7. Xander #2
The sound of the front door opening pulled me from my thoughts. Leo walked in, his arms full of shopping bags, his face neutral.
“There you are,” he said, setting the bags down on the kitchen counter. “I was beginning to think you’d moved out.”
The tension between us from our earlier fight hadn’t eased. I took another sip of whisky, letting the burn coat my throat.
“I’m sorry,” I said finally.
Leo’s eyebrows shot up. “For what?”
“For blaming you. For the contract, for not knowing about the Swansons. None of that was your fault.” I set my glass down, meeting his eyes. “This whole thing is a setup, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”
For a moment, Leo just stared at me. Then his shoulders slumped, the mask of indifference falling away.
“I should have done more digging,” he said, moving to sit across from me. “The ownership structure was deliberately hidden behind a bunch of shell companies and investment groups. I should have been more thorough.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered,” I said. “Hank wanted me here. He would have found a way.”
“So what now?” Leo asked, eyeing my whisky. “You planning on drinking yourself into oblivion before the party tonight?”
I snorted. “Tempting, but no. I need to be clear-headed for this one.”
“Because...?”
I hesitated, then decided Leo deserved the truth. “Because Tara’s going to be there. And things between us are... complicated.”
Leo’s expression shifted, concern replacing relief. “Xander, you need to be careful. If Hank finds out?—”
“He already knows,” I cut in. “He called me into his office today to remind me of the morality clause in my contract. Fraternizing with team staff is grounds for termination.”
“Jesus,” Leo muttered. “So that’s his game? Bring you here just to fire you if you get too close to his daughter?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. It’s not that simple.” I thought of the way Hank had looked at me in his office. All calculating. “He wants something from me, but I don’t think it’s my career. Not yet, anyway.”
“What then?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I’m going to find out.”
Leo studied me for a long moment. “Just... be careful, aye? Whatever history you have with the Swansons, it’s clearly not over. And I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard. In all the years we’d known each other, through all the clubs and parties and scandals, Leo had been the one constant in my life. My friend, my protector, the one person who’d stuck by me even when I was at my worst.
“I’ll be careful,” I promised, though we both knew it was a lie.
Leo seemed to sense this. “What time should we head to the club?”
“We?” I raised an eyebrow.
“You think I’m letting you walk into that lion’s den alone?” Leo grinned, some of his usual spark returning. “Besides, someone’s got to be sober enough to get your drunk ass home when this all goes sideways.”
How about that? I wasn’t entirely alone in this mess.
“Ten,” I said. “We’ll head over around ten.”
The Basement was exactly what its name suggested, an underground club nestled beneath one of South Beach’s most exclusive hotels. The line to get in stretched around the block, but Leo led me past it to a side entrance where a massive bouncer nodded in recognition.
“McCrae,” he said, unclipping the velvet rope. “The team is in the VIP section.”
The club was a sensory assault—bass pounding in my chest, strobe lights turning the dance floor into a blur of moving bodies, the sharp-sweet scent of perfume mixed with sweat and booze. I followed Leo through the crowd, nodding at the occasional fan who recognized me despite the dim lighting.
The VIP section was elevated above the main floor, offering a perfect view of the chaos below while remaining somewhat insulated from it.
Most of the team was already there, spread across a collection of low couches and hightables.
Diego held court at the largest table, surrounded by a group of women who laughed too loudly at whatever he was saying.
Ben Carter caught my eye from a quieter corner and raised his drink in greeting. I nodded back, scanning the room for the one face I really wanted to see.
And then I saw her.
She wasn’t wearing the green dress. She was in red, a deep blood-red dress that clung to every curve before ending mid-thigh.
Her hair was down, falling in loose waves around her shoulders.
She looked nothing like the severe Dr. Swanson who’d tortured me in that PT room.
This was Tara—fierce, beautiful, and utterly untouchable.
She was standing at the bar, her head tossed back in laughter. Diego’s eyes kept darting to her, possessive and hungry. As I watched, he excused himself from his table and moved toward her, placing a proprietary hand on the small of her back as he leaned in to say something in her ear.
An ugly twist knotted in my gut at the sight of his hand on her. The memory of what he said on the practice field echoed in my head: “You’re not the only one getting ‘special treatment’.”
“Down, boy,” Leo murmured beside me, noticing the direction of my gaze. “You’ve got that ‘punch first, think later’ look again.”
I forced myself to look away, accepting a drink from a passing waitress without checking what it was. The liquor burned going down, and I welcomed the heat, the momentary distraction from the sight of Diego’s hand on Tara’s back.
The night stretched on, a blur of music and drinks and meaningless conversation.
I made the rounds, playing the part of the team’s new star, shaking hands and making small talk with sponsors and club officials.
But my eyes kept finding her across the room, and more often than not, I found her watching me too.
It was torture, this silent communication across a crowded club. Each glance felt like a continuation of our text exchange, a challenge thrown and accepted.
I dare you. I double-dare you.
Diego hovered around her like he owned the place—and her. The longer the night went on, the harder it was to miss the way he kept trying to stake his claim. At one point, he tried to drag her onto the dance floor, but she shook her head, extracting herself from his grip with a smile.
I lost sight of her for a while after that, caught in a conversation with the nightclub’s owner, who was a big soccer fan and wanted to discuss European tactics. By the time I extricated myself, Tara was nowhere to be seen.
“Looking for someone?”
Ben appeared at my elbow with a knowing smile on his face.
“Just getting some air,” I lied.
Ben’s smile widened. “She’s at the bar. Alone for once. Diego got called away to deal with an issue at the door. One of his buddies couldn’t get in.”
I glanced toward the bar, and sure enough, there she was. Standing alone, her red dress a beacon in the dim light, her fingers wrapped around a glass of something clear.
“Thanks,” I said to Ben, already moving.
“Watch yourself,” he called after me. “Diego’s got a temper.”
I weaved through the crowd, my heart pounding in my ears louder than the bass that shook the floor. She saw me coming, her eyes tracking my approach in the mirror behind the bar. She didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge me, but I felt her awareness like a physical touch.
I took the empty spot beside her, not looking at her directly, just watching her reflection as she watched mine.
“You didn’t wear the green dress,” I said, my voice low but clear over the music.
Her lips curved into a small smile. “I told you I’d wear whatever I wanted.”
“The red suits you.”
“I didn’t ask for your approval.”
The bartender approached, and I ordered a whisky neat. In the mirror, I could see Diego re-entering the club, his eyes scanning the crowd. It wouldn’t be long before he spotted us.
“Your boyfriend’s back,” I said, nodding toward the entrance.
Tara’s smile tightened. “Diego is not my boyfriend.”
“Does he know that?”
“What I do or don’t do with Diego Mano is none of your business.” She turned to face me fully now, her eyes challenging. “Just like what I do or don’t do with you is none of his.”
The bartender set my whisky in front of me. I took a sip, letting the liquor coat my tongue before I spoke again.
“So, what exactly are we doing, Tara?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think you do.” I set my glass down, turning to face her. “The PT session. The texts. Whatever happened in that room…that wasn’t just doctor and patient.”
Her eyes flashed with something that might have been anger, or desire, or both. “You’re delusional.”
“Am I?” I stepped closer, close enough to smell her perfume, and the light floral scent made my head spin. “Tell me you didn’t feel it. Tell me you haven’t been thinking about it all day, just like I have.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but her eyes suddenly widened, looking past me. I turned to see Diego approaching, his face dark with fury.
“Game over, McCrae,” he barked. “She doesn’t want your bullshit.”
I glanced at Tara, watching emotions battle across her face. Want versus fear. Risk versus reason. We stood on the edge of something dangerous. One more move and we’d both crash with no safety nets.
But I’d had enough of caution. Enough of the hints, the unsaid things, the near misses.
“Fuck it,” I muttered, loud enough to cut through the bass.
No dark corners. No private moment. Right there, with Diego and half the team gawking, I took her face in my hands and kissed her.
For one terrifying second, she didn’t move.
Then, with a noise that sounded like victory and defeat combined, she kissed me back.
Her mouth opened against mine, her fists grabbing my shirt, yanking me closer.
The kiss burned hot and hungry, bottled words and denied wants compressed into one fucking reckless moment.
It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t gentle. It was a middle finger to the past, to her father, to all the secrets keeping us apart. We were mutually assured destruction, fire meeting gasoline, and God help anyone caught in the blast radius.
Somewhere beyond us, Diego sucked in a breath, the crowd buzzed with shock. But who cared? Nothing existed except Tara in my arms, her taste, my heart hammering like it might crack my ribs.
In this stolen moment, we were just Xander and Tara. Not doctor and patient. Not the owner’s daughter and a fallen star. Just two people broken by the same shit, finally connecting in the middle of chaos.
And if Hank Swanson wanted to can me for it, let him. Some things were worth burning for.