Page 18 of Personal Foul (The San Diego Storm #3)

Colin

J ealousy was a fascinating emotion to observe. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d experienced it and given a shit. I didn’t allow anyone to hang around long enough to find out. Therefore, I assumed I recognized what it was, but did I really understand it?

Pulling out my phone, I did a quick Google search for the definition.

“What are you doing?” Mr. Paranoid was on full point.

“Checking on something.”

“Like what?” he grumbled.

When I found what I was searching for, I grinned. “Ah ha! Here it is.”

“Here’s what? What are you doing, weirdo?”

I barked out a laugh, then covered my mouth. When I couldn’t stop, he stepped closer and plastered his hand over mine. His bare chest pressed against mine lit up every synapse and nerve in my body.

“Shut up before you wake my parents.”

Carson was battling a smile, as his beautiful hazel eyes sparkled with more green tonight. That just made me smile.

“You’re such a weirdo. What the hell is wrong with you? Have you had too much to drink? Are you drunk?”

My only response was to shake my head. I just wish it were his mouth doing the covering. I could stay in his arms like this forever, if it were possible.

Dropping my phone to the floor, I wrapped my free hand around his wrist. Momentarily soaking in the feel of the soft hair on his arm under my fingers, I pulled it away.

Carson stared into my eyes, searching for something before he stepped away. He picked up my phone and scowled at the screen, now confused.

“You had to look up a word?”

He shoved it back to me, then crossed his arms over his chest.

“I needed to confirm what I was seeing on your face was what I thought it was. And I was right. You’re a jealous motherfucker, St. James.”

He gave me his signature eye roll and went to step back. But I caught his arm and pulled him back.

Carson came willingly, but didn’t deny my accusation.

“What are you jealous about, Carson?”

He turned away, but I reached for his face to pull his eyes back to mine.

“I’m just playing by your rules. The ones you set from the beginning.”

He released a deep breath. “I know. But I… “

“But what? Tell me what you’re thinking.”

It was hard to determine what he was struggling with, so I waited, hoping he’d finally tell me.

“I like you. But I don’t know you. And I want to.”

Has anyone ever wanted to get to know me other than Owen?

“What do you want to know the most?”

He locked his eyes on me. “Did you sleep…?”

“Did I sleep in Arizona? Barely with you watching me like a hawk.”

“That’s not… how did you … fucking hell. Did you sleep with Lucas?”

My eyebrows shot up. “In Arizona? No. I told ya, I had a guard dog watching over me.”

Aggravating him was so much fun. I knew what he wanted to know from the beginning, but I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t even concentrate on a conversation with the cutie, much less sleep with him. All I could think about was the look on Carson’s face.

“Not in Arizona. I know that. I mean tonight. Did you sleep with him tonight?”

This could go one of two ways. I could tell him the truth, or I could leave him to figure it out for himself. I chose the latter.

“What would it matter to you, Carson? We’re just friends, remember?

We agreed to one night, and it was spectacular.

We both felt things we didn’t expect. But ya won’t allow yourself to have more because you’re camped out alone on your moral high ground above everyone else.

You gotta decide what you want out of life, but I don’t have to wait for that to happen.

If I’m still here when ya figure it out, ya let me know. ”

Stepping back, I picked up my cat and walked toward the door.

Turning around, I hardened my stare at him. “You have no right to ask about Lucas. But if ya were paying attention, you already know the answer.”

Then I walked out and closed the door behind me.

When I got back to the pool house, I watched the door for a while, hoping Carson would come to talk to me. But he didn’t.

No one ever came after me.

On Sunday morning, I got up, took care of Allister, and then went out to the pool for a morning swim. At home, I would hit the water first thing to wake me up and get my blood pumping.

The St. James’ were leaving today, and I wanted to say goodbye.

Just as I got out of the pool, Carson strolled out onto the deck.

Clad in athletic shorts and a T-shirt, he sported messy, disheveled hair I wanted to run my fingers through.

But the big thing that caught my eye was the dark circles under his eyes.

“Morning,” he said, yawning. “My mom wanted to invite you to have breakfast with us. She’s making French Toast.”

Mrs. St. James invited me. Not him. Patting myself dry, I nodded. “Yeah. Sounds great. Tell her thank you.”

“Breakfast will be ready in about twenty minutes.” Carson gave me a half-smile and a nod, but didn’t meet my eyes.

“I’ll be right there.”

Turning, I headed to shower and dress. I had plans for the day that didn’t include sitting around waiting for Carson St. James.

Dressed in casual shorts and a Ralph Lauren Polo shirt, I walked out onto the deck to find them sitting outside. Bella came bounding out, followed by the cat.

Stopping in my tracks, I scolded him. “Allister? Have you moved in with your girlfriend? You rake!”

Everyone laughed, even Carson.

“Must be the St. James charm,” George beamed. “Gets them every time.”

I smiled and took my seat beside Carson. “Smells delicious.”

“It’s Carson’s favorite. I always try to make it when we come to visit.”

“It’s high protein too,” he added. “So it’s not too far off our eating plan.”

“Great. But I would have cheated for this. On the eating plan, I mean.”

We tucked into our food, moaning at the taste of cinnamon and maple.

“You’re lucky to have a mother who still wants to make your favorite foods. You’re spoiled, really. Did you know?”

He grinned. “I am aware.”

“Everyone has a favorite recipe that, no matter who makes it, doesn’t taste the same unless your mother makes it. George here loves his mother’s scones and clotted cream. It’s an old family recipe, and even though I have it, mine never tastes the same.”

I stuffed my face with more food, hoping to avoid the question.

“Gran’s have something special. Maybe it’s the butter or the water. Kind of like New York pizza has a particular taste because of the water used to make the dough.”

My head popped up. “I didn’t know that.”

Carson nodded. “Brooklyn pizza is my favorite. But I won’t turn it down anywhere. When we play the Kings, we can get some.”

My face split into a smile. “I forgot we get to see the US on the team’s dime.”

Elizabeth turned to me. “What’s your favorite thing your mother makes for you?”

My food suddenly sat like a brick in my stomach. I wiped my mouth, trying to stall enough to make something up. But I was tired of hiding. “I don’t have one.”

Her brow furrowed. “You don’t have a favorite food?”

“No, I do. It’s Chicken Parmesan loaded with cheese. But I don’t have a mother. Or a father. I grew up in foster care.”

I smiled and went back to eating. But I could feel Carson’s eyes on me. “I’m sorry.”

Glancing at him, I fixed my expression. “For what? I’m perfectly fine.”

That was a lie. But they didn’t need to know that.

Elizabeth put her hand on my arm, her warmth seeping through my skin. “Of course you are. But if you should ever need one to tell you what to do and offer unsolicited advice, I’d be happy to be that for you. We’d be happy to be that for you. Wouldn’t we, George?”

He smiled at what she said, then nodded. “We would. Two sons who are bloody good men. What more could a gent want?”

Tears pooled in my eyes, wishing I could keep them. Carson was so fucking lucky, but I couldn’t explain what I was feeling. So I simply agreed.

“To use George’s words, I’d be honored to have you as surrogate busybody parent.”

Elizabeth smiled and squeezed my arm. “Then no more of the formal names. We’re now Mom and Dad to you. And take out your phone. You need contact information as well.”

I laughed and reached for it.

But my joy slipped away at the text message waiting on the screen from Leland.

Swiping it open, I read them quickly.

Leland: I see you got yourself a fat American contract.

Leland: I’ll be there on Friday to close the deal. Did you think you could do it without me knowing or cutting me in?

Leland: Guess I’ll have to remind you who’s in charge.

I closed my phone as my breakfast rolled around in my stomach.

“What’s wrong?” Carson asked.

I glanced up to find all three of them staring at me with concern. I’d always handled things on my own, but bouncing it off someone else might be a good idea.

“It’s my agent from Sydney. He thinks he’s entitled to his fee, even though he did nothing to help me get signed.”

George furrowed his brow. “Sounds like he’s trying to take advantage of you.”

“Probably. I want to tell him to fuck off, but I’m not sure if he’s actually owed the money.”

Elizabeth reached over and squeezed my arm. “Do you have access to your contract with him?”

“I’m sure it’s in my email somewhere. I could search for it.”

George took a sip of his coffee, then put the cup down. “If you’d like, I can review it for you. I can’t imagine getting your attorney in Sydney to respond quickly is a possibility.”

I was embarrassed to tell them I didn’t have one. “I would appreciate it. Thank you. I can pay you, too.”

He waved his hand. “That’s unnecessary. When you find it, send it to me, and I’ll see what legalities are there. I can compare the two to make sure William is paying you enough.”

I smiled. “It’s more than enough. I’m fortunate they wanted to take a chance on me.”

Carson smiled. “If you keep up like you did at camp, you’ll get an extension for next year.”

“Good enough to take your place as captain?” I teased.

Carson scowled. “Good luck with that.”

I laughed, then smiled at George. “So I can tell him to fuck off?”