Chapter Six
Serena
Walking through the park in heels and a microdress may not have been my best idea ever, but watching Austin balance ten bags of takeout as we approach the small homeless encampment on the far side doesn't suck.
He's grinning like he could do this all night. I'm sure he probably could. I watched a replay of his last game yesterday. The man has the stamina of a fucking Siberian Husky and the grace of a leopard. He's fascinating to watch.
He's even more fascinating to know. I keep telling myself that I'm not supposed to like him—that this date is simply what he blackmailed me into. But I think we both know that's a lie at this point. I do like him, dammit. Far more than is safe for me.
I should be running in the opposite direction after his little speech in the restaurant. Instead, I'm right here, his fingers laced with mine as we go to pass out the fancy steak I forced him to buy.
I thought he'd balk about it. He didn't even bat a lash.
"Stick close to me," he murmurs, his voice a velvety purr in the dark. "Anthony has a history of drug abuse and alcohol addiction. He can get aggressive from time to time."
Anthony? What the fuck?
I don't get a chance to ask who Anthony is or how Austin knows anything about him before we reach the tree line and the tents come into view. My heart cracks at the sight of the small group gathered together on tattered lawn chairs in the center.
Encampments like theirs are common, and they never fail to break my heart. Back home, I spent a lot of time collecting donations to pass out. Since moving to DC, I haven't had nearly as much time to volunteer, but I still try to pass out food whenever I can.
If Austin had said no to helping tonight—not to buying the food but to passing it out—there wouldn't have been a second date.
An elderly man is sleeping, an open bottle of Jack in his lap. A guy my age, with long hair and an unkempt beard, plucks at the strings of an old, battered guitar. Three women and another man are whispering back and forth. They all look so fucking tired.
"You working on winning that Grammy yet, Dawson?" Austin asks, grinning at the guy with the guitar.
The whole group turns to look at us.
"Austin!" The guy with the guitar, Dawson, lights up, grinning. "What are you doing out here?"
I blink, surprised. They actually know each other.
"My girl here thought you guys might be hungry." He hoists the bags in his hand, returning Dawson's smile.
"Whatcha bring us?" A brunette in a torn coat asks, her eyes locked on the bags.
"A little of this, a little of that. Come see," Austin offers.
Dawson uses a tattooed knuckle to nudge the old man awake. "C'mon, Anthony. Chow time."
The man blinks awake, taking the bag Austin hands him without looking at anyone. "Thanks," he mumbles, the bottle of Jack still dangling in one hand.
Within seconds, the whole crew gathers, forming a loose circle around us, each of them clutching a bag like it might get up and walk away if they let go.
I hand out the last one to the brunette, who tears into it with the kind of hunger that makes my chest ache. She doesn't even bother with a fork, just uses her fingers, savoring every greasy, bloody bite of the steak.
"Where's Jett tonight?" Austin asks, glancing around the group.
Dawson chews, then swallows. "Cops picked him up yesterday, man. He was yelling about the satellites again."
"Fuck." Austin's expression darkens for a second, sadness in his eyes. "You know where they took him?"
"Took him back to St. E's," Dawson says.
"I'll check in on him," Austin promises. "Make sure they're taking care of him."
I look from him to the group, a weird ache twisting in my chest. He didn't just agree to help tonight. He knows these people. Not just their faces or their names, but them and their stories. Their struggles. He knows them, and he cares in a way the rest of the world forgot to care a long time ago.
I watch him interact with them for a long moment, trying to process this side of him and fit it into place with the infuriating man I know, the one willing to blackmail me into a date. He's still that man—I see it in his eyes—but he's more than that too.
I'm not entirely sure where or how to fit this new facet into place. He's supposed to be easy to dislike, just another asshole athlete who does what he wants and doesn't give a shit how it impacts anyone else. Except…that's not who he is. I'm not sure it ever was.
He turns to me after a moment, a soft smile on his face that has my heart thumping a little bit harder. "Serena, this is Dawson, Anthony, Julie, Lucinda, Mark, and Olivia. Guys, this is my girlfriend, Serena."
"Girlfriend?" I sputter, nearly choking. "I do not remember agreeing to that."
"It was in fine print," he says, deadpan.
"Do not make me hide your body tonight, Austin Hawkes. I'm not dressed properly to get away with murder. Besides, carrying your big ass body looks exhausting."
He just raises a brow, like he's not even going to dignify my threat with a response.
Dawson wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, laughing. "She's got a mouth on her, man. Good luck."
"Don't I know it?" Austin flashes me a look that's all heat and mischief.
Anthony sits hunched and silent, the food untouched in his lap, while the others laugh.
Austin notices, his brows furrowing. "You doing okay tonight, Anthony?"
"Yeah." The old man's voice is barely a whisper, but he meets Austin's gaze for a minute, his eyes clearer than they have been all night, and I wonder how he ended up here. He could be someone's grandfather. Instead, he's out here, barely hanging on. It's devastating.
"You sticking around for a bit?" Julie, the woman with a torn coat, asks into the silence.
Austin shakes his head. "Just wanted to bring dinner. You guys got everything you need? The kitchen taking care of you?"
Julie hesitates, her gaze darting to her foot. "Hurt my foot," she mutters. "Can't afford to go to the clinic."
Austin's gaze drifts to her foot and then back to her. "Go to the clinic tomorrow, Julie. Tell them I sent you. I'll cover it."
Her eyes grow damp, but she just nods. "Thanks, Austin."
He turns to me, his expression soft. "Ready to head out, princess?"
I nod, but I don't move right away. I linger, watching the small circle of people as they eat, the edges of their hunger blunted for one rare night.
No one thanks me or really even looks at me, and I like it that way.
I like that they know Austin, not me. I like that I'm just a bystander, here because he's the kind of guy willing to drop over a grand on fancy steak for people who need the kindness more than most.
I didn't expect it. I think, maybe, I wanted to prove that he was the asshole I expected. But he's not. I like being wrong about him far more than is good for me.
We say goodbye and retrace our steps through the thicket of trees, the air heavy with the smell of rain on dead grass. I'm quiet until we hit the parking lot, and then I can't take it anymore.
"How do you know them?" I blurt, spinning to look at Austin.
He glances down at me, a streetlight catching in his gorgeous eyes.
"I run a soup kitchen not far from here," he says, like it's just a thing people do in their spare time.
Except…it's not. Most people don't even volunteer at soup kitchens in their spare time, let alone run them.
"Opened it not long after I got traded to DC. "
I stop in my tracks. "You run a soup kitchen?"
He shrugs like it's not a big deal. "Some of the guys from the team help out.
Most don't." He smirks, guiding me forward with his hands on my hips, like he can't help touching me.
"People look at them and see a problem," he adds quietly.
"I look, and I see people. Any one of us is just a few bad days or bad decisions from walking a mile in their shoes.
Helping out reminds me that it doesn't matter what I have if I'm not doing something that matters with it.
It helps me keep my head screwed on straight. "
My heart slams against my ribcage when I see the way he's looking at me, like maybe he's nervous about how I'll take this side of him that's soft and secret. Maybe he's never let anyone see it before.
"You're an interesting man, Austin Hawkes," I say instead of teasing him.
He backs me up against the side of his truck, both hands settling on my waist. The way he holds me makes me feel so fucking small and priceless, like he could crush me if he wanted to do it, but the thought has never even crossed his mind.
"I try to do my part to make sure they have dignity," he says. "Respect. Warm food when I can. It's the right thing to do when you make as much fucking money as I do. That doesn't make me a hero, princess. It just makes me a guy with too much money, trying to do the right thing with it."
I stare at him for a long time, not sure what to do with all the feelings surging through me. He's not supposed to be this good. He's supposed to be an asshole, a jerk who ruins lives for his own amusement. He's not supposed to actually give a shit. And yet…he does.
"Can I help?"
His smile is all sunshine and rainbows. "You want to help run the kitchen?"
"I mean…I probably wouldn't trust me to cook anything, but yeah. I used to volunteer back home a lot. I want to help make a difference here, too." I shrug. "Put me to work."
"You're fucking incredible, you know that?"
"I want to kiss you right now," I blurt.
He grins, that panty-melting smile that has my heart skipping a beat. "Yeah? Then what's stopping you, princess?"
"Nothing," I whisper, hauling him down with his tie until my lips crash against his.
He groans, the sound vibrating through my entire body, and then his tongue is in my mouth, demanding everything. God, the way he kisses me is unreal, like he's trying to taste the edges of my soul and claim it as his own.