Kickin' It (Red Card) - Rachel Van Dyken Page 0,4

still in hand. “Sorry, but I think I’ll keep these.”

They were on a plastic plate.

With Saran Wrap.

They looked nothing like Girl Scout cookies, jackass.

I crossed my arms. “I’m here for Matt.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Matt Kingston? That Matt? You sure?”

I ground my teeth. “Pretty sure.”

“Sorry, I’m his new security, nobody gets past me.”

I was killing Willow later. Give a girl some warning next time! Like, oh hey, there may be professional athletes just hanging out, try not to put your foot in your mouth like usual!

“You’re not.”

“Excuse me?”

“Security.” I grinned. “You’re Jagger Komokov, giant chip on your shoulder the size of the exact space some lucky bastard was able to get a ball into your net, what was it, from like seven feet?”

“Bullshit!” he roared.

I sidestepped him.

He moved.

I moved.

And then he took a cookie out from under the wrap and jammed it in his mouth. “Mmmm, peanut butter? You trying to kill him?”

“No!”

“What if he’s allergic?” He grinned.

“His sister would have specified!” I was hot. Exhausted from our plane ride. And just needed to ask him where to put my bags! “Look, I’m tired. Can we do this whole weird interrogation later?”

I tried to get past him again.

He braced one hand against the door.

“Jagger! Stop eating all the fucking cookies and get your ass in here for damage control!”

“Told you Grandma was off her rocker!” Jagger called back over his shoulder and then whispered to me, “She called Matt a Russian spy when I got stopped for an interview outside a restaurant, it’s all over the news. He shouldn’t have worn red, and he sure as hell shouldn’t have checked up on me, I got my shit handled.” He shrugged and took another bite. “So, what will it be, little girl? You leave on your own or am I escorting you back to that . . .” He frowned. “Jetta.”

“Nothing wrong with a Jetta.” It was a cheap rental until . . . well, until my future happened.

“More of a sports-car kinda guy, you understand.” He winked.

I was losing patience.

And my temper, which I’d been told was one of my worst qualities and just another one of the many reasons that some of the teams were leery of giving me a bigger contract. I was a risk they weren’t sure they could afford to take!

“Move before I rip your balls from your body,” I said with a smile and then swallowed and added, “Please.”

He grinned. “Yeah, okay, small fry, go right ahead.”

“Really?”

“No.” He started closing the door. “Good cookies, though!”

The door clicked shut in my face.

I rang the bell a few more times.

And then I started aggressively pounding my hands against the solid wood.

It swung open.

“Listen, jackass—”

I almost swallowed my tongue as Matt Kingston stood to his full six-foot-four height and crossed his arms over a broad chest. A nice chest covered by a white button-down tucked into black trousers, and shiny shoes. He looked like he’d just had dinner with royalty.

His sleeves were rolled halfway up his forearms, and I could see golden muscle flex hard like he was clenching his fists in irritation. His light-blue eyes took inventory of me as if I wasn’t worth him wasting any sort of words. His blond hair was mussed like he’d been running his hands through it.

He was beautiful up close. Equal parts masculine and serious. He had an air about him that both intimidated me and made me want to lean in closer.

“Speak,” he rasped, jolting me out of my haze while I mentally applauded God for making such a fine specimen. Of course he couldn’t be nice on top of being too handsome for words, because that wouldn’t be fair to the female population, would it?

“I’m . . .” I gulped and then stood to my full height. “I’m Willow’s friend.”

“Good for you.” He frowned. “Did you want me to pay you or something?”

“Pay me?”

“For her friendship. It’s the only reason I can imagine you’d come all the way to my house and make such a vague statement. God knows the woman could test the fucking pope.”

My lips twitched. “Uh no, don’t need money. My name’s Parker Speedman. Willow told me you said I could stay here. I just . . . I needed help with some of my bags, and my hands were full of cookies. She said the way to your heart was through your stomach.”

He stared at me for at least five solid seconds before he slammed the door in my face and let out a