Kicked: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (41 page)

“Thank you, Addi,” I said, because I knew I needed to, because I wanted to, because I secretly thought she'd be a hell of a lot happier soaking up the sun in La Jolla. She'd originally wanted me to join her, to be a UC San Diego Triton, but I couldn't pry myself away from my hometown – or rather, from
someone
who lived in my hometown.

Addi got tears in her eyes – not unusual because really, she cried a whole hell of a lot – and then reached out her arms for a hug. I moved over to her and let her wrap me up, hoping she wouldn't really cry and mess up her makeup. It was fabulous, by the way, a gold and brown blend of perfection that curved up towards her brow and gave her a sharp, sexy look that I envied.

“His parents want to scope out the city. They're typical Californians, you know.
Oregon is so raffish and uncultured, it's practically all wilderness up there!
If I take them out tonight, show them a good time, maybe they'll change their minds? I mean, they flew up here last minute because of me.”
Or rather, because of
me, I thought, but decided not to say anything aloud.

“There's plenty of kale salad and green juice to go around. I don't think you'll have a problem.” I pulled away from my best friend and tried not to fidget. Normally, I wouldn't care if she went out. She didn't have to tell me every little thing she did, but … then again, she didn't know Flor was coming over. For some reason, I suddenly didn't want to tell her.

“Abigail Ingram Sharp,” she said, putting on her best maternal voice. Admittedly, it was kind of scary. I was already nervous for those future three kids she talked about having. “What's wrong? Come on, spill it.” I turned back towards the kitchen, grabbed a rag from a drawer and took the bottle of Windex in my other hand. Sometimes when I was nervous, I cleaned. It had worked for me before. If I scrubbed the crap out of some tile countertops, things would work out okay. Right?

“Nothing's wrong,” I lied, spraying the already clean surface in front of me and wiping it rhythmically with the rag. A knock at the door startled me enough that I dropped the Windex on the floor. The top came flying off and blue liquid went everywhere. One quick glance at the clock told me it was only six – way too early for Florian to be here. Both Addison and I paused as keys sounded in the lock and a few seconds later, my stepbrother was waltzing in dressed in a tight red T-shirt, dark jeans and boots. His hair was in that sexy stage between wet and dry, tousled up and left to fend for itself. I swallowed hard against the image.

“Where'd you get a key?” I demanded, standing in a puddle of Windex while Addison looked from me to Flor and back again. She'd already figured it out, I knew.
Damn it.
We'd had plenty of talks about my stepbrother, most of them consisting of her yelling at me for being so goddamn obsessive.
Let it go or try it out, Abigail. You only have two choices. Stop agonizing over the decision and just make one.
“Because I know I didn't give you one.” I glanced back at Addi, her lips parted slightly, her eyes taking in the scene with interest.

“Don't look at me.”

“I stole it off your key ring, you dope,” Flor said, tossing the mass of metal in his hand on the counter. He paused for a moment to glance down at the Windex and then looked up at me with a shake of his head. “What'd you do now? What the hell is this shit?” I pursed my lips and threw the rag in the sink, grabbing a roll of paper towels and bending down to clean up the mess. Flor followed after me and reached out to take the roll from me, brushing his fingers against mine. My breath caught and even through the sharp smell of Windex, I could practically taste his scent, that same citrusy shampoo he'd been using for years. A warm flush crept up from below and colored my cheeks with heat.

I drew back my hand and pretended not to notice.

“Why are you so dressed up, Addi?” he asked without bothering to look over his shoulder. Addison was staring at me strangely and I just knew she was about thirty seconds away from calling off her date with Patrick and his parents.

I stood up suddenly and gave her a look.

“What time are you supposed to meet them?” I asked as she continued to stare at me. Her caramel-brown eyes narrowed and her lips, slathered in bright red, twisted to the side in a suspicious gesture. I forced myself to smile because Flor was looking up at me, his dark hair falling over his brow, his eyes bright and intelligent and way, way, way too intuitive. “Patrick and his parents, I mean,” I added before he could ask.

Flor finished wiping up the Windex and stood, turning to glance at Addi.

“You bailing on us or something?” he asked and although his voice was light, I felt something there, beneath his words, trapping us both.
Shit.
I closed my eyes and did what I always did: I thought of our parents. Well, my dad and his mom. I thought of them, how in love they were, how long they'd been together and I made myself realize – for probably the millionth time – that there was no way in hell this taboo little crush I was nursing was going to pan out.

“I've got a date,” Addi said, shaking her head with a sigh. Flor narrowed his eyes on her and then reached into his pocket for a cigarette. He flipped it around in his fingers for a minute before pausing and glancing over at me. We exchanged a neutral look, one so shielded that it made me want to scream. Why couldn't we just be honest with each other? I was attracted to him; he was attracted to me. So what? Didn't have to be the end of the world. “I'll be back as soon as I can,” she said, kissing me on the cheek and giving Flor a look that I couldn't read.

“I'll walk you out,” he said, nodding with his chin at the door. I watched them descend the steps out of sight and then moved to the window, leaning on the seat and trying my best to listen to their conversation. I know, I know, eavesdropping isn't the most honest move to make, but I knew whatever they were going to say about me, I would never hear a word of it.

I was listening so hard and leaning so close to the open window that I didn't notice Flor standing beside me until he spoke.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked me and I jumped, clutching the sides of the window seat as I turned and found him with an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. I reached up and brushed some hair back behind my ear, clearing my throat and shaking my head. The worst part about the whole situation was that I was pretty much eye level with his crotch. I was having a hard time meeting his eyes, too, so I ended up somewhere in between with my gaze focused on the tight muscles of his belly, just barely visible beneath the fabric of his T-shirt. Shit
.

“What are … I thought you went down to smoke?” I asked, standing up and sliding past him, padding barefoot to the kitchen and yanking out a couple bottles of beer. I'd had Patrick buy them for me yesterday when he took Addi to the store for more groceries.

“Forgot to grab a lighter,” he said, and then, appearing as if by magic behind me, “Abi?” Too close. Way too close. I held my breath, afraid that if I sucked in a lungful of air, I'd touch him when my chest expanded. His own breath was tickling the fine hairs on the back of my neck and making my hands quiver with carefully repressed desire. There was no way Flor was oblivious to the way his presence, his nearness, affected me, but he sure acted like he was. “Gross,” he continued, shattering the mood that he'd just as quickly created, “you have weird tastes.” He flicked his fingers randomly at the glass bottles on the counter.

“You forget that I'm only eighteen and I can't legally buy alcohol,” I whispered, slipping past him and moving back towards the fridge, a bottle in my hand. Being underage wasn't going to keep me from drinking it, however. I was good, but I wasn't
that
good.

“Oh, trust me, kitten, I never forget your age.”

My entire body went white hot as I spun around, suddenly afraid that Flor was going to touch me, push me down … maybe even screw me over this countertop? But he hadn't moved from his spot, standing there with the beer in one hand and an inscrutable look scrunching up his features. I watched as his fingers crawled across the countertop and grabbed his key ring.

“I didn't think you'd even manage to come up with the drinks. I brought my own,” he said, setting his bottle on the counter and moving out of the kitchen and towards the stairs. I waited until I was certain I heard him hit the landing and then slumped back against the cabinets.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
I pursed my lips.
Fuck.
That was more like it.
Fuck it.

I tore open a drawer, flicked the cap off my drink and downed half of it before Flor even crested the top of the stairs. I was so …
aware
of how alone we were. No worries about parents coming home and finding us, no Addi, no tattooed and pierced up girlfriends with weird names. Just me and Flor. Me and my stepbrother.

I sighed.

Other than that one kiss way back when, I had no idea if Flor really did feel the same way I did. I mean, what if he'd moved on? What if I was just his pathetic little sister with a crush on her big brother? Only he didn't
feel
like my brother. I guess I had nothing to compare him with, but how come, when asked about my family, I always failed to mention that I had a stepbrother? It wasn't like Florian was ever far from my mind. Somehow, it felt like my brain – and my heart – were tainted with him, drenched in his citrusy-sweet scent, the smell of cigarette smoke, and the intense scrutiny of eyes so sharp they could cut.

I nibbled on my lower lip and took another drink of my beer. Flor was right; it was disgusting. I almost gagged on the heavy taste of hops and something spicy, like jalapeños. Gross. Guess that's what I got for telling Patrick and Addi to
just grab anything.
Oregonians
love
beer brewing almost as much as they love the outdoors; everybody and their grandma has a home brew, not all of them worth the label their logo is printed on.

I took another swig and pretended not to notice. Like hell I'd let Flor get one up on me. His know-it-all attitude had to be culled by somebody and since most people fawned over him, that duty had fallen to me. Even though I also, in secret, fawned over him, probably worse than any of them.

I jumped when I heard his boots hit the stairs and had barely enough time to collect myself before his aura pushed itself into the room and surrounded me, choking back the careful walls I'd built around myself these past three years. Crap. How could I keep saying I was over him, that I'd accepted the idea that he could never be mine, when my body writhed in blissful agony from a single, well-placed look?

Like the one he was giving me now.

I met his eyes and held on for dear life, watching him walk across the room towards me. If looks could kill, I'd be dead, but I'd also be a happy corpse.
Yikes.

“Now this,” he said, moving back into the kitchen and depositing a heavy paper bag onto the counter, “is the good stuff.” I watched Flor reach inside, the strong muscles in his arms sliding and swelling beneath the layer of tattoos on his right arm, starting with the crescent moon and clouds on his hand and trailing up through a starry sky and various portraits that disappeared beneath his sleeve. For someone so young, he sure had a lot, but then again, it was his passion
and
his career. His mom was always half-joking that he was going to run out of skin by the time he was thirty, but I had a feeling that Flor didn't like to think that far ahead.

He produced a case of Total Domination by Ninkasi Brewing Company and popped the top, giving it a quick sniff before he downed a good two-thirds of the bottle. Even though he was only twenty-one, Flor had been drinking long enough to be considered a connoisseur. He turned around then, almost suddenly, like he'd half-forgotten I was there and tried to hand me his nearly empty bottle.

“Try a sip, see if you like it.” I obliged him, ridiculously aware that my lips were about to graze the glass in an indirect kiss. I quickly stifled that thought, fully and completely aware of how stupid it sounded. I wasn't fifteen anymore, but sometimes Flor made me feel like I was. I tipped back the drink, getting a punch of deep, dark bitterness in the back of my throat before I swallowed. Flor might be a beer expert, but I was most definitely a novice. Fancy, colorful, girly cocktails anyone? Something that tastes like juice? I kept my face neutral and nodded.

“Yeah,” I said, passing it back. “It's good.”
Lie.
But like hell I was telling him that. He smirked like he knew I probably didn't like it, but didn't say anything, the look fading slowly away.

Silence descended between us and that scared me. We usually had plenty of material to bicker back and forth about. I straightened out the baggy navy blue T-shirt I was wearing and wished I'd dressed up or something. I'd been planning on it, but he'd been early – much earlier than usual even.

“Hey Abigail,” he said, and I closed my eyes. He only ever called me by my full name when there was something going on that he knew I wouldn't be happy to hear about. For example, when I was sixteen and my first real boyfriend had been fooling around with other girls behind my back, Flor had told me. He'd called me Abigail then, too. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” I said, feigning nonchalance. In all reality, my heart was pounding so hard I could barely hear my own lips, betraying me with a single word.
Sure.
No, I wasn't
sure.
I wasn't sure about anything. I stayed silent and waited, staring at the label on my drink.

After a moment, I realized that whatever it was that Florian had been planning to say, he'd changed his mind. I could tell the moment I looked up and caught him staring at the bookcases that lined the walls between the windows, and not at my face.

“Flor,” I said and his gaze snapped back to me, his lips twisting into an evil grin.

“Let me take you out,” he said, sending a thrill of heat down my spine. My heartbeat picked up speed, something I hadn't even thought possible, making me dizzy for a split second before I realized I was overreacting.