“They’re trying to kill us,” I muttered.
“All men must die.” Kinsey winked.
“Game of Thrones reference. I knew I liked you.”
“I’m so marrying Jon Snow if this whole cheerleading thing doesn’t work out.”
“Well, good thing he’s still alive!”
“Ugh, hopefully that’s our future too.” She puffed out her chest and put her hands on her hips.
“Twenty laps.” Coach Kay grinned. “And then line up for push-ups, sit-ups, and army crawls. I need your cardio in pristine shape. If you complain, you run an extra lap, and if you’re last . . .” Kinsey tensed next to me. “You owe me burpees. And if you fail, you’re off the squad.”
“What constitutes as failing?” I whispered out of the side of my mouth.
“That’s easy.” Kinsey smiled. “Giving up is failing. If you keep going, then you stay on the squad.”
“And if I puke?”
“Be quick about it.”
“Great.”
The whistle blew again.
“Run!” Coach Kay yelled.
It was going to be a really long morning.
Eight hours later, and I was ready to crawl into a dark hole and die, let someone find my body, bury me in white satin and all that crap.
Seriously. I ached everywhere.
I didn’t throw up.
In fact, I learned early on to just take my time doing everything; so I set a manageable pace and was able to power through, while a lot of the girls looked ready to die. Half of us were smart about pacing ourselves and drinking protein shakes and water when we were given breaks. Part of me wondered if the reasoning behind this was more strategic than anything. The strongest girls would survive.
And while I felt like hell, I also felt strong after the morning practice and even earned a few Good jobs and high fives from some of the snottier girls.
Things were looking up.
But I had to know the universe wasn’t going to be in my corner for much longer. You can only steal all the luck for so long.
I stopped at the store to grab a bottle of wine to say thank you to Sanchez for letting me use him as a giant tissue when I felt it—the prickling sensation hit the back of my neck and slithered down my spine until, finally, I gave up and turned around.
Miller.
Why? Why out of all the Whole Foods in Bellevue was he at this one? Did that mean he lived close? Where was he staying? Why was I so curious in the first place?
No good would come from interacting with him.
Only pain.
Hadn’t I learned that the hard way?
When I’d called him for help?
When I’d needed him the most in my life, and he’d been too busy with other girls? Too busy with his new life to even call me back?
Bitterness won out over sadness.
And for a minute, I contemplated throwing the wine bottle at his head. In fact, I was having an intense stare down with the bottle, wondering if it was worth wasting on his body, when a shadow cast over me.
Slowly, I looked up.
He’d gotten hotter.
It shouldn’t be possible.
The universe shouldn’t allow things like that to happen, for already good-looking guys to grow more muscle in all the right places . . . for his eyes to turn electric blue . . . for his lips to somehow tease and invite more than they used to.
Thickly corded muscles lined his neck, stretching down his biceps, wrapping around his triceps, forcing his T-shirt to strain across his huge chest.
“Drinking alone?” he finally said.
“No,” I answered, quickly dropping the wine into my basket. “It’s a gift.”
“For Sanchez?”
“Why? Does Sanchez like wine?”
“You tell me. You’re the one fucking him.”
I flinched. He may as well have driven a stake through my heart.
I glared. “You pretended not to know me.”
His icy-blue eyes raked over me with disgust. “It’s not really pretend when it’s true, is it, Em?”
My hands shook. He called me Em. But he wasn’t the same Miller. All traces of teasing were lacking, as was his normally bright smile and happy demeanor.
“What happened to you?” I whispered.
He shook his head. “An evil cheerleader happened.”
“Who was she?”
“Shit, you really are clueless, aren’t you?”
Tears burned my eyes. “Was she some—”
“Look in the mirror. Have fun with Sanchez tonight.” He walked off, his posture rigid.
Me? He was pissed at me?
When he was the one who abandoned me!
What the hell!
I wanted to run after him and beat him over the head with my shopping basket! At the same time, I was so confused I stood there for a few seconds trying to figure out what the hell he was talking about.
My brain hurt.
My body hurt worse.
I quickly paid for my cheap wine and stomped out of the store, pissed off that he thought he even had a right to be angry with me in the first place when he was the one who’d left me—left us.
I briefly allowed myself a few seconds of pity, for the lives he left behind—mine included—then started the car.
Only it wouldn’t start.
It wouldn’t even budge.
“Come on!” I tried again, hitting the accelerator a bit.
Nothing. Completely dead.
I couldn’t call my dad; our roles had switched. I was the caretaker now, the breadwinner, the girl trying to balance cheerleading with everything else, including bills and now, apparently, finding a car that worked.
A soft tap on my windshield had me nearly jumping out of my own skin, and then my door was pulled open.
Miller.
Of course, and my shame was complete.
“Let me try.” He held out his hand.
“Okay, stalker.” It slipped.
“You wish.”
I stuck out my tongue.
I’d been in his presence a grand total of five minutes, and I was already itching to tackle him to the ground and lick the side of his face. He had a thing about getting licked, but I never found out why.
I slammed the key onto his hand and waited while he tried to start the car in the same way I had, only to get out of the car and declare, “It’s dead.”
“No shit.”
“Come on.” He reached for my grocery bag. “Grab your shit.”
“I can Uber it.”
“Imagine that. A blonde cheerleader who knows how to download an app. Color me impressed.”
“Miller.” I stood my ground. “Seriously. I’m fine.” I wasn’t fine. I wouldn’t ever be fine, not with this chasm of pain separating us, making me lash out, making him do the same.
“No.” His blue eyes searched mine. “I’m not sure it will ever be okay, but I’m sure as hell not going to let you wait here while some stranger from God-knows-where picks you up . . .” He swore. “Looking like that . . .” He kicked the curb. “And promises to drop you off at an unknown location.”
“Sanchez,” I whispered. “I could call Sanchez.”
“Great, call Sanchez,” he challenged.
“I don’t . . .”
“Don’t have his number?” he offered, with a knowing smirk that made me feel dirty and cheap and used.
“No.” It burned to have to admit it out loud.
“Grab your stuff. I won’t ask again.”
I opened the trunk, seized my duffel and purse, then slammed it down and hit lock on my key fob. “Happy?”
“Overjoyed,” he said dryly.
When did he get so sarcastic? Hadn’t that been my job in our friendship? He was easygoing. I was sarcastic.
My mumbled thoughts clouded even further when we walked fifty feet to his car.
A Mercedes-AMG.
Of course.
Gone was the blue truck he used to dri
ve, the one that had the rust near the hubcaps and made a funny screeching noise every time it pulled up to a stoplight.
My throat felt like it was going to close.
Maybe I should just go home.
But the thought of him seeing where I lived, not the pretty house on the lake I used to live in, but the apartment building I shared with my dad and our live-in nurse, made me want to puke all over his fancy car.
My stomach revolted as he jerked open the door and basically shoved me inside. Everything smelled new, and the leather creaked under my weight. Of course it did.
Shame heated my cheeks until I thought for sure he could see the red from his spot in the driver’s seat.
He turned the key. “Where’s home?”
I didn’t answer.
My tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth. Why? Why did he have to come back to Washington after all this time? And why did his clear blue eyes have to look straight through me? As if the past didn’t exist between us. As if it never would.
He shook his head, and his jaw clicked before he pulled out into traffic and made his way downtown.
To exactly where I’d been heading before he’d found me, ready to cry into my purse over the fact that my cheap-ass car wouldn’t start.
It was hard to breathe. The air was thick with tension swirling between us, the smell of his cologne hard to ignore, as was the way his massive size seemed to make me feel like if I didn’t press my body closer to the door, our arms were going to touch.
And if they touched.
It would hurt.
Physically.
Emotionally.
I kept the walls up, just like I knew he did, because what choice did we have? Talk? About the past? About why he abandoned me?
More shame washed over me until I was sick with it, choking on its essence.
We pulled into a large car garage.
He didn’t stop the car until it got to the top floor.
It was connected to Sanchez’s apartment building, which I knew because he’d scribbled out instructions and left them in my bag shortly after our little run-in.
The only reason I’d even seen the note was because it had been stuck in my bra.
That was Sanchez for you.
Miller parked the car and stared straight ahead, then pulled the keys out and grabbed my stuff.
A protest died on my lips as he gathered his too.
What? Was there a team sleepover that I didn’t know about?
“Miller—”
“Don’t,” he snapped. “Not right now. Just please . . .” His eyes pleaded. “Please don’t talk to me.”
The rejection hurt more than I thought it would, especially since I’d convinced myself on the entire car ride over that my walls were back up, only to realize that the minute he locked eyes with me, those same walls were more than willing to crumble to the ground for one look at him.
At my best friend.
Imagine what those walls would do if he gave me a hug?
I shivered and crossed my arms over my chest.
I was wearing black leggings and a long Victoria’s Secret sweatshirt with Nike shoes. It’s not like I was exactly dressed up for a date or anything, but he didn’t seem to care. As far as he was concerned I was off to seduce Sanchez with my sweats and wine!
The elevator was just as silent as the car. With his free hand, Miller punched the penthouse floor.
Confusion washed over me, but I kept silent.
What game was he playing?
The doors opened to a long marble hallway with two doors on either side of the hall.
Penthouse A.
And Penthouse B.
Miller marched over to the one that said A and knocked on the door so hard I thought that the door was going to come off.
Someone jerked it open.
Sanchez.
His grin faded and then grew as he looked behind Miller and gave me a smirk. “You do deliveries now?”
With a flourish, Miller dropped my stuff at Sanchez’s feet, including the wine now snugly sitting inside my duffel bag, and stomped over to Penthouse B and let himself in, slamming the door behind him.
“Neighbors?” My voice was completely unsteady, hoarse like I’d been smoking a pack on the way over. I couldn’t handle it anymore. I wanted to launch myself into Sanchez’s arms and pretend they were Miller’s.
It was unfair.
But pain had a way of not caring what was fair or not. It just was.
Sanchez took another look at me then wrapped me in a hug and said way too loud, “Guess that means no sex, huh?”
I shoved his chest and laughed.
“Cock blocked by a dude who doesn’t even like you. I’m wounded,” he teased, pulling my crap into his apartment and opening the door wide.
I nearly swallowed my tongue.
It was massive.
Gorgeous.
My entire apartment could fit in his gourmet kitchen.
“You have two ovens,” I pointed out lamely.
“Yeah, well, a guy’s gotta eat.” He leisurely walked into the kitchen. I didn’t know what else to do, so I followed him.
He had a bottle of wine on the bar, two glasses, and loads of fruits and cheeses.
“Hungry?” He didn’t turn around.
“Not really,” I answered honestly. “A certain jackass stole my appetite.”
“About that.” His shoulders tensed as he poured a glass of wine, still not looking at me. “Is there a reason my teammate and your ex-best-friend just dropped you off at my apartment like we were about to engage in a fucking playdate?”
I looked down at the shiny white floor. “I was buying wine, we fought in the grocery store, my car wouldn’t start, and he wouldn’t let me call an Uber.”
“Good,” Sanchez barked.
I glanced up to see him towering over me. How did he move so fast? And so quietly? He was at least six four!
“Now . . .” I could smell the rich wine on his breath. “Tell me what you want.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to say You. To beg him to make me forget, but I wasn’t that girl. I wouldn’t ever be that girl.
“I should go.” I slowly backed away from him.
His eyes narrowed as he reached out and grabbed my arm and gently pulled me toward one of the walls on the other side of the kitchen; then with a flourish, he slammed his hand against the wall by my head.
My jaw dropped, probably creating an awesome triple chin, as he slapped the wall again and then with a smirk, yelled out, “God, you feel so good, baby!”
“Sanchez,” I hissed, covering my mouth with my hands. “What are you doing?”
“I’m giving you what you want, baby!” He basically screamed it in my face, trapping me once again before sliding his cheek down the front of my sweatshirt until he was at eye level with my hips. “I’m going to make you drive him crazy—help you forget all about Miller—and then, if you want to stay, I’ll even give you the guest room.”
“Why?” I had a hard time finding my voice as he slowly moved his head back up. It was impossible not to feel the heat from his body.
He stopped, looking me in the eye. “Because one day, he’s going to regret walking away from you. And I want to be there when it’s too late—when you’re in my arms, my bed instead.”
“You seem so sure of yourself,” I said, finally finding my voice as his smile turned deadly, his lips grazing my ear. I was ready to shove him away when I heard a crash from the apartment next door and the sound of glass breaking.
I sucked in a breath.
“Bingo.” Sanchez’s deep voice rumbled near my neck; his lips were hot on my pulse. “So, guest bedroom?”
“I should . . .” I shook the haze from my thoughts. “Probably go home.”
“Nah.” Sanchez pulled away and went back into the kitchen, leaving me a complete mess as my ears strained to hear anything else that would give me a clue about Miller. “Stay and spy. I’ll even give you a nice
glass cup to put against the wall.” He winked, peeking his head around the corner.
“Hilarious.” I rolled my eyes and followed his voice.
“He hates you,” he said cheerfully. “Care to tell me why, Curves?”
“He . . .” I jerked the wine from his hand; screw the cheer manual. “Took my virginity before leaving for Louisiana my senior year of high school.”
“Fuck.” Sanchez lifted the empty glass from the table and filled it. “Cheers, then?”
“He . . .” I was on a roll. “Didn’t bother calling me back when—” I shook my head “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
“When . . .” Sanchez prompted again.
“Seriously.” I plopped down on his couch. “Is this real leather?”
“No, it’s fake, because I only make fifteen million a year compared to Miller’s eighteen.”
I felt my cheeks heat.
“It’s real, Curves, just like my cock.”
“Yeah, I should have seen that coming.”
“I would love to co—”
I glared.
He didn’t say anything more, just held up one hand and the empty wineglass.
“You know . . .” He moved to sit next to me. “I’m a really good friend.”
“Weird, because most of my friends aren’t always trying to have sex with me?”
“What if I told you I just wanted to win a bet?”
I eyed him with disbelief. “A bet.”
“Bang the cheerleader. Save the damn world,” he whispered, an edge of irritation lacing his normally raspy voice. “Alright, enough of this shit. We need to sleep. We both have practice and, as much as I’d love to stay up and talk about my feelings, I’m pretty sure I don’t have any anymore . . .”
“And yet you’re still trying to convince me to sleep with you?”
“I’d fully allow you to leave your heart at the door right along with your clothes. I’m a gentleman like that.” He shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal.
But to me it was.
Because the last guy to touch me had just broken what sounded like at least three glass objects against the wall next door and, as mean as he was, as cruel . . .
I wanted him still.
“Hell, I know that look.” Sanchez yawned. “Off to bed, Curves. Sleep well knowing that Miller’s going to wonder for the next twelve hours if I’ve tasted all of your crevices. Let him suffer. By the sound of it, he deserves it.”