RISKY PLAY (RED CARD #1) BY RACHEL VAN DYKEN Page 0,17
let strangers into their homes. I was told I’d see my fair share of tax papers, social security numbers, text messages from mistresses on phones and computers—and that at the end of the day it didn’t matter. It was their business, and I was just there to do a job.
If I knew how to write a book on all the scandal I had access to without getting sued—I would. It was fascinating, to say the least.
I lifted my hand to ring the doorbell just as the door jerked open.
I noticed the Sounders gear right away.
Black Adidas joggers paired with tall Adidas socks and sliders.
I slowly looked up.
Gray jacket with the green insignia of the Space Needle.
And then.
Lethal, caramel, almost golden eyes.
I jolted backward so hard that I tripped on my heel and broke it.
I stumbled to the side, gathered myself, and blurted, “Is this a joke?”
At the same time he snarled, “Are you fucking stalking me?”
Tears welled in my eyes as I stared down at the phone that was given to me and the address.
My hand shook as I glanced back up into Hugo’s eyes. “No, I’m not stalking you, I must have the wrong—” Oh God, this was not happening. I felt the back of my neck heat. I had his linen shirt in my car. Mere feet away from me. I closed my eyes in embarrassment while anger replaced my hurt. “I’m sure there’s an explanation.”
“Really?” He crossed his bulky arms. A pair of black Bose headphones were wrapped around his neck, and pieces of his golden-brown hair were hanging loose by his chin. He looked different. Harsher somehow. His dark eyebrows slanted in an almost-V above his eyes, and his lips curved downward like he’d forgotten how to smile. “So you didn’t find out who I was and just show up? Fuck, how much money do you even want? So we had sex—that doesn’t mean you get to write a tell-all story about the one night you got Slade Rodriguez to fuck you.”
I flinched.
A slap would have been preferable to what he’d just said.
The fantasy that I’d been holding in my heart came crashing down at those words.
I never wanted to believe my gut instinct.
That I was nothing to him.
I wanted to believe that it had meant something.
It had to.
It was too good not to.
Too perfect.
I was wrong.
About everything.
His name wasn’t even Hugo.
Slade Rodriguez.
Slade Rodriguez.
I took in his outfit again.
Why did that sound so familiar?
I felt my eyes widen as tears threatened to pour over. Oh, I’d been a one-night stand alright, with none other than soccer’s newest European transfer.
I should have seen it.
The money.
Good looks.
I’m sure he thought he could just screw anything with heels.
Anger replaced all the sadness, all the insecurity. I was ready to bang him over the head with my phone when it started to ring.
It was Matt.
Unable to speak, I shoved the phone in Slade’s direction.
“Shit.” He cursed at the screen, slid his finger across it. “Seriously, Matt?”
They talked.
He stared me down with that empty golden gaze I’d once found alluring, beautiful. But those eyes, they were just like every other pair of eyes that had looked at me and found me wanting.
They looked their fill.
They walked away.
Slade handed the phone back to me. Matt was gone.
I cleared my throat. “I have dog food, for your . . . dog.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Really, Ashley? Is that what you feed them?”
“Mackenzie,” I said in a low voice. “My name is Mackenzie.”
He gave his head a shake of disgust. “Wow.”
I glared. “Really, Hugo.” I drew out his name with malicious purpose.
He stared at my mouth, shook his head, and looked away. “Just don’t steal anything.”
I’d never been so insulted and embarrassed all at once. “Oh, you mean don’t take pictures and upload them to eBay? I’ll try to control my poor unfortunate self.”
He leaned down. I could smell him. It still made my knees weak, but I was too angry to recognize the feeling as lust when all I wanted to do was hold onto the rage. “Yes. Try to control yourself.”
My eyes narrowed.
He stepped around me and called over his shoulder. “And feed Alfie.”
“Alfie,” I repeated just as a fat bulldog came scurrying toward the door barking.
Slade didn’t even turn around, just hopped into his ridiculous sports car and sped through the gate, leaving me a complete mess with a dog that was snarling and tearing into the food I’d dropped by my feet when I saw Slade’s eyes.