#playerdown: Players to Men Page 11

  “What are you afraid of, Charli?”

  Of you.

  Of me ending up hurt again.

  “It’s all too fast,” I rasped. “Can’t we just be friends?” A tick started on his jaw. “I’m cold. I need a hot shower.” Then I hurried off, my mind in total conflict with my body, longing for his touch, for him.

  If I stayed, I just might cave, and being in lust didn’t always end well, not for me.

  9

  WAR

  Friends? Hell, I glared outside at the deluge, my body hard with need. I understood her fears, but I wasn’t like those dickheads she—

  Your past rep doesn’t help with her distrust.

  Fuck. I scrubbed my face.

  A cell beeped, cracking through my frustration. Not mine. I glanced around and found Charli’s iPhone on the floor. It must have fallen when she scrambled off the counter for the oven.

  I picked up her cell, and the truncated message on the screen flashed briefly. Something about the sale of a property in New York. Frowning, I headed for the stairs and sprinted up to my bedroom.

  She turned from slipping off her sneakers and eyed me warily as if I would pounce. Hell, I fucking wanted to, but I reeled it in and handed her the phone. Yeah, she was so intent on running from me, she didn’t even know she’d dropped the device.

  “You’re buying a place in New York?” I asked. “I didn’t snoop. The message flashed on your screen.”

  “What?” She blinked, brow scrunching. “No, I’m not. It’s my grandmother’s home. I put it on the market. It’s where I was after the wedding…” she broke off, her gaze dropping to the display.

  “You changed your mind about selling,” I said slowly, my gut caught in a vice, knowing there was nothing I could do if she upped and left. Hell, we weren’t even a couple. “You’re leaving?”

  “I wanted to…” Her head lifted, her gorgeous brown eyes dark. “Living with my mother is impossible at times. It’s why I wanted to put distance between us, but then…”

  Everything inside me stilled, hope stirring.

  “But then what, Charli?” I pressed gently. I could let it go, but I needed her to say the words.

  She gnawed her lower lip and fiddled with her phone, scratching at the white paint on her cover. “I am here, with you, aren’t I?”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  Her eyebrows lowered, and she glowered at me from beneath her inky lashes. “I agreed to do this fake girlfriend thing for you, so I won’t break my word.”

  Hell, this girl, she refused to give an inch. She might not say what I needed to hear, yet deep down, I knew she felt the same way I did. But she was running scared. No matter, she’ll figure out the truth soon enough. I was here to stay.

  As I headed for my dressing room, I heard the soft click of the bathroom door. About to grab my wet t-shirt and pull it off, I stopped and glanced at the white palm print on my front.

  I shook my head in wry amusement.

  Only she could do that. Exasperate me one minute and then make me smile the next.

  She’d taken a snapshot after leaving her mark on me. Would she post it? Hell, yeah, she would. Just to torment me.

  Ten minutes later, wearing dry clothes once more, I headed downstairs and dropped my wet things in the laundry room.

  Not sure how long Charli would be, I made my way to the island counter, to the semi-completed side with doors, and grabbed the plates and silverware stored there. I didn’t have much currently in the way of table linen and napkins or even a dining table. Hell, when I was here, I ate in front of the TV. I had no idea my life would turn around when I bought the place a couple of months ago, or that I’d have a girl I like a damn lot here, either.

  I set the old wooden table for lunch, then stopped near the window, sliding my hands into my jeans pockets, staring absently at the pelting rain. Puddles formed on the patio. The wild, white flowers growing at the patio edge sagged beneath the deluge, taking me back to another time. Another life…

  I love the flowers, Eli. Thank you, love. I am blessed to have you—

  Christ, I shut my eyes, caught in pain so dark and heavy, it felt as if I would never breathe again. Inhaling harshly, I rubbed my tight chest, remembering her warm smile whenever she saw me.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. Locking out the haunting memories, my gaze went back to the patio again.

  Charli liked flowers, too.

  I found scissors in the kitchen drawer and walked out onto the patio. With the rain blowing toward the house, I quickly clipped a bunch of them before I got drenched again, and I brought the flowers inside. I had no idea what they were, but they looked pretty enough. Just as well I hadn’t started working on the yard first, or all these blooms would have been trashed.

  I didn’t have a vase, so I used a tall drinking glass, filled it with water, and crammed the stems in. The bouquet livened up the old table.

  My cell buzzed. I glanced at the reminder text from my trainer for the morning session. I’d worked my body too hard last season, and I needed it in peak condition again when this season started, as my still throbbing shoulder showed me. I’d wrenched it in the finals. Physio was slowly putting it right—

  Soft footsteps sounded. I turned, my gaze fixing on what Charli wore. A navy t-shirt with a slogan slashed across her chest: i do what i want, with a Minion replacing the ‘a’ in want.

  And because I knew she hated it, I couldn’t resist, “Are you trying to tell me something there, Blue? I do what I want?”

  Her brow furrowed. She probably forgot what the t-shirt said, then she scowled. “Would you stop calling me that? I hate the darn name.”

  I stifled a smile at her testiness and got two bottles of water from the fridge. “You do know Minions are a single cell microorganism, right? They live to serve. So, the way I see it…” I didn’t bother to complete what I wanted to say because those brown eyes glowered at me like the flames of Hell. Yup, she got my meaning and was undoubtedly roasting me in the devil’s pit.

  “Sit.” I gestured to the table. She pivoted and stumbled to a halt, gaping at the flowers glistening with raindrops.

  I set the bottles down, waited for her to be seated, but she continued staring at the flowers. “Something wrong?” I asked.

  “No.” She shook her head. “I love daisies,” she said softly, then leaned over and sniffed them. “And the smell of rain on them.”

  “My mother did, too.” The words were out before I could stop them. “I used to get them for her. I’m not sure about the rain, though.” It always leaked in my childhood trailer home…drip, drip, drip, the plinking sounds echoed in my head, water seeping through the roof, falling into sporadically placed pans…the sounds sometimes lost in the shouting—

  “Really?” Charli asked softly, but her stare drilled holes in me as if unearthing for the truth.

  “Yeah.” My past wasn’t something I liked talking or thinking about. I headed for the kitchen to collect the salad I’d tossed together earlier while she’d been secluded in my room, working.

  My mother had loved the little things I did for her, not expecting much from life, from anyone.

  “Sit,” I said, leaving the bowl on the table. Then I brought the lasagna I’d reheated and set it down. I took my seat opposite her, aware of her watching me.

  “Go ahead.” I nodded at the food, still avoiding her probing gaze and the warm sympathy I knew I’d find there. All of it fisted me in a huge fucking, hurting knot that I hated.

  “So, did you delete the snapshot from the other day?” I asked, changing the conversation, casting her a quick glance.

  She rolled her eyes, and her smile crept back inside me, chasing away the pain and darkness.

  “No. Since we’re pretending, it should stay right there on my Instagram,” she said in a sing-song voice as she dished a small portion of the pasta.

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Having me by my balls?”

  “Absolutely—”


  Her eyes widened. “No! Not the balls part,” she hastily corrected, a delectable flush reddening her cheeks. “Oh, that reminds me…” She set her fork down, then casting me an evil grin, she picked up her cell from the table. Her fingers flew over her screen, and I had a damn good idea of what mischief she took such delight in.

  “What are you up to?” I asked anyway, helping myself to the food.

  “Because this fake relationship is real to everyone else…” she mumbled. “There—”

  She held out her cell, showing the snapshot of me with the handprint on my shirt, my brows pulled down in a frown. And below it, she’d hashtagged: #manmarked #playerdown #19 #war with an explosion of emoji hearts.

  I snorted and handed her cell back, then offered her the salad.

  She set her phone on the table. “Now, why would I want to ruin my food with greens? And you, you’re supposed to be watching what you eat, aren’t you?” She stared pointedly at my large portion of lasagna.

  “I’m good. Tomorrow, I’ll work it out and up the er, greens and boiled fish,” I teased.

  “Ew!” She scrunched her nose. “Why? Why would you torture yourself this way?”

  “So I don’t get soft during off-season.”

  “Not me.” She scooped more lasagna into her mouth, chewing with relish.

  “It’s why I have this going for me,” I deadpanned, waving a hand over my torso.

  “True.” She laughed. “And it’s ho—” She shut her mouth.

  “Hot?” I quirked an eyebrow. “Amazing. Finally, there’s something about me you like.” And I did like that she noticed me.

  She bit her lip, her blush deepening.

  “Eat. The food’s getting cold,” I said, giving her a break. “By the way, I won’t be here tomorrow—”

  “What?” Her gaze rushed up, meeting mine. “Where are you going?”

  “Gonna miss me, Blue?” At her anxious gaze, I relented. “It’s a meeting with my agent, then the team’s coach, and a session with my strength and conditioning trainer. You can come. I’m sure Rufus will work out a schedule for you, too.”

  “Do I look like I like exercising?” Those pretty brown eyes cut me a death glare. “So, a hard pass on that. Besides, I have work, then a Zoom meeting with the author, and…” A sly smile curled her lips and brightened her eyes. “And a date with Aethan.”

  I narrowed my eyes. What the fuck? “Who?”

  She rose, trotted off to the couch, and picked up a book—

  She was fucking with me!

  Smiling, she set the novel down. “Absolute Surrender?” I drawled. “Just so you know, I will have your surrender soon, Blue.”

  She bit her lower lip, another flush staining her cheeks at my low promise.

  My cell buzzed. I removed it from my jeans pocket, and a brief message flashed. Eli, I’m in town tomorrow.

  Our moment of banter faded as I stared at the name. Caleb Harris. My foster father. I texted back. 5 p.m. at the training center?

  His reply was prompt. I’ll be there.

  My mind slipped back to the anonymous text from the other day. I hadn’t received another, but my jaw ground down. My past would remain buried. Whoever the fuck it was, if he thought to come after me, he would regret it.

  “What is it?” Charli asked, concern etching her features.

  “It’s nothing.” I dropped my cell on her book near my plate and went back to eating.

  “Hey, you know what?” she said, and I glanced up. “I’ll come tomorrow.”

  “Worried about me, beautiful Blue?” I asked coolly, finding it hard to shut off my anger at the shit in my life. “Don’t be. I can take care of myself.”

  “No need to get so defensive. Forget it.” She went back to not eating but moving her food around her plate.

  Fuck, I inhaled a massive breath, trying to calm the hell down. “I’m sorry. I’d like it if you came with me.”

  Her gaze searched mine, but as long as she couldn’t see into my soul to all the ugliness burrowing there, it was fine. Because if the truth of what I’d done ever got out, this girl would probably leave me faster than dust settling—

  A crash sounded, breaking the deafening silence between us.

  Charli shot to her feet, eyes wide. “What is that?” she whispered, her focus fixed on the mudroom entrance. “Shouldn’t we check that?”

  A weary sigh escaped me. I set my silverware down, rose, and headed for the mudroom, Charli close behind me. I glanced at her. “Not scared?”

  She frowned as if I’d lost some gray cells. “I’m not leaving you alone to face whoever it is.”

  My gaze lowered to the dull-edged butter knife clenched in her fist. “You plan on buttering the burglar to death, then?” I quirked an eyebrow, my anger fading. If it truly was a burglar, no way would I let her stick to me like a shadow in the face of danger.

  “War, stop joking. Someone’s in there.” Her eyes were huge and dark.

  My girl was terrified. I stopped my baiting of her and opened the door into a deathly quiet garage, so damn grateful I’d parked my truck away from possible disaster.

  “What is it?” She gripped the back of my shirt.

  I drew her to my side, and she gaped at the paint catastrophe on the floor, then she searched the selves, finally spying the culprit behind a bag of charcoal on the top shelf.

  Crash peered down at the open can and the light gray mess on the cement floor as if he’d never seen it before.

  Charli laughed. “Now I get why you call him that.”

  “It’s not his first accident,” I grumbled. “He’s dropped an open kibble bag, gardening tools, anything I keep up there in his pursuit of that.” I nodded to a bird currently perched on a wooden beam, probably taking refuge from the rain. “Go finish your meal. I’ll clean this up and join you.”

  “No, I’ll help, and then we can eat.” She glanced around, found some rags I had tossed on a shelf, and gathered them.

  I watched her for a moment. Hell, this girl. Somehow she made even the darkness I carried inside me feel lighter. Not all of it, though. I doubted if anyone ever could, but she came damn close.

  10

  WAR

  5:37 p.m. Damn. I was running late.

  I slid my cell into my sweats pocket. Sports bag in hand, I hurried out of the Cheetahs’ training facilities where I’d spent the latter part of the afternoon in a vigorous training session with my strength and conditioning coach.

  At least my strained left shoulder was starting to feel a little better. But hell, every step taken, and my burning thigh muscles protested violently in payback, making me grimace. Yeah, a brutal workout would do that.

  The day had turned out better than expected. Earlier that morning, I’d signed the deal Miles had nailed down with the representative and their lawyers for the shampoo endorsement.

  I couldn’t get over that one. It was a surprisingly remarkable deal. Apparently, it was my overgrown, shaggy hair they wanted, and I wasn’t allowed to cut it until three months after the commercial was filmed and aired.

  There’d been a lot of back-and-forth with them, but Miles was a shark in these things. He’d given me a furtive look, a warning to stay on the straight and narrow since the company, run by an old-fashioned, fatherly dude, believed in family values.

  Well, mine had none, except for death and violence, and we were all fair game as punching bags—

  The old scar on my biceps twinged with remembered pain. Memories seeped free…knife flashing, blood pooling, so much blood—

  Fuck! I bolted shut those dark thoughts that would haul me back to those nightmarish times. As if I ever wanted to remember. It often left me feeling as if I stood on the precipice of another crash down. I couldn’t slide back to the way I’d once been. I had too much to lose. Everything I’d worked damn hard for, and Charli.

  Inhaling deep, calming breaths through my nose, I crossed the road to the near-empty parking lot, where a new gray Lexus parked alongsid
e my truck.

  The lanky man leaning against the car door straightened at my approach. He swept his palm over his close-cropped gray hair. Lines dug deeper furrows in his tan brow, but his dark brown eyes were the same. Warm and gentle. Not that I realized this back then.

  Those eyes that saw everything and understood so much, even without words.

  Caleb Harris, my foster father and the man who’d taken a self-destructive thirteen-year-old and given him a sense of worth and a home. A man who also introduced me to hockey and taught me how to channel the anger and pain within toward something better. From the little things Caleb had let slip back then, yeah, he knew about my past, but he never probed. Guess being a foster parent, he had to know some things.

  “Caleb—”

  “Eli, my boy.” He strode over and hugged me, the same warmth flooding me, soothing the old anger and pain, which back then usually ended with me smashing my fist into someone’s face.

  A pang struck me in the gut that I rarely saw him. He didn’t live that far, and he made time to see me. Unlike me. Guilt stirred. Sending him tickets to every home game was a poor attempt to alleviate my conscience.

  I eased back and unlocked the Escalade.

  His gaze skimmed my face. “I know you’re busy, but I was in town and wanted to see you.”

  “I’m never too busy for you.” I tossed my sports bag into the back seat, shut the door, and leaned against it.

  He smiled and patted my arm, then slipped his hands into his pockets and stepped back.

  Caleb didn’t talk a lot, but he saw everything.

  Hell, he saw too damn much at times. I guess it was why he made such a good foster parent. But there were shadows in his eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. I would break knees if anyone dared harm him.

  “It’s nothing. Justin—”

  “What the hell did he do now?” My foster brother, and Caleb’s son, was a pain in everyone’s ass.

  Caleb sighed and scrubbed his jaw. “He quit his job and is back home.”