Page 19

CHAPTER 19

ROSE

“A re you ready, mamacita?” I ask my roommate from the threshold of her bedroom.

“I don’t know, I don’t think I ever will be.” Hope frowns at her reflection in the mirror. “Like, is this girly enough? Does it fit in with the ultra polished WAGs?” She motions at the gray sheath dress that in my opinion is going to put to shame those fancy WAGs. They wish they had a body like Hope’s, all lean and strong and beautiful.

I sigh, conscious of the enormous ass that didn’t let me become Miss Florida, and forget Miss USA.

“To be honest I don’t know, it’s also my first time going to a WAGs party.” I shrug, hands up in defeat. “But I honestly think you look better than any WAG, so don’t worry.”

“Save that flirting for your new boyfriend, it is truly lost on me.” Hope’s expression is deadpanned. She snatches the purse she borrowed from Audrey and follows me out.

“For your information,” I say as we walk out into the living room. “Logan’s not my boyfriend yet. We’re just starting to date.”

“And that’s the keyword. Yet.” She has the nerve to smack my behind hard enough that I jump. “Trust me, he won’t be able to resist all that for long.”

“I—” Stopping myself, I just shake my head. It’s not like I can explain that the yet was a slip up. That he and I won’t in fact ever get together. Ever .

We are so not each other’s types. He’s too pretty and notorious for my insecure ass. I’m too opinionated and stubborn for him. I have the feeling he’d fare much better with a woman whose north pole is him, and that’s just never gonna be me.

“Oh, yeah. You’re absolutely done for. To the slaughterhouse,” Audrey says from her armchair in the living room.

“What?” Hope and I ask at the same time.

“I’m agreeing with Hope. You,” blondie points at me. “Are the cow. And he… is going to eat you. Wait and see.”

I make a face. “I’m not sure I like that allegory. I’d like to think I’m more than just meat.”

“You’re the whole meal, baby,” she says with a nod.

“Erm, thanks.” My lips twitch. I put my hands on my hips. “Anyway, are you sure you don’t want to join us? We might need your dry humor to oxygenate the overly perfumed air of the WAGs.”

“Hard freaking pass.” Audrey points at her iPad, at her feet on the ottoman and the cozy blanket wrapped around her. “My life goal is to be a burrito, not a WAG for anyone.” She shudders delicately.

“Anyone?” My eyebrows rise. “Like players only or everyone?”

“Everyone. Guys suck.” She presses her lips.

Normally I’d agree with my whole chest, but my lips stay glued.

“Unfortunately, we have to go,” Hope reminds us. “The guys have been waiting for us for like ten minutes.”

I cringe. “Maybe we should’ve let them in.”

“My bad, I wasn’t mentally prepared for boy cooties today. Can I now go back to my cozy game?” Audrey asks, eyes wide and pleading.

“Fine. Don’t wait up for us, grandma.” I blow a kiss at her and she waves her hand in the universal shoo manner.

Hope is a bit ahead of me so she opens the front door and—there’s some hooting and whistling immediately.

“Va va boom! You’re gonna set my truck on fire, darlin’,” Cade calls out from the driver’s seat, the passenger’s window rolled down for his shenanigans.

“Oh, shut up you weirdo.” But Hope’s words lack any bite, especially because she’s giggling up a storm as she jogs down the way to the truck.

From the backseat, I can spot Logan running a hand down his face like he’s embarrassed to be in the vicinity of the other couple. It makes me want to give him crap.

As I hop on the backseat next to him, I tease, “Do I look so bad that I don’t get any sugar?”

Logan Kim, famous mastermind of the Orlando Wild, does a whole double take and mutters, “What? No, you look fine.”

Well, ouch.

“Fine?” Cade exclaims, twisting around to look at us. “Dude, that’s not how you woo a lady.”

“Woo?” Logan scoffs and looks out the opposite window. “Look at you using big words when we all had to help your ass get together with Hope.”

Completely not stung by that, Cade bobs his head and says, “That’s true, but what you did was give me wings to bring on my flirting A-game. You may not have needed help getting the lady, but clearly you need helping keeping her.”

Logan, who has had his arms folded all along, squeezes them hard enough that I’m worried for his circulation. Cade’s comment might’ve hit home, either because Logan’s aware that I’m not a real girlfriend to keep around, or because maybe his past relationships haven’t been super great.

I rack my brains, trying to remember if I’ve ever seen him on a long term one and I can’t. What’s clear though is that I have to change the topic.

I fasten my seatbelt. “Anyway, what else are we waiting for here? Let’s go!”

“Yeah, let’s. I am so excited that I could barf,” Hope comments with sarcasm dripping from her words.

“It’s going to be great.” Cade keeps his left hand on the steering wheel, his right one traveling over the middle console to—and here I stretch to the side to see—grab Hope’s thigh. Quite high, if you ask me. “If the evening sucks, we’ll escape and go get pizza.”

“No pizza for you,” Logan grouches from next to me. “Only when you play a perfect game.”

“But—”

“No.”

“Hope,” Cade whispers in a far too loud tone. “Why did you invite him?”

She answers in kind. “I thought it’d be more fun if it was a double date.”

“Ugh.”

I snicker for a brief moment until it dies off.

Logan stays in his own world though, like two minutes of bantering were already enough to burn him out for the night—bantering that I kicked off while fishing for a compliment that I didn’t really care for and also didn’t get.

Biting my lip, I nudge his arm with my fist. The fabric of his white button shirt is surprisingly soft and I’m almost considering touching it again when he turns my way. Clearing my throat, I mumble, “I’m sorry.”

Even in the dark at the back of the cabin I can see his brow tighten. “What for?”

“For dragging you along with this and for the teasing.” I play with my thumbnails, bummed that I made the extra effort of doing my nails all nice and pretty for tonight. “I’m sure we can still get Cade to drive us back to our homes.”

“It’s fine.” Then he shakes his head hard, muttering, “Why did I say that word again?” Pausing, he clears his throat. “I mean that I have no problem going to this thing with these clowns and you. No need to apologize.”

My lips stretch into a whole grin. “Thank you for not lumping me with the clowns.”

“You’re welcome,” he returns in a far too serious way that tells me he’s playing around. At last.

Now that he’s out of the funk I put him in, I tap his arm again—I need to ask what that shirt is made of—and point at the front with my lips. “Look at that.”

Logan leans toward the center, and he’s so large that I have to move away or we’ll be way too close. “What?” he asks.

“See how they’re holding hands?”

He narrows his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Let’s try it.”

Logan whips his head toward me. The streetlights illuminate his face while he studies mine, trying to find if I’m serious. I offer my left hand, palm facing up and fingers spread wide. I close and open them until he gets the hint.

It feels way more monumental than it should be when he picks up his right paw, and brings it up slowly until it hovers over mine. Then he stops, like he’s not sure about this after all. I lift my hand until our palms slap, and veer it slightly to slide my fingers between his.

Okay, I’m a tall girlie. I can’t say that I have dainty anything, least of all hands. But his definitely makes mine look tiny. Slowly, I watch as he curls his fingers to close his hand over mine, holding it tight.

The sensation travels all the way down to the toes on my opposite side. I bite my lips not to gasp.

“It’s weird,” he whispers with a mighty frown.

“Why?” I don’t mean it to sound like a whine but it kind of does. It feels unfair that he finds this weird when I’m enjoying it way too much.

“I don’t know, just weird.” He peeks back at the front. “Not natural, I guess.”

“Makes sense.” I try to pull my hand away and he won’t let me. If he notices me staring at him harder, he ignores me altogether. Instead, he leans back to sit straight, leaving his arm stretched out so as to not pull mine. And I don’t know why that tiny, barely significant kindness does something to me.

It is I, actually, the one who spends the rest of the drive propped against my window, staring at the passing streets and cars so I can avoid Logan. Even though my left hand stays firmly engulfed in his.

The logistics of getting out of the truck and shutting the door make our hands break apart. While Logan’s rounding the truck, I make sure to wipe any sweat off my hand with my jeans. But then my jeans ride down and he joins me when I’m in the middle of pulling them up. His eyes travel down somewhere to my hips, but I don’t have enough time to wonder what interests him there when he’s reaching for my hand again.

“Are, uh… Are we gonna do this all night?” I ask for his ears only as we walk behind the lovebirds.

Logan looks down at me for a quick moment. Facing forward again, he answers, “I told you. You’re the one who is going to set the tone. If you want something else, you start it.”

I draw a deep breath, the responsibility of that finally settling in.

I was the one who initiated the hand holding. Now he’s the one not freeing my hand. Does that mean that if I hug him he won’t let go?

Hmm. Maybe that wouldn’t be so terrible. I wonder if he’s a good hugger.

I check him out from the corner of my eye. Even though he’s not bulky like a bodybuilder or anything, Logan is still a wall of muscle. Muscle happens to be quite hard and maybe he’d feel like hugging a wall, where I have to be the one to mold to him. The normal guys I dated before Ben were, ahem, far more pliable. Even Ben had a bit of a pouch where this guy has nothing but rock solid firmness. I already know, since drunk-me hugged him from behind on his bike.

I drift away enough that he has to drag me back to his side, which happens right in time before I run into some potted flowers lining the walkway to the front door of this house. It’s one of those old money-looking homes that are actually not a decade old, probably boasting a pool and grill the size of the whole townhouse I live in—our unit plus the neighbor’s.

The second we walk into the house, we’re inundated by players greeting us like we don’t see each other basically every day.

“You came! I didn’t think you would,” Mike Brown says, patting Logan’s back.

All the catcher does is grunt at him and glance back at me. I promptly offer a smile. “It’s my fault, I’m afraid.”

“No, thank you. It’s hard to get this guy out of his lair.” Mike checks over his shoulder. “I want you to meet my wife, Amber.”

A short woman with a pretty brown hair bob appears from behind him. Unfortunately, I can tell right away that her smile is fake. “So nice to meet you. I’ve seen so much about you online.” She offers a hand adorned in many bracelets.

“I hope it’s only good things?” I give an awkward laugh when she doesn’t grab my hand in full, but only my fingers. Does she think I have germs?

But then she does the exact same thing to Hope and I relax a little. It seems like this Amber is at least equanimous in her icky treatment of other women. And I say that because she’s all gushing and praise for Cade and Logan instead.

“Let’s allow the women to get to know each other,” Mike says, palming both of his teammates’s shoulders to steer them away. “We have some cold ones at the back.”

I look up at Logan and find his attention on me. He cocks his eyebrow as if to ask if this arrangement is okay, and I nod at him. I’m a big girl. I was in the pageant circuit in my late teens and early twenties. I know a thing or two about how to sort through mean girls. The last thing I need is for him—or anyone—to fight my battles. Especially not when my roommate may need me to back her up.

And so I link arms with Hope and we walk together into the lion’s den.