Kickin' It (Red Card) - Rachel Van Dyken Page 0,8

I started to walk away only to have Matt grab me by the hand and jerk me back.

Willow cursed and pressed her fingertips to her forehead.

“Behave.” His breath was hot on my ear. “I don’t know you. In fact, I’m instantly regretting letting you into my house, but this night is important. These people may be friends, but they’re still clients. Respect them or I’m finding you a nice cardboard box to call home in downtown Seattle. Got it?”

I sucked in a breath. “You would steal a box from people who are truly homeless?”

“What did I do to deserve this?” He looked toward the sky and then shook his head. “Let’s go. Remember what I said.” He paused and then added, “Both of you.”

“Yes, Dad.” I winked at Willow. My voice was shaky, and I felt the onslaught of tears. A few minutes in and I was already messing everything up! I focused on the embarrassment of him calling me out as anger clouded my line of vision. “We’ll be good. Promise.”

Regret came hard and fast as we made our way into the fancy, dimly lit restaurant.

What the hell was I doing?

I needed him.

And yet I had insulted his tie and called him names.

It didn’t help that he was pretty to look at, with smooth, tanned skin, a white flashy smile, eyes that crinkled, and an expressive face that captivated me even though I didn’t want it to. Yeah, and I’d called him Dad. Good one!

I took a calming breath. I could do this. I could be nice even if he was an ass. I just needed to keep my attitude in check.

How hard could it be?

Just because I’ve never particularly had that talent doesn’t mean I can’t suddenly develop it, over dinner, in a high-stress situation.

My smile felt brittle as we sat down at an elegant circular table. I recognized Jagger instantly, he winked at me and then looked ready to swallow his tongue when he locked eyes with Willow.

I watched the exchange with interest mainly because I wondered how Matt could have such a gorgeous little sister and not realize that every athlete that worked for him would probably do anything to get into her pants.

Huh.

Matt ordered a bottle of wine just as Slade Rodriguez walked in and sat across from us with a stunning woman on his arm. I’d read he’d gotten married.

I hadn’t read that she was a supermodel.

Her smile was warm as she introduced herself to everyone.

Lastly was some guy from the Bellevue Bucks that I’m pretty sure could eat everyone at the table and still have calories to burn. He was gorgeous in a cocky way, and the woman on his arm had the most attractive curves I’d ever seen in my life.

As in, give-me-your-entire-workout-plan-so-I-can-find-my-ass sort of curves.

“So . . .” Slade gave Matt an amused look. “I heard you have new roommates.”

Matt sighed and reached for the wine. “They can hear you. For the record.”

“I know.” A grin stretched across his face. “This pleases me more than it should.” He nodded to Willow. “You still planning on following in his footsteps?”

She giggled. “You know it.”

“Brave woman.”

“And smart, don’t forget smart.” She pointed her wineglass at him as the table fell silent. All eyes moved to me.

Great.

Just don’t yell.

Or insult anyone.

I forced a smile and waited while Slade’s eyes narrowed and then widened in shock.

Oh no.

This was bad.

This was going to be very, very bad.

“Parker Speedman?” he said in a rich, deep voice.

“Uh, present?” I laughed lightly.

“Wow.” He tossed his napkin down on the table. “Didn’t you punch your own coach last year before the championship—”

“Yeah,” I said quickly and reached for my wine, took two long gulps and then changed the subject. “So, Matt works for all of you?”

“Aw, I think I love this girl. She actually realizes we’re the talent, not you.” Jagger winked at Matt. “And yeah, we’ve been together a while, plus we make him money.”

Matt snorted. “You’re actually causing me to lose money when your racist grandmother tries to attack members of the media with a fork.”

“Can’t say I didn’t warn ya, man!” Jagger laughed and shifted his focus to me. “So you punched your coach?” He leaned in. “What was that like? Invigorating? Powerful? What the hell was she doing that she deserved a punch?”

“He,” I corrected, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach. “And we don’t need to talk about it. Water under the bridge.” Sweat broke out across my forehead as I tried to keep it cool