CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Hardy
I just got played.
And not only did I just get played, I got fucking screwed on camera for the world to see, so now I can’t walk away from this shit, no matter how badly I want to.
The upside? I look like I enjoy taking on a charity case. Like I’m a good guy who’d never let a poor soccer academy down.
The downside? How the hell am I supposed to be in two places at once? Two places? Lately it feels more like ten places, but who’s counting?
Isn’t my job in coming to the States to further football and the Mayhem franchise?
Fuck, man . . .
She hustled me like a pro. Made me think she couldn’t play, didn’t play, and then she let me take mercy on her before she took me to task. A blindfolded penalty kick?
She made that shot with a precision that says she’s practiced it more times than she can count and that she’s pretty fucking skilled.
Lesson learned. Don’t trust a word Whitney Barnes says .
“Lucky shot, my ass,” I mutter as I slam the door open into the locker room in this fucking ancient, antiquated place. The large room is made of cinderblock. The paint is old but holding. There are rows of benches with tall, dented metal lockers separating them. And then on the other side of the pony wall is a row of shower heads with one small partition to block sight from the incoming door.
It’s free of dust but other than that, it doesn’t look like anyone has seen the inside of this place in ... forever.
A far cry from the accommodations I’m used to but ... apparently, this is what I deserve after falling for her fucking ruse.
I’ll let you win, my arse.
Irritated and definitely pissy, I drop my bag on a bench and yank my shirt over my head, needing a fresh one.
I jump when the door opens in much the same fashion as how I slammed it open. The sound reverberates around the room as I’m met with her green eyes and an exasperated huff.
She stands with her hands on her hips and anger apparent. “Did you hit your date?”
“What?” I bark out, the question unexpected but warranted. Everyone else and their brother is asking it, but not a single person is directing that question at me.
“Your date. Why you’re here to repair your image. Did you purposely hit her?”
“No. God, no. I’d never put my hands on a woman.”
She studies me with her head angled to the side and her lips pursed. She definitely doesn’t shy away from asking the hard stuff, and I have to admire her for it.
Just like I admire the way her chest rises and falls and the press of her hardened nipples against her tank top. I mean, if they’re going to beg to be seen, I might as well do them the favor of looking.
“I didn’t. No,” I say when she doesn’t say anything more. “Thank you for asking me because no one else has.”
She nods, and almost as if I can see her compartmentalizing that topic and moving on to the next, she asks, “Why would you make such a stupid bet when it’s obvious that you don’t want to be here?”
“Well, you sure as shit solidified that one for me, didn’t you?”
“Me?” She barks out a laugh. “That was one hundred percent you and your oversized ego. I was perfectly fine losing to you. To letting you get out of this and everything that goes with you.”
“Most people would kill for me and everything that goes with me.”
“And just like that comment, you acted like an arrogant ass who couldn’t be beaten.” She points a finger at me. “You missed on purpose because you thought you were so fucking good and that any goal I made was going to be a fluke.”
“That’s why I did that?” I bellow, arms thrown out as I take a step closer to her. “But I’m the one with the ginormous ego? Apparently, yours is about the same size because you couldn’t bring it upon yourself to lose. Your ego is why we’re both now screwed.”
She chuckles, and I want to strangle the sound. “Exactly. I’m allowed to have a change of heart. You were an ass. I changed my mind, but when the rubber met the road, when you doubled down? I still won. Here’s something you’re probably not used to hearing—deal with it.”