Kickin’ It Page 2

  “It’s just dinner.” I smiled knowingly—I’d been on the opposite end of that woman’s lectures more times than I could count.

  “That’s like saying it was just the Cold War.” He glared. “She’s very, very Russian, and she’s loud, and last time she used a racial slur that almost got us kicked out of the restaurant.”

  “But she looks adorable, and if she starts getting loud be a big boy and stop her.” I shot him an evil grin. “And people loved it when you held her hand in the parking lot. Those shots went viral.”

  “Right, about that: She asked me to hold her hand because she thought the police were following us because she used to date a Russian spy. Then she turned to me and asked, ‘Or am I the spy?’” Jagger shuddered. “Matt, she talked into her wrist every few minutes like she was the KGB!”

  “Take her out. Make it public. I don’t care if she is a fucking spy, you strap her in that car of yours and take her out, you kiss her on the cheek, you pay for the bill, and when all is said and done, they’ll post about how sweet it was that you were out with your grandma and not at some seedy bar signing autographs and picking out girls from a line.”

  “Once.” He raised a forefinger. “And I was drunk. It was the only way I could decide which one was prettier.”

  “Yeah, I have to agree with Matt about Grandma,” Slade said with a nod. “Also, stay far, far away from Willow.”

  “I love the name Willow.” Jagger stared me down.

  “I have no problem shoving you off my yacht and dumping a bucket of blood in afterward for good measure.”

  “Graphic.” Jagger grinned. “I like it.”

  Slade stood. “What’s for lunch?”

  “You aren’t staying for lunch.”

  “I’ll get the plates!” Jagger followed.

  I sighed and gave up. I was physically tired and mentally exhausted. These guys knew they could give me shit and I’d take off my agent hat and join in, but lately, I’d been feeling the pressure of my intense schedule. Maybe it was good timing having Willow come. Maybe I was overthinking things. Maybe everything was going to be totally fine and I needed to just lay off. After all, what could possibly be so horrible about spending time with my sister?

  Chapter Two

  PARKER

  The house was huge.

  Intimidating.

  It was three stories of financial security, determination, blood, sweat, tears—it was three stories of all the things I wanted out of my soccer career—out of my life.

  I gulped at the sight of the modern house and its intimidating landscaping. My dad owned a landscaping business, so I knew the cost of a mature tree—or the cost of at least twenty with shrubs, flowers, intricate water fountains and a Japanese garden that looked so Zen I had the instinctual urge to let out the breath I was holding in and relax.

  But I couldn’t.

  I was meeting one of the biggest sports agents in the world.

  Matt Kingston.

  Might as well call him King.

  He was my best friend’s older brother, and every single time she’d talked about him he’d sounded smooth, calculating, and damn good at his job. I didn’t want to put all my eggs in one basket, but first impressions were everything. I got out of the rental car holding a plate of peanut-butter cookies in one hand and my backpack in the other, leaving the rest of my stuff behind. It was either this or move back in with my dad. The thought was daunting; we weren’t close, at all. We saw each other during the holidays but other than that, I kept to myself. And after everything this last year, I needed a break. I needed . . . something.

  “He’s sweet! Bring him cookies!” We hadn’t been in Seattle for even ten minutes before Willow hopped out of the car and instructed me to use her brother’s sweet tooth against him. Stranded, I had no choice but to follow the directions to his mansion and hope for the best.

  I exhaled and rang the doorbell, half expecting a butler to answer and ask me to take off my shoes before coming in or maybe mistake me for staff and tell me to enter through the back.

  Note to self: this wasn’t a historical romance novel.

  This was my new life.

  Hopefully, the start of a new career if I could get someone like Matt to negotiate on my behalf.

  It was business.

  Not personal.

  I wasn’t using my friendship.

  I was just . . . networking.

  Footsteps sounded on the other side of the door, and it jerked open so fast that I took a step back and almost dropped the plate of cookies. I shoved them forward. “These are for you.”

  As far as a first impression went, I could have done worse, right?

  And then I locked eyes with him.

  Not Matt.

  I felt my body stiffen, my eyes widen. Jagger. I was staring at Jagger Komokov. One of the best goalies in the entire world.

  He grinned. His long brown locks had been cropped, which is why I had thought he was Matt. “These for me?”

  “Um . . .” What should I say? No? “Yes?” came out of my mouth.

  “Matt!” Jagger yelled, not taking his eyes off me. “Girl Scouts are making the rounds . . .” I tore my gaze away and squeezed my eyes shut so I didn’t further the stupid coming from my body or mouth.

  “Girl Scouts?” a male voice yelled. “The hell! Get rid of them, we’re in a meeting!”

  Jagger shrugged, plate still in hand. “Sorry, but I think I’ll keep these.”

  They were on a plastic plate.

  With Saran Wrap.

  They looked nothing like Girl Scout cookies, jackass.

  I crossed my arms. “I’m here for Matt.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Matt Kingston? That Matt? You sure?”

  I ground my teeth. “Pretty sure.”

  “Sorry, I’m his new security, nobody gets past me.”

  I was killing Willow later. Give a girl some warning next time! Like, oh hey, there may be professional athletes just hanging out, try not to put your foot in your mouth like usual!

  “You’re not.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Security.” I grinned. “You’re Jagger Komokov, giant chip on your shoulder the size of the exact space some lucky bastard was able to get a ball into your net, what was it, from like seven feet?”

  “Bullshit!” he roared.

  I sidestepped him.

  He moved.

  I moved.

  And then he took a cookie out from under the wrap and jammed it in his mouth. “Mmmm, peanut butter? You trying to kill him?”

  “No!”

  “What if he’s allergic?” He grinned.

  “His sister would have specified!” I was hot. Exhausted from our plane ride. And just needed to ask him where to put my bags! “Look, I’m tired. Can we do this whole weird interrogation later?”

  I tried to get past him again.

  He braced one hand against the door.

  “Jagger! Stop eating all the fucking cookies and get your ass in here for damage control!”

  “Told you Grandma was off her rocker!” Jagger called back over his shoulder and then whispered to me, “She called Matt a Russian spy when I got stopped for an interview outside a restaurant, it’s all over the news. He shouldn’t have worn red, and he sure as hell shouldn’t have checked up on me, I got my shit handled.” He shrugged and took another bite. “So, what will it be, little girl? You leave on your own or am I escorting you back to that . . .” He frowned. “Jetta.”

  “Nothing wrong with a Jetta.” It was a cheap rental until . . . well, until my future happened.

  “More of a sports-car kinda guy, you understand.” He winked.

  I was losing patience.

  And my temper, which I’d been told was one of my worst qualities and just another one of the many reasons that some of the teams were leery of giving me a bigger contract. I was a risk they weren’t sure they could afford to take!

  “Move before I rip your balls from your body,” I said with a
smile and then swallowed and added, “Please.”

  He grinned. “Yeah, okay, small fry, go right ahead.”

  “Really?”

  “No.” He started closing the door. “Good cookies, though!”

  The door clicked shut in my face.

  I rang the bell a few more times.

  And then I started aggressively pounding my hands against the solid wood.

  It swung open.

  “Listen, jackass—”

  I almost swallowed my tongue as Matt Kingston stood to his full six-foot-four height and crossed his arms over a broad chest. A nice chest covered by a white button-down tucked into black trousers, and shiny shoes. He looked like he’d just had dinner with royalty.

  His sleeves were rolled halfway up his forearms, and I could see golden muscle flex hard like he was clenching his fists in irritation. His light-blue eyes took inventory of me as if I wasn’t worth him wasting any sort of words. His blond hair was mussed like he’d been running his hands through it.

  He was beautiful up close. Equal parts masculine and serious. He had an air about him that both intimidated me and made me want to lean in closer.

  “Speak,” he rasped, jolting me out of my haze while I mentally applauded God for making such a fine specimen. Of course he couldn’t be nice on top of being too handsome for words, because that wouldn’t be fair to the female population, would it?

  “I’m . . .” I gulped and then stood to my full height. “I’m Willow’s friend.”

  “Good for you.” He frowned. “Did you want me to pay you or something?”

  “Pay me?”

  “For her friendship. It’s the only reason I can imagine you’d come all the way to my house and make such a vague statement. God knows the woman could test the fucking pope.”

  My lips twitched. “Uh no, don’t need money. My name’s Parker Speedman. Willow told me you said I could stay here. I just . . . I needed help with some of my bags, and my hands were full of cookies. She said the way to your heart was through your stomach.”

  He stared at me for at least five solid seconds before he slammed the door in my face and let out a string of curse words that I could clearly hear, which had me flinching, only to open it again like he hadn’t just had a mental breakdown.

  His smile was forced, his tone clipped. “Where are your bags?”

  “Car.” I gulped.

  “Jagger!” he roared. “Bags!”

  “The hell?” Jagger sauntered back toward us. “I’m the talent!”

  “You’re the pain in the ass and your grandmother got us on CNN with bad press. Get her damn bags, bring them to one of the guest rooms, and then you can go think about all the ways you can make it up to me.”

  He let out a laugh. “Come on, Matty, it wasn’t that bad.”

  “That bad?” He shoved Jagger.

  I took a step back. What kind of client-agent relationship was this?

  “They did a body-cavity search!” Matt roared. “TWICE!”

  Jagger bit down on his lower lip and then winked over at me. “He liked it, just won’t admit.”

  “His hands were twice the size of yours. The FBI just had to take her seriously . . .” Matt shivered. “Just . . . get the bags, and I’ll think about your punishment later.”

  “Kinky,” Jagger drawled as he walked past me and toward my rental.

  Matt was already on the phone when I turned back, his eyes blazing like he was ready to strangle anyone in his path. “Willow, lovely to talk to you. Any reason why I’m staring at an uninvited guest?”

  Worst first impression goes to . . .

  “I did not.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Willow—” He glared at me. “Fine. Yeah. No. And stop laughing or you’re sleeping outside.” He hung up and stepped back as Jagger brought my bags through the doorway.

  “Well?” Matt shrugged. “Are you coming or going?”

  The wind picked up.

  We locked eyes as I whispered, “Coming.”

  And I could have sworn something flickered in his gaze. His lips parted as the air between us charged.

  “Alright then,” he said softly and then left me alone in his foyer.

  Chapter Three

  MATT

  “Speak,” I barked once Willow sauntered into the house with at least three shopping bags as well as one blue Tiffany’s bag dangling from her wrist.

  Three. Hours. Later.

  I stared. “New nails?”

  “I went for an understated blush pink.” She winked and then waved her fingers in my face. “You like?”

  I lightly slapped her hand away, earning a pout. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  She rolled her eyes and dropped the bags onto my new white leather couch. Her heels clicked against my industrial concrete floors. “I was thinking that I’m too good of a friend to let Parker live on the streets, especially when I promised her free rent for the next three months. It was either bring her with me to charm you to death or leave her homeless—”

  I let out a growl.

  She shrugged and flipped her hair. “Plus I did ask you, but you were just too busy with one of your football guys to pay attention.”

  “Soccer, he plays soccer.” I wiped my face with my hands and wondered if jumping off the pier into ice-cold water would make any of this go away or just kill me swiftly. I eyed Willow. Handling her wasn’t the issue, but handling her and one of her friends? One of her attractive friends with pretty eyes and a body I tried not to notice? Hell, I was going to lose my mind keeping them from the guys. “I manage athletes, big difference.”

  “Meh, is it, though?” She shrugged and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. “For what it’s worth, I really like what you did with the place. It’s modern yet warm. Is that a real fur rug?”

  “No,” I snapped then leaned my full body against the counter. “She’s in the room across from the master.” Which meant she was going to be sleeping a few feet away from me, fantastic.

  “Okay?” Willow squinted at me like I was the slow learner. “Because?”

  “Because I’m repainting the other six guest bedrooms and remodeling the master bathroom.” Something I would have told her had I known that I was going to have an unannounced guest.

  “Where am I sleeping?”

  I had sudden visions of my sister outside on the patio with one blanket and a bottle of whiskey to keep her warm from the ocean breeze.

  “You? Oh, outside. I bought a cot. You’re welcome.” I grinned smugly.

  “Funny, aren’t you?” She crossed her arms. “Seriously, where am I sleeping?”

  “Mother-in-law suite above the pool house. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to cohabitate this early into your lesbian relationship—big step and all.” I shrugged.

  She grabbed a pillow from the couch and chucked it at my face. I ducked just in time. “I’ll have you know that if I did swing that way I probably couldn’t get a better girlfriend. She’s hilarious, extremely loyal, and did you see that girl’s ass?”

  I gulped.

  No.

  Because I’d basically sent her to her room within minutes of her arrival and was seconds away from using Jagger’s body as a human shield to keep myself from staring at it. I’d always been a sucker for women with athletic bodies—calves, I was a calves man. I blamed the soccer, and she had calves I wanted to dig my fingers into. “No. I was too busy plotting your death, but I’ll be sure to add looking it over to my to-do list for Tuesday.”

  “Still an ass.” Willow smiled wide.

  “And you’re still a pain in my ass.” I sighed. “So I guess we’re even.” I checked my watch. “Hope you can cook.”

  “Cook?” she repeated, eyes narrowing.

  “Yeah, I have a meeting.” She didn’t need to know it was more like hanging out with friends who just so happened to be clients.

  “Perfect!” She rubbed her hands together. “I’ll come.”

  “The hell you will! You aren’t an agent
yet,” I hissed. “Intern—say it with me—intern . . .” I drew it out slowly and then clapped it out for good measure just in case she was having trouble sounding out the really hard parts.

  “You done?” she said in a bored tone.

  “I’m never done. Not when it comes to you, sis.”

  “Hah!” She stuck out her tongue. “Are you meeting with athletes or friends?”

  I rocked back on my heels. “I see what you’re doing, it won’t work.”

  “So, friends.” She did a little dance. “I’ve got the perfect dress, who knew? What time?”

  “You’re a plague,” I said in a defeated voice, staring down at my fake bear rug and wondering where I went wrong—oh right, I went wrong when I said yes. I was already under stress with the remodel. I’d put everything on hold because my plate was so full, nothing was near finished the way I wanted it, and my little sister was getting her way, like she always did. I didn’t want to fight her because deep down, in the darkest crevice of my mind, I knew that I needed more help with the agency, I just had a hard time accepting her help when I knew the sort of people she would be working with on a daily basis. She needed a tough skin, and because I’d basically spoiled her for her entire life, I worried she might not have it. Add another roommate to the scenario and I felt trapped.

  “Aw, Matty!” She fanned her face and then pressed a hand to her chest. “Why, bless your little heart!”

  “Poisoning your coffee tomorrow, fair warning.” I loved her too much, that was the problem.

  She just shrugged. “Poisoned your coffee every day of high school—you’re welcome for the tolerance.”

  I clenched my fists just as a door down the hall shut and feet shuffled across the concrete floor. Sneakers. She was wearing sneakers. My sister wouldn’t be caught dead in sneakers. How were they friends?

  Parker poked her head around the corner. She was wearing loose, low-slung jeans that looked like they had seen better days, a white crop top, and a pair of high tops with no shoelaces.

  “You can’t wear that.” Willow shook her head. “Lucky for you I bought you a dress!”

  “Dress,” I repeated dumbly. “Will, for the last time, you aren’t coming!”