RISKY PLAY (RED CARD #1) BY RACHEL VAN DYKEN Page 0,35
what?”
“Why are you working here? For me? It makes no sense. You don’t even need to work. According to Matt you’re worth more than two of my rotting corpse. It doesn’t make sense.”
My gut clenched further as I twisted the wine stem between my fingers. “Probably for the same reason you’re in Seattle and not the UK.”
He frowned. “Your fiancé cheated on you and got knocked up too? Huh, small world.” He gulped the wine like a savage.
I glared. “Sip slower. And no, Alton didn’t get knocked up. You have to have sex to get to the baby part, and he wanted to respect me and my father—his boss.” I took a long sip, savoring the lingering flavor. “He did, however, leave me at the altar. In my wedding dress. And now he has a Joanna. Oh, and did I mention I grew up with him? Was practically groomed for him? Yeah.” I sipped some more. “So going back to my job, doing something I love—well, it takes the fun out of it when you have to stare at the guy who didn’t have the balls to at least say something before I was forced to walk down the aisle in front of seven hundred people, not including the live media and US Weekly.”
He cringed. “He’s a fucker. You know that, right?”
“Cheers.” I raised my glass. “You two have something in common.”
“I deserved that,” he muttered as his eyes flashed with guilt. “It’s just . . .” His face twisted with pain. He drank more of his wine, then chugged the rest of it and exhaled. Monster. “That night, when you and I were together . . . my dad called. I’d been ignoring my messages, I was . . .” He swallowed slowly. “Busy.” He looked away. “He called to apologize for being upset over my move to Seattle . . . he died three hours later. Heart attack.” His voice lowered. “I never got to tell him I loved him. I never got to hear his laugh again. He was my best friend. My hero.”
My throat clogged up as my legs took me around the island and into his arms. I pulled him in for a hug.
His body sagged against mine.
We hugged in his kitchen for a solid three minutes—at the very least.
When I pulled away, I whispered, “You’re still a jackass.”
He laughed.
It sounded beautiful.
His smile was there and then it vanished as quickly as it came.
I thought he was angry again, and then he was serious as he cupped my chin with his hands.
He was barely touching me, and my body hummed to life.
I stepped away.
I had to.
I didn’t trust him.
I couldn’t.
“So.” I shrugged. “You have one box left—”
“Why did you pull away?”
“Because I don’t know you,” I said. “Not this version at least. And even if I did, I don’t trust either version of you. Sorry.”
He nodded slowly. “Friends, then?”
“Wow, two offers of friendship in such a short time. I must look desperate.”
“Between the two of us, I don’t think anyone would peg you as the desperate one.” He grabbed the bag of takeout and jerked his head toward the living room. “Let’s go eat while you make your decision.”
“My decision?” I followed after him.
“Yeah, if I’m good enough to be in your inner circle.”
“You’re not.”
“Yeah, the minute I said good enough I regretted it.” He smirked.
It made me smile, and then we were both smiling at each other like idiots.
I reached for the napkins.
At the same time he did.
Insert awkward laughter.
I cleared my head and then held up my hands. “Look, we can be friends. On one condition . . .”
“Only one?”
“Try kissing me again, and I’m cutting your heart out and feeding it to Alfie. And . . .” Don’t cry. Do. Not. Cry. “We don’t talk about it.”
“It?” He seemed confused.
This was hard.
“Mexico.” I swallowed against the dryness in my throat and looked down at the coffee table.
The pain was almost too much.
It didn’t matter that he had a backpack full of sorries.
He’d made me feel alive.
Then killed my soul in one fell swoop.
Because people like Slade, they were used to thinking about one thing and one thing only.
Themselves.
And there wasn’t room for two people in the picture.
I was okay with it.
I just had to make sure he knew where the line was—at least it would make the next three weeks more pleasant.
He held out his hand. “Agreed.”
I pressed my palm against his.
Why did it feel even worse that he agreed we shouldn’t