. “You have no idea how miserable I’m going to make you. But in a year, you’re going to see me as less of a burden.”
“So, I’ll get my sister back?” she asks sadly.
“As long as you stop talking shit about my ass and sweet tooth to my boyfriend. Oh, and by the way, Nellie, stop flirting with him. It pisses me off. And you have your own freaking boyfriend. He comes in all the damn time, and he clearly thinks you’re amazing.”
“Yeah, well, he also thinks our open relationship is amazing.” The frown brought on by those words quickly morphs into a fake smile. “And, so do I.”
Pity overtakes me, but I won’t let it show. “New rule. You can lie to your parents, but not to your sister slash cousin slash business partner, or yourself.”
She narrows her eyes at me, and I respond by quirking a brow.
“Whatever, we’ll see what happens.” She turns to walk away.
“Wait, where are you going?”
“Home to wash dishes since you didn’t. And I can’t flirt with your boyfriend, so what’s the sense in staying?”
I grab her arm. “I’m sure there are a dozen guys out on that field that you can drool over.”
She looks back at me. “I feel sick to my stomach. I’m going home.”
I walk over and hug her. “Dinner tomorrow at home. But before that, you need to tell me what it is you envision for Winterfield’s.”
“Oh my God, why are you hugging me?” she sighs but holds me back. In some weird way, I’ve missed this. I guess she has, too.
“Because you need one. Maybe we both do.”
She steps back, eyeing me suspiciously. The moment is obviously over.
I raise my chest, needing her to understand that I’m here to stay. “I’m back, Nellie.”
“Yeah, and for how long?”
I tell her half of the truth. “As long as it takes.”
She nods, turns, and walks away, her heels clicking against the asphalt.
Once she’s gone, I watch for Jenny entering the parking lot, but no luck. The whistle blows, signifying the start of the game, and I remember why I’m here.
Raff.
Sitting two rows down from the … what the hell did Jenny call them? Soccer sows, I laugh to myself as I pull my phone from my coat pocket to see if she’s messaged.
I scroll past the thirty-seven messages she sent before our talk in Raff’s vehicle.
As pissed off as she is that I wasn't paying attention, I think I deserve a pat on the back, a gold star, or maybe a dozen of her amazing chocolate chip cookies for not even looking at social media at all for that amount of time.
Or maybe… Raff deserves them since he’s the one who has kept me planted in the here and now. I take a deep inhale of the fresh air, letting it fill my lungs before slowly exhaling.
I try to remember a time when Townes wasn't sneaking a peek at his phone, therefore setting the precedence for it to be acceptable when we were anywhere. Hell, he’d roll off me to take ‘an important call’ or check his email. There was no boundary between us and social media.
I quickly glance up and scan the field for Raff, feeling guilty that I even thought about Townes and me in bed. I immediately spot him, and he’s looking directly at me. All thoughts of anything on this earth, other than the man I’m looking at, disappear.
He lifts a chin as if he’s checking on me. I give him a thumbs up and a big grin. He cocks his head to the side and gives me a playful smirk.
“God. Raff is just so hot,” someone behind me sighs.
My blood boils, and I yearn to turn around and tell her to look at someone else. The fact that my immediate reaction is to let my claws out and tell whoever she is that he’s mine makes me smile. Hell, I was never jealous at all over the women in the city talking about how they’d like to bed Townes.
“And apparently off the market,” another woman replies.
“Yeah, for how long this time?”
Inwardly, I reply, “forever.” And then cringe at myself for silently getting into a conversation between two women—about me.