Page 9

Chapter 9

Evie

Back when my parents first told me the extent of their debt, I went into a bit of a crisis. The weight of caring so much for them and wanting to help overwhelmed me, and I ended up locking myself in my room for a few days.

Two people noticed and checked in on me. We shared a few classes together, and they knew I wasn't the kind to skip my responsibilities like that. So when I ditched every other friend, I held on to Ren and Pri.

Maybe it helped that I knew they'd return to their small town after they finished their degrees. I've been hesitant to get close to people for years, and it's easier to keep people at a distance when they live far away. My conversations with Ren and Pri mostly happen in the group chat we have together, and all our plans to visit tend to fail for one reason or another. The fact we're only tied by our phones means they are friends that live in my pocket.

They are my only friends, and I smile when I see texts from them on my screen.

Ren: Hey, city girl. How are things?

Evie: same old, same old

Ren: surrounded by big, sexy guys you swear you're not into?

Evie: that's correct

Pri: Not even Saint? Or Logan King?

Evie: Not even

Ren: still don't buy it!

Pri: me neither tbh

Evie: how are my two darling, darling friends?

Ren: missing you! The town's summer festival is about to happen in a few weeks. Are you sure you can't make it????

Pri: we've been inviting you since we met in college. You've never come

Evie: I'm sorry, friends. I can't make it. I was given a huge project at work that I need to excel at. It could get me a promotion! So it's a big deal. But please don't stop inviting me, in case I can make it one of these years? Pretty please 333

Ren: we'll invite you every year

Pri: until you say yes

Evie: thank you. All I can offer are free tickets to a game once in a while

Ren: and a tour of the locker room?

Evie: please still be my friends when I tell you no

Ren: you can't get rid of us, Evelyn Moreno

Evie: 3

Logan finds me in my office for our first not-a-date. The skies are a patchwork of white and blue, and the forecast predicts a balmy temperature for the next few hours. The team won the preseason game the day before and spirits are high. Trapping ourselves in my office for our first not-a-date feels depressing, so I guide him out of there.

I stride toward the back of the executive suite, rather than the elevator. "This way."

I go past the reception area toward the copy room, past the kitchen, and into the storage area. At the back, I find the door leading to the elevator electrical room and to the stairs.

"I know I haven't been at my best with the interviews," Logan mumbles behind me, "but murder might be too extreme a reaction."

"I don't plan to murder you…" I leave the sentence hanging, so he can hear the yet I don't say out loud.

He sighs. It's a heavy and peeved sound. It's the only way I know he follows me. For a big man, his steps are quiet .

I open the service door and step onto the roof terrace.

It's not a pretty place, but it's got a great view. A section at the back is hidden from the field and the outdoor parking lot alike. Tucked in the corner, two large paint buckets wait to be used as stools, to sit and stare at the water or the island across it. I may have done it a few times in the past when I needed time alone, but I'm willing to give up my escape place if it may help bring down Logan's guards. The openness of the space invites honesty.

I sit on one of the upside down buckets, taking care that my pleated skirt rests appropriately over my legs. Logan takes a beat to make up his mind, but eventually sits on the other one next to me.

"All right," he says. "Shoot."

I smile up to him. "Congratulations on the win yesterday."

He acknowledges me with a single nod. His hair is still half-wet from his shower, and today he's wearing training shorts and a shirt. His defined thighs tempt my eyes as do his arms, but I stop myself from ogling. I frown at the cup he carries instead. It's a big, reusable glass cup with a straw and a colorful silicon sleeve that I've seen before.

"That looks like one of Saint's smoothies," I say.

"He hooked me up with his chef. Her team delivers these fresh after training."

He doesn't add more and the thread seems to wear off. The second after has that feeling of quick, find something to say that happens in awkward conversations.

I chew on the inside of my lip.

He tastes the concoction with a gesture full of suspicion. I snort. At least he seems wary of all new foods, and not only the coffee I brought him that day.

I sigh and reach for a container of food I left by my feet earlier, and open the plastic lid. "Saint swears by those smoothies. I'm sure it's fine."

"I've been told it has all the nutrients I need to recover."

It sounds like he's giving away a fact, rather than keeping conversation. I need to find a way to get him to chat with ease .

"Will you eat something else later?" I ask. "I can't imagine being so physically active as you guys and then eating a liquid diet for dinner."

He sips from the cup again. "I'll have proper food later. I'll be hungry again in two hours with this drink. At least it's tasty."

He steals a glance at my food.

"What's in your drink?" I spear roasted peppers and chicken from my pasta meal.

"A bunch of things apparently." He appears to think it over, like he's looking for something to say as well. "Oatmeal, apple, ginger, and avocado are the main ones."

I raise my eyebrows and take another bite of my dinner. "I wouldn't have thought to add avocado."

I don't rush him and take in the landscape view. There's enough sunlight to bring the water alive in a deep blue. The trees on the other shore move in the wind in shades of deep green.

One day I'd get to sit somewhere and gaze out at nature, with a cup of a delicious warm beverage in my hands. I would have no work to get done, no problems to solve. No fires to put out for teammates or my parents or anyone. It would be me and a few days to do nothing. Ah, glorious nothing .

But that isn't today. On this fine training day, I'm taking care of my biggest challenge of the upcoming season. Logan King and his media reticence could get in the way of the team's and my goals alike, and we can't have that.

"How's your food?" he asks in a begrudging tone.

I chew and glance at him. "I appreciate that you're putting effort into the small talk."

He rolls his eyes. "I feel ridiculous."

"Aw, it'll get better. We'll figure it out. You're doing good."

"It's been five minutes. I know how I come across. Don't be so generous with praise."

"Would you like it better if I used degradation?"

The words are out of my mouth before I realize what I'm saying. I don't know what it is about Logan, that my tongue gets loose and I say things I would never say to other people at work.

Maybe it's because he's been inside me, and he's the only partner I've ever had who almost made me come without my help.

Nope! Can't think about that.

He studies me with one of his famous frowns. "I'm not one for praise or degradation, thanks."

I stuff my mouth not to ask what he's into. From memory, I'd say he's more into being bossy.

Shouldn't think about that either.

A small group of people row past the Thunderdome on kayaks. Their bright-colored vessels catch the eye, a big contrast with the dark bluish gray of the water.

I grab a coffee I left by my feet earlier as well, and I sip from it.

"I'll try to be neutral, then," I say. "We're keeping it casual."

"I thought that this would be more like media training."

"But you don't want role playing or proper coaching… this is what I can do. I'm trying, Logan. It's for both of us."

"I'm trying, too, believe it or not." He drinks more of his smoothie. "I've never cared for small talk."

"But how do you get to know people, then?"

"Small talk doesn't help me know people."

"No? I'll prove you wrong."

He arches an eyebrow at me.

"Ask me about my food again," I say.

"How's your food?"

A breeze plays with my hair, and a lock flies over my face. I smile, imagining Logan and I are on a picnic and being friendly for once .

Not that we can be friends. Even though personal relationships are generally allowed in the Strike's organization, I'd rather keep things professional. Clearer, stronger lines that way. Especially with Logan. There's too much past to imagine that between us.

I clear the hair from my face. "My food is tasty, but it got cold fast. I wish I had a microwave closer."

"Right." He stares at me like he has no idea what I'm doing.

"Do you want to try the pasta?"

He squints at me with skepticism.

"Please." I roll my eyes this time. "Your Highness, will you require a food tester? It's still not poisoned."

His nostrils flare as he studies me, but eventually agrees. "Fine. Give me some."

I give him a bite. He tastes it thoroughly, eyes across the water. "It's good. Did you make it?"

"Yep. And thanks. Did you think you wouldn't like it? Everyone loves pasta."

"I like pasta." He avoids the question and drinks more of his smoothie.

"Nicely done! We small-talked."

He smirks. "I know, thanks for pointing it out."

"Now you know I like my food still warm, that I love pasta, and that I'm very generous of spirit because I offered you some."

He shakes his head, and some of his hair falls over his eyes. It's long enough to curl over his temples, and past his ears.

"Evidently." He snorts.

"What else did you learn?"

"That I still hate small talk."

"Anything else?"

"That you're snarky under the smiles you offer everyone, but I don't know if other people know that. And that you will likely call me 'Your Highness', even if it's a cheap nickname for me."

My lips open in a mix of surprise and vexation .

He smirks. "Do you want to hear more of what I think?"

"I'm not sure, actually."

"Tell me when you're ready."

A hint of humor appears in his tone, but I ignore it.

"You'll have to wait for a while, King."

"I've noticed you help everyone, but share very little about yourself."

"Uhm, excuse you. We're here to help you open up."

"I can open up if I want to. I just don't want to."

It's like he enjoys aggravating me.

I stare across the water to one of my favorite houses. It has contemporary lines, with whitewashed and natural wood walls, and huge windows all over.

"I don't know," I say. "All I see is that you're direct and don't mind speaking what you think, but that's not the same as opening up."

"Maybe I have my reasons not to open up."

"If you tell me why, you'd be opening up and proving me wrong."

"Tempting. Proving you wrong, that is."

"Come on, Your Highness." I stress the nickname with high eyebrows. He snorts. "What's the worst that could happen? I'm not asking you to reveal your deepest secrets. There's an art to giving answers that are truthful, that you mean, that reveal a bit but never too much."

He mulls over my words. His gray eyes are locked on me while he gets lost in his thoughts for a minute. Nerves bubble up in my belly, like my guts know I don't really want to know what's going through his mind.

A small part of me wants to know, but I quiet it easily.

He doesn't stop inspecting me. "When did you learn to measure your words like that?"

The question comes as if he's known me for ages, but he doesn't recognize the new me. Unease settles in my stomach, because it's the kind of thing he might ask if he remembered we have a past .

I find comfort in the fact he doesn't know we've had sex. Even if he did, it doesn't mean he knows the depths of who I am. He couldn't have discovered my secrets, after only a few hours together and an amazing fuck. Without knowing me, he can't see I've created this mask where I take the best of me, and highlight it for others to see.

I dig into my food again. "I'm someone who had to be responsible from a very young age. I'm also someone who looks for silver linings. When I got an internship with the Strike in my last term of college… it came out of nowhere. I'm still not sure why they picked me, but they did. I quickly learned that taking charge like I always have, and finding a positive spin to things, were going to make me good at my job."

"And the smiles? They smooth the process?"

His frown is one of his focused ones. He's paying attention, so I give him another honest answer.

I nod. "It makes people feel more comfortable."

"You smile at me." He sips from his smoothie again, thoughtfulness all over his gesture. "But you're sarcastic, too. I haven't seen you do that with other people."

"I know. I'm not sure why I'm sarcastic with you."

"I wasn't complaining, Evie. I told you I prefer it when you bite back."

"I can't promise I'll do that, either."

"Don't apologize."

"That wasn't an apology. I would rather be myself, and find our way with you being you, and me being me."

"That I can stand behind."

A micro smile appears at the corner of his lips, so small I might have missed it if I blinked at the wrong time.

"Did it hurt?" I ask.

He raises a questioning eyebrow. He stretches his long legs and crosses them at the ankles. The buckets we're using for chairs aren't very comfortable, but he doesn't complain .

"You had a tiny smile there for a second," I explain.

"I smile sometimes. This wasn't a smile."

"Ha! Lies and deceit. I have never seen a proper smile from you. Not live, not on the screen. A mini-curl at the corner of your lips barely counts— but it counts."

"That's libel. Careful, Miss Moreno."

"In any event. Congratulations, King. We're conversing."

He shakes his head and finishes his drink. "I can't banter like this with Melanie the TV producer and her crew."

"No, but you can banter like this with the rest of the team. They'll get more comfortable as you show them a bit of you, and you learn more about them. That will help loosen you up, too."

He gives me a long, suffering sigh. "I still hate the awkwardness of it all. So infantilizing, trying to teach me how to talk to people."

"Next time, we're talking about you in depth."

"Fuck."