Chapter Twenty-Eight
JAX
Harley: Good game! You caught a ball!
Jax: I’m insulted—I’m a football player. I catch all balls.
Harley: Don’t leave yourself open to me, QB, I have all the jokes, the ball jokes, that is. Grandma taught me.
I groaned and texted her back really quick.
Jax: Still traumatized she caught us having sex.
Harley: Traumatized? The woman gave me a high five when she came home and proceeded to make a turkey dinner—we don’t even have turkey dinner for Thanksgiving. I think I made her life. Though when she asked me about what you were packing, I had to lie, hope you don’t mind.
Jax: The hell!!
Harley: And by lie, I mean, I said eh, not too impressive but told her I’d take candids of it later.
Jax: You’re insane.
Harley: She’s a very dedicated fan. I’m thinking if she actually saw the pictures, she’d probably just have a heart attack and see Jesus—don’t you want her to die happy, Jax?
Jax: She’s not getting a dick shot.
Harley: Spoilsport.
I was nervous.
Nervous to invite her into my life.
Even though I saw her on a daily basis, going as far as to pick her up from work because I couldn’t wait any longer to kiss her.
I was pathetic.
So damn pathetic.
Sex was messing with my brain cells.
And yet, I’d just played the best game of my life, despite the fact that my sister wanted to shank me, my dad was dying, and Miller still refused to look me in the eyes.
I wasn’t sure if he felt guilty about abandoning Kins at the house or if there was something else the little shit should feel guilty about. I was afraid to ask. Afraid of the answer. Afraid of having to pick up the mess when he broke her heart—and afraid of what I would do to my best friend if the worst came true.
Rip his heart out.
Stomp on it.
Fire an entire box of ammo in it.
Then tell him to go to hell.
Harley: So why the texting? Shouldn’t you be out partying, big star?
I shook my head. Big star? Yeah, right. I rarely went out after games. If anything, I reviewed tape, ate with Kins, and went to bed early.
Big star? More like the most boring man in football.
Jax: Join me for dinner?
Harley: Actual food? You’re going to feed me before sex? Wow, how fancy. Should I wear a skirt?
I rolled my eyes and grinned.
Jax: Just bring yourself, preferably without clothes. Then again, there will be people with us, so . . . your choice.
Harley: Fine . . . I’ll wear clothes. What are we having?
Jax: Chicken and waffles.
Harley: I’ll be the syrup . . .
I groaned. The woman was going to kill me.
“She coming?” Miller popped up out of nowhere and slapped me on the shoulder. I almost dropped my phone. I was still thinking about licking syrup off her body, yeah, she was coming—
“If that grin isn’t terrifying, I don’t know what is.” Miller crossed his arms.
I cleared my throat. “Yup, she’ll be there.”
“Good.” Miller stared down at the locker room floor, uncrossed his arms, shoving his hands into his pockets, then slowly nodded his head and went over to grab his bag.
“Everything okay?”
“Course,” he called over his shoulder. “Why?”
He threw the bag over his shoulder and turned, his expression completely blank. “What’s up?”
Damn it. Nothing good. “Can I catch a ride?”
“Where’s your car?”
“I let Harley borrow it for the day. She had a shoot-out in . . .” Miller’s grin wasn’t helping my attitude, not even a little bit. “Why do I even talk to you?”
“Best friends.” He shrugged. “Plus you find me entertaining. So, she’s driving your car for work . . . she gonna start packing your lunches too?”
I punched him in the side, just in time for Anderson to nearly collide with us in the hallway.
“Good game.” He held out his fist.
Miller looked ready to ram his fist into Anderson’s face, but instead, he ignored him and walked the other way while I watched Anderson’s smirk widen with every step Miller took.
“Cut the shit before he kills you, Anderson.”
Anderson held up his hands. “Hey, I’m trying to be nice.”
I snorted. “Try harder.”
“Whatever you say, Captain.” He shoved by me.
The only reason I didn’t turn around was because I saw a flash of Kinsey outside when Miller opened the door to the parking lot.
She jumped into his arms.
The door slammed closed.
By the time I was on the other side of it, Kinsey was gone and Miller was already in his SUV.
I scratched my head.
“You coming?” Miller shouted across the parking lot.
I jogged to the passenger side and let myself in.
“Sorry.” I tossed my bag in back while he started the car and peeled out of the parking lot.
I did a double take.
His neck.
Was covered in her lipstick.
It could mean nothing.
A quick kiss on the neck.
I was still pissed, but I did tell them to look like they were dating, and if cameras caught them in time for sports highlights Anderson would see it and know how off-limits she really was. Maybe then he’d move on from his sick fascination with Kinsey and me.
Yeah, I needed to chill out.
“Maybe wipe the lipstick off your neck next time—so I don’t contemplate all the ways I’m going to kill you on the way to your apartment,” I said in a bored tone.
“Shit.” Miller wiped his neck, and the guilty expression was back.
“It won’t come off.” I drummed my fingertips against my thigh. “The cheerleaders wear that tough shit that takes at least five bottles of makeup remover to get off, she must have just reapplied when she”—I grunted—“did that.”
“You sure know a lot about makeup products, Jax. Something you wanna tell me?”
I flipped him off.
And things went back to normal.
I focused on the game.
On the win.
On the fact that I was going to see Harley soon.
I checked my phone again. Nothing from her, but from my dad? Everything.
Dad: PROUD!
A shudder racked my body. I refused to think about what life would be like when my hero no longer existed.