Kickin' It (Red Card) - Rachel Van Dyken Page 0,53

was probably before you started dating his sister.”

“Ouch.” Jagger winced and then wrapped an arm around me. “You can’t kill a guy for trying to do the right thing, and Matt, he’s trying to do the right thing here. You’re his client. I’m not a dumbass, I see the way he looks at you, the way you look at him. He’s trying to do good by you, Parker.”

I looked down at my heels and shrugged, hating that Matt was being the bigger person, the good guy. How ironic. I’d always wanted a guy like Matt, but now, now my past and his morals kept us apart.

“I don’t know what happened, Parker. He still refuses to tell me why he looks at you like he’s starving but refuses to take a bite, even though we all know it’s not going to kill his career or yours. Would a relationship between you two be frowned upon? Yes. Is it illegal? Hell no. But something happened, I’m assuming with you, and he didn’t break that trust. He never would. He’s good, the best. He’s just . . . good, which I can’t say for everyone I’ve known in this league . . .”

My heart began a staccato beat, and I looked up with wide eyes as he ran a hand over his buzzed hair.

“I knew your old coach, Erik, and caught him with an underage girl once. We played together early on, back before Slade and I had our huge falling-out. Point is, he’s not a good guy, so if you punched him, you had a damn good reason. And it makes me wonder if that’s why Matt’s turned so noble. When you’re interested you don’t just stop playing the game.”

“But he got hurt . . .” I offered lamely.

“Hah!” He grinned. “I like you. No, I mean players. Ladies’ men. A guy like Matt doesn’t just put everything on hold for anyone. He doesn’t make it personal, but he made it personal with you for a reason. Maybe it’s time you reminded him why.” He took a sip of his drink. “And if he asks, Willow and I aren’t getting busy in the wine cellar.”

“Ew!” I shoved him away. “No details!”

“She wore really high heels for a reason, Cheetah Girl.”

I glared.

“Go show him your moves.” He chuckled. “But finish your liquid courage first, because Matt’s a hard one to crack, and believe me, brother must be hard as fuck these days.”

I scrunched up my nose.

He just shrugged and sauntered off.

And that’s when Slade made his way over.

“Oh good, another pep talk. Anything you want to add to the train wreck that Jagger left in his wake?”

“Who?” Slade’s eyes were so pretty it was almost hard to focus. “I was just going to say you should probably put Matt out of his misery and mine. He’s been texting me every night, and Mack said she was going to change my phone number if he didn’t stop.”

“Texting you to what? Hang out?”

“No, have a pillow fight,” he said drily. “He was drunk last night.”

“So?” I downed the rest of my drink.

“He’s always in control, doesn’t get drunk just to get drunk. He always has a reason for everything, and he told me what it was . . .”

I leaned forward.

“Hey, I don’t gossip.” Slade held up his hands. “But I’m pretty sure if you get him to dance with you, you’ll find out.”

“So dancing’s going to solve this?”

“No.” Slade’s gaze turned serious. “An equal amount of communication, sex, and hydration will, though.”

I exhaled.

“And off you go . . .” Slade gave me a light tap on the back as I made my way over to where Matt was stewing.

Music pumped through the dark room. There was a huge dance floor in the middle under two chandeliers. Nearly two hundred people including old teammates, possible new ones, coaches, and other agents were in attendance. Basically, Matt had set up the party to be a relaunch of my career, and already I’d chatted with other coaches who were begging me to come to a tryout after Seattle.

And every single time I had to fake my excitement.

Because I’d fallen in love with Washington.

And everything it entailed.

Matt was standing near the wall talking with one of the Reign coaches.

“And there she is.” His face was tired but he was still beautiful—angry and beautiful like when we first met.

I smiled at that, which seemed to only make him scowl more.

“We were just talking about you.” Paul Willard was respected