Kickin' It (Red Card) - Rachel Van Dyken Page 0,31

little wiggle with her hips. “It’s perfect. I can hold down the fort here, you guys take the first flight out after practice. It’s a short flight anyway, stay the night and—”

“She’s not ready,” I interrupted.

“What?” both girls yelled in unison. I had half a mind to grab the ibuprofen from my right drawer and chew it dry. The voices, so loud, always so damn loud.

“She’s doing great!” Willow insisted.

“I’m working my ass off!” said Parker, glaring at me.

“See?” Willow pointed at her. “She’s ready!” She slapped Parker’s ass.

Parker winced. “Ouch.”

“Sorry.” Willow rubbed it, right in front of me, sparking some weird sinful envy inside as I shook my head at both girls.

Parker had excitement in her eyes, and Willow went back to hopping on both feet.

If she clapped, I was going for the ibuprofen.

Hell, if she screamed or said yay in that high-pitched voice I was going for something stronger, like whiskey.

“Fine,” I grumbled. “Willow, make yourself useful and get the flight and hotel booked. Double-check with the LA team, also known as the Fliers.” I said it slowly, hoping it would stick, but hell, who was I kidding? My sister only listened when she wanted to. “Find out their schedule, and get us a dinner booked, no tryouts. We’re just there to talk stats.”

“Yes!” she squealed. Wasn’t as bad as a yay, but I still winced as she ran out the door, leaving me and Parker alone.

“You really think I’m ready?” She plopped down into a seat and put her feet up on my desk. Her brown hair was down again, kissing her bare shoulders and making her look more approachable than normal. The familiarity was going to kill me—it already was.

I flicked her Converse with my pen and shook my head. “As long as you keep your feet off the table, dress your age, and try not to burp during dinner I think we’ll be okay.”

She made a face. “I know how to be a lady.”

“You have a chip.” I nodded toward her chest. “On your shirt right there.”

She pulled her feet from my desk and pointed her finger at me. “I’m going to impress the hell out of them. You won’t even recognize me.”

And for some reason, that made me sad. “Parker,” I called as she started stomping out of my office. “Don’t change who you are . . .” I cleared my throat as her face softened. “Maybe just . . . polish up a bit . . .”

She was almost out of my office when I laughed to myself.

“What?” She poked her head back in.

“You have Pringles in your hair.”

“Son of a bitch!” She marched off yelling.

And I held back my tongue. What I was going to say? My confession? You’re more beautiful with a Pringle in your hair than you are with a fancy blowout?

I liked messy Parker.

Messy Parker was real.

I wasn’t sure I would survive any other type, because she had me hungry for more. Hell, I was already fantasizing, already wanting what I knew I had to keep at arm’s length.

Parker acting like a foul-mouthed lady might just set me off.

I reached for the ibuprofen.

And quickly bypassed it for the whiskey.

Chapter Fourteen

PARKER

I wasn’t the type to take selfies.

But I had a pod.

In first class.

So I took ten.

Much to Matt’s dismay, I kept snapping photos of everything from the plug-ins to the special eye mask they gave me along with a wine list and appetizer list.

“You travel like this all the time?” I put my feet up on the little stool that only first-class people had and waited.

Matt set his phone down next to me and motioned for the flight attendant. “Whiskey neat.”

“And what will you have, miss?” The flight attendants on Delta were all dressed in pretty purple dresses that almost looked out of place.

“Water,” Matt answered for me.

I gave him a pleading look.

“And a light beer,” he added, “with lime.”

“Beer?” I hissed under my breath when she left.

“Beer helps your muscles, liquor just makes you dehydrated. Not that beer doesn’t, but it does help recovery, and you limped like Quasimodo all the way through security.”

“Glad you noticed. Not enough ibuprofen in the world when it comes to you, Matt Kingston.”

“And not enough whiskey in the world when living with you,” he said sarcastically. “Put your phone down. People are staring, and usually I fly private.”

I almost dropped my phone. “Private, as in, just you?”

“Yes.” He thanked the flight attendant as she handed us our drinks.

“Wait, like just you, the pilots,