Chapter Fourteen
MILLER
I don’t know how long I drove around—a few hours, at least. Finally, I made my way back to my empty apartment, my duffel bag in one hand and an empty McDonald’s bag in the other.
I could have thrown it away in the parking garage trash.
But for some reason, my fingers were having a hard time parting with just one more memory that I knew would be soon forgotten.
Nothing made sense.
Why would Emerson and her father have to move out of their house?
He’d had a really good teaching job at Shoreline College. The man had a PhD.
The more I thought about it the more curious I felt. The more sick that she’d been living like that—and that maybe I’d been wrong about her.
Until the elevator door opened to my penthouse, and loud music greeted me.
Damn Sanchez.
I went to his door first and banged my fist against the wood grain so hard I was surprised it didn’t splinter.
He jerked it open and turned toward the living room.
Was that an open invitation?
With a curse, I dropped my duffel outside the door and entered. “Can you keep it down?”
“Nope.” A few of my teammates, Jax included, waved from their spot on the couch. Naturally, they were playing Madden because we didn’t get enough football every day of our lives.
“I’ve got Brady!” someone yelled.
“Beer?” Sanchez tossed me a Sam Adams before I could protest. I didn’t want beer. I needed something a bit stronger if I was going to have to look at that guy’s ugly mug for the entire season, especially if he was going to keep kissing Emerson in front of me.
With a sigh, I sat down, knowing that if I went back to my apartment, I’d just mope around or study playbooks, and that sounded depressing and boring as hell.
It just proved the point. Money doesn’t buy happiness.
I hadn’t been happy, truly happy, since Emerson.
Football. College. I’d smiled at the cameras. I’d dated here and there, but there was always this emptiness, like she’d dug out my heart and left an empty hole in my chest.
“Chug it.” Sanchez slapped a hand on my shoulder. “And then get another. You’re way too tense, man, it’s probably why I’m winning.”
I scowled. “I never agreed to a pissing match.”
“And yet, who’s keeping score?”
I flicked off the cap and drank.
“I’m loaning her a car.”
The beer shot out of my mouth, nailing Jax in the back of the head and dripping down the nice, white leather couch.
“Thanks, man!” Jax called over, while Thomas grabbed a towel from the kitchen and tossed it at Jax’s head.
“The hell you are!”
Sanchez’s grin was pure evil. My fingers itched to punch him, maim him, throw him out his own window, and run him over with my car!
“Why?” He frowned. “When I called the mechanic—thanks for that info, by the way.” He took a long draw of his beer. “They said it would cost more to fix the car than it was worth. So, she sells the car for parts, saves up a nice little nest egg, buys a new car, and in between, I let her use one of mine.”
My eyes narrowed. “How many do you have?”
Sanchez didn’t say anything before looking away. “Well, yesterday I had one.”
I ran a hand over my buzzed head. “And today?”
“Two,” he said slowly. “Sorry. It’s hard counting that high.”
“So basically . . . you bought her a car that you’re going to loan her, all because you want to have sex with her? Does that sound about right?”
“Who?” Jax called out.
“No one,” Sanchez and I said in unison.
I nodded toward the kitchen.
He followed.
“She won’t take it, trust me. This is Em we’re talking about. Plus, she’s going to see right through you. It’s like a sex gift. You can’t give her a sex gift if—” I stopped talking. What the hell was I doing? Helping him date her? I stared inside the beer bottle and then peered at Sanchez. “Did you drug me?”
He burst out laughing. “Actually, I was wondering the same thing. It’s not like you to spill secrets, especially about a girl you want as bad as Em.”
“I don’t,” I lied.
“Alright.” He licked his lips. “So you really don’t mind then? If I just fill those giant shoes you left behind and step in as boyfriend, best friend, bed buddy, and all-around best sexual partner she’s ever had?”
“Do whatever you want, man.” I tried to keep my voice even. “Just don’t hurt her.”
“Something tells me she’s been taking care of herself for a while, no thanks to you.” He tossed his empty beer bottle in the trash. “It’s not like I bought a brand-new Maserati.”
I frowned harder. “What did you get then?”
He grinned like he’d just won the presidency. “Brand-new Honda.”
Yeah. I was going to kill him.
Any other car would have embarrassed her.
And Sanchez had to get noble and buy her a newer version of the car she already has? So she doesn’t feel weird?
“Bastard,” I mumbled under my breath.
“Hey, at least I warned you.”
The fact that he was taking care of her, that the team whore was willing to do anything to sleep with her was making me dizzy. But he hadn’t proven that he wasn’t the better man. And I knew just like everyone else, the guy was a freaking serial dater, he went from woman to woman, and the fact that he’d been engaged before made absolutely no sense.
Because when I was driving around feeling sorry for myself and pissed at her for abandoning me, it hadn’t even occurred to me that she’d need transportation if she wanted to stay on the squad or what it would cost to take an Uber every day, four times a day.
I’d been selfish and pissed.
And once again allowed Sanchez to swoop in and play the part of the hero, which just proved I really didn’t know her at all.
And in three days . . .
He’d already figured out things that had taken me years to pull out of her.
The insecurity . . . the need for a low profile with a car that didn’t cost more than most people’s houses . . .
He’d done the impossible, earned her friendship.
Which meant all he had to do was earn her trust and her loyalty.
And then, her heart.
The beer went sour in my stomach.
“Two choices.” Was Sanchez seriously still standing there? Watching my mental breakdown? Great. “You can let her be happy, let her try with someone like me . . . someone who doesn’t come with baggage from the past . . . or you can fight me, hurting her in the process.”
“Why does it matter? When it’s just about sex?” I countered.
“Girls like Em don’t sleep with guys like me,” he admitted. “So, what’s it going to be? You going to be my friend and hers? You going to be a good teammate and help us win the championship? Or will we war?”
“Who talks like that?” My head was starting to pound from all the stress.
Sanchez shrugged and then let out a grin as his phone buzzed on the counter; he swiped it and eyed me before saying, “Hey, Curves, I was just talking about you.”
His demeanor changed around her.
And even though she would die before admitting it, hers changed around him. She was less guarded—and she smiled.
She fucking smiled.
I swallowed my hurt.
My pride.
And the breaking in my heart as I nodded toward him and mouthed, “Friends.”