RISKY PLAY (RED CARD #1) BY RACHEL VAN DYKEN Page 0,41

shouldn’t matter. Things like that don’t matter, not when you’re with someone.”

It wasn’t a topic I liked to discuss.

Loving someone.

Loving anyone.

And losing them.

Loving them with your soul—only to discover you never even had their heart, like with my ex-fiancée.

It’s the worst. It feels like a death—maybe not as bad as my father dying, but it sure as hell didn’t make me feel like I wanted to go ahead and do it again.

The risk? Was too high.

The reward? Well, I never had the reward, because she took it from me the minute she decided to sleep with someone else.

“Hey, you still with us?” Jagger walked over and touched my shoulder.

I frowned at his hand. “You’re touching me.”

“You looked ready to cry.”

“Bullshit. I was just . . . thinking.”

“Also disconcerting.” He moved his hand just as Matt walked over to us with a wide, encouraging smile.

“Fixed,” he announced.

Jagger and I both stared at him.

“What is?” I was the first to ask.

Matt wrapped an arm around each of us. “Walk with me, boys.”

“You’re using the voice,” I pointed out. “The one where you deliver the bad news but try to convince me that it’s good news by your wide smile and high-pitched voice.”

Jagger coughed on a laugh.

Matt just ignored me and released us, then turned, pressed his steepled hands to his mouth like he was praying, and took a deep breath. “Mackenzie’s going to work on Alton not pressing charges. He says he’s not going to, but he still could, and we don’t want that hanging over us.”

If that bastard touches her or tries to get her back . . . I gave my head a shake. No. I wouldn’t let that happen. He was the asshole of all assholes, and I was well aware of my own behavior the past week.

“You both are going to do community service!”

Jagger kicked the curb while I just groaned and looked away from him.

“What?” Matt actually sounded surprised by our disdain.

“Community service,” Jagger repeated, “usually entails work after all the work we’re already putting in with practice, PR, the press, nonprofits—”

“First, you’re lucky both your asses aren’t in jail.” Matt changed his tone. “And second, you’re going to teach a soccer camp for one of the elementary schools. One full week of working as a team.” He pointed between me and Jagger with a giant grin. “And the best part? The arresting officer was willing to do anything to get volunteers—the fact that it’s you guys? Well, let’s just say he’s going to win Dad of the Year, and since no charges are being pressed—yet—you’re free to go!”

“Fantastic,” I said in a dry tone. “We’ll get to teach elementary kids which direction to run in. Sounds like a blast.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jagger snorted. “You still don’t know what direction to run in. Besides, do you really think you’re the best role model?”

I turned and stepped forward until we were chest to chest. “This coming from the guy who did a burger commercial holding a ball in front of his dick with one hand while rubbing fries over a girl’s stomach with the other?”

He flinched. “It was . . . art.”

I burst out laughing while Matt pressed his lips together and let out a snort. “You ran ketchup down her thigh—and they had to pull it because people complained about the controversy.”

“Sold a hell of a lot of burgers, though,” Jagger said smugly.

I turned to Matt and sighed. “Didn’t this prick sleep with the model too?”

“Careful,” Jagger growled.

“Want to know what I think?” Matt asked.

“No!” we said in unison.

Of course he just took that as an invitation to keep talking. “You’re both shit role models, and you both need to get your heads out of your own asses before you ruin what should be the best year of your careers, on the same fucking team together.” He shrugged. “Make it work. You report Monday morning to Kamiakin Elementary. Oh, and bring some signed shit, because even though I know how worthless you two can be when you’re in the same orbit, the kids don’t, and they deserve better than your sad side-by-side-my-dick-is-better-than-yours game. Honestly? It’s getting old.”

And then Matt.

Our manager.

Friend.

Abandoned us in the middle of the street.

“That was . . . out of character,” I finally said after a few minutes of silence.

“You think his blood sugar’s low?” Jagger asked as he pulled out his phone.

“Maybe he’s on a diet. He’s like an angry soccer mom when he’s on a diet. Remember when he tried that Whole