Chapter Fifteen
EMERSON
I’d said yes.
But it was only out of desperation, and when Sanchez said he had a spare car, the way some people talk about having spare toothbrushes or toilet paper, I’d caved. Maybe it was because I hadn’t slept all night, between my dad having nightmares and roaming around the house asking for my mom, to the fact that when I logged in to my bank account I nearly burst into tears, who knew? I finally had my dream, but now that it was in my hands, I could see it so easily slipping away. Everything I promised my dad, everything I’d worked for, and for what? So I could put on a uniform and yell?
I felt so selfish.
And on top of that, I was playing with fire, the very fire that would burn me from the inside out if I even thought about stepping outside the lines. Sanchez made it clear he only wanted sex, and Miller wanted nothing to do with me. But the fact was I wanted both of them, and all it would take was a misstep on my part—or Sanchez finally getting what he wanted and then kicking me to the curb—to lose everything.
And now a car.
It went against every fiber of my being.
Taking charity.
Since I’d basically been up all night anyway, I crunched the numbers trying to figure out how to make it work financially, and the only thing I could come up with was that I either needed transportation to practices and home games, or I had to quit.
The cost of a shared Uber every day was still more than I could afford, and on top of that, my hours with cheerleading weren’t exactly normal hours; plus, I didn’t have time to spare, and the more I stressed over it the more I wished I had kept that bottle of wine I’d left at Sanchez’s apartment, so I could drink my troubles away.
He’d said the car would be waiting for me at the stadium.
It took a good fifteen minutes in traffic. Yeah, I couldn’t do this every day, especially if every Uber driver liked their music that loud.
I hopped out of the Uber and looked around. I didn’t see anything.
His car wasn’t there either.
A loud honk sounded as a brand-new red Honda sped into the parking lot and did a little donut before stopping a few feet away.
It was gorgeous.
It wasn’t cheap.
Then again, this was Grant Sanchez. Did he ever do anything without flair or style?
He shoved open the door. He was wearing tight black football pants and a practice jersey, the keys dangled from his giant hand, and he was wearing the biggest grin I’d ever seen. I swallowed the dryness in my throat. His smile did funny things to my stomach and made me want things I had no business wanting—especially since he’d made it painfully clear in the beginning that he wanted sex. And me? Well maybe that was the cruelest joke of all, because my entire life, all I’d ever wanted . . . was love.
He stalked toward me in that predatory, larger-than-life way.
I swallowed again.
“I know that look.” He stood, towering over me, and then his hands were on my hips, pulling me against his body. “It’s one that says, ‘Please kiss me, Sanchez. I want you. I need you. You’re . . .’” He blinked his eyes. “‘Amazing.’”
“I don’t say amazing in a high-pitched voice like that,” I said, a little breathless, as he started wrapping pieces of my blonde hair around his finger.
“All white girls say amazing like that.”
“I’m not all girls.”
“No . . .” His green eyes heated as he dipped his head. “You’re not.”
We kissed.
In the parking lot.
In front of whoever pulled into practice a half hour early. And I wanted to kiss him more. He tasted amazing, like warm cinnamon gum . . . and spice.
I laughed against his mouth.
“Never laugh at a man mid-kiss, Curves.”
“This kiss is amazing.” I said it in the high-pitched voice, causing a rumbling laugh to burst out of him before he pressed his mouth to mine again, forcing me to forget my own name.
Six years ago, I’d kissed a football player and lost my heart.
Five seconds ago, it felt like, maybe, I had been given a part of that heart back, and it felt good, really good.
Keys were pressed against my hand before he pulled back and kissed my nose. “It’s important that all Bucks cheerleaders get to practice on time, and I’ve always had a hell of a lot of team spirit.” He glanced down at the front of his pants. “As evidenced . . . here.”
I covered my face with my hands. “Oh—kay.”
“Are you blushing?” He pulled my hands away, his grin huge, and those dimples . . .
He needed to stop being so sexy, before I did something stupid like kiss him again where my coach and anyone else on the team could see us.
“You are blushing! I like it,” he whispered, still gripping my hands as he kissed my nose again. “I like that I’m responsible for it.”
“You would.”
“Well, I am amaazzzzing.” He drew out the word and winked. “Try not to get any scratches on her, Curves.” His grin grew as he eyed me up and down, licking his lips like he was seconds away from devouring me. “She’s delicate.”
“She?”
“All red cars are girls. What? They don’t teach you that shit in school?”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“And amazing . . . say it.”
“You don’t need me to say it. You know it.” I crossed my arms and tried to think about anything but the fact that his ass looked rock hard in those tight football pants. What the heck was I doing? This wasn’t me.
Flirting with a football player that could get me fired from my dream job?
In the parking lot?
Taking a car from him?
Was I that desperate?
Or was that part of his charm? He made girls feel so good about themselves, so desirable and wanted, that once he got what he wanted, he dropped them and everything to do with them.
I wasn’t sure I could trust him.
But I hated that I wanted to.
I hated that he reminded me that I had this big gaping hole in my heart that Miller used to fill—and a part of me mourned that it was Grant Sanchez doing the filling.
And not my best friend.
“Hey . . .” Sanchez winked. “Don’t make me kiss that frown off your lips, Curves.”
I smiled just as Miller’s SUV pulled into the parking lot right next to my new cherry-red Honda. Not mine. Sanchez’s. Loan, it was a loan.
I had nothing to feel guilty about.
He already had a car.
Right?
It’s not like he could drive two cars at the same time.
So why did I feel ashamed?
Why did my face no doubt match the exact color of the car when Miller turned off the ignition and approached us, wearing the same mouthwatering practice uniform?
Could a person die if they experience too much sexy in one minute?
He pulled off his sunglasses and tucked them into his duffel bag, his grin huge. “Red, of course. It suits her.”
Wait, what just happened?
He was smiling at me.
Miller.
My ex-best-friend who hated me.
Who force-fed me McDonald’s and dropped me off at my apartment last night and fled like I had the plague.
“I’m flashy like that,” I countered back with a smile of my own.
Miller’s eyes held mine for a few seconds, apparently searching, darting back and forth as he licked his full lips and then held out a hand to Sanchez. They bumped fists.
“Sanchez!” Another voice sounded.
I turned around. Jax and Thomas were approaching. Sanchez gave me one last smile and walked to meet them.
Leaving me alone with Miller.
“So . . .” He nodded to the car. “You okay with this?”
I snorted. “What do you think?”
“I think the old Emerson would have felt like a prostitute, but the good kind like in Pretty Woman.” He grinned. “And the Em now?” He eyed me up and down, scrunching up his nose. “I’m assuming you’re just desperate enough to take him up on the offer but probably won’t sleep until you can figure out something on your own.”
“Damn it.” I looked away. “And you say you don’t know me anymore.”
He laughed.
I held on to that laugh.
I breathed it in.
I memorized the way it made my body shiver in response.
I missed it so much that tears quickly replaced my excitement at hearing it.
Miller took one look at me, and then I was in his arms.
In.
His.
Arms.
“I’m still pissed,” he whispered gruffly. “Livid, actually.”
I stiffened.
He held on to me tighter.
“But . . .” He cleared his throat. “Sanchez helped me remember something last night.”
“He did?” The jersey on his chest muffled my voice. I was having a hard time breathing. Did he really have no idea how strong he was? His biceps were attempting to break through the jersey!
“Yeah.” He sighed, his heart was racing, so naturally mine decided to match its cadence. Stupid heart. “Remember when I stuck gum in your hair in sixth grade, so you told all my friends that I wet the bed?”
I burst out laughing. “How could I forget? I also told them you had Donald Duck sheets because you were afraid of Batman.”
His laughter joined in. “We’ve had our share of fights, Em. I guess what I’m saying is . . . if I can get over that, I mean it was middle school, basically the most traumatic years of our lives, then I’ll try to get over this. I just need time.”
“That’s the problem,” I whispered, all humor suddenly gone. “The last time I gave you what you wanted, I never heard from you again.”
He pulled back and frowned. “What are you talking about?”
I shook my head. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter anymore. Let’s just . . . try to start over.”
“Bury the hatchet,” he agreed.
“Make peace.” I nodded.
He frowned. “Start fresh.”
We began walking side by side toward the stadium. “Come to terms?”
“Mend the fence!” he yelled in triumph.
I opened my mouth, my mind reeling. “I have nothing.”
“Winner.” He held up his hand for a high five.
I rolled my eyes. “It’s like your eighteen-year-old self is stuck in your twenty-four-year-old body!”
And just like that . . .
I had a part of him back.
So why did I still feel guilty?
Why was I confused when Sanchez greeted me at the entrance of the stadium with a satisfied grin? And why did I feel empty when Miller took the high road and, with a quick wave, stepped off to join the other guys?
“Have fun at practice, Curves!” Sanchez grinned.
Miller turned around and added, “Two, four, six, eight, who do we appreciate?!”
“Jax!” Thomas shouted while the quarterback rolled his eyes and continued walking past everyone.
I laughed.
Maybe I was overthinking things.
I brushed by everyone in an effort to make it into the girls’ locker room and felt someone staring at me.
I quickly glanced over my shoulder.
While the guys were wrestling, laughing, and being immature asshats, Miller stood there, his heated eyes focusing on nothing but me.
I shivered.
His lips pressed into a knowing grin.
Well, crap.
I felt that grin all the way to my toes, and scolded myself for allowing one simple grin to affect me more than Sanchez’s heated kiss.