Page 8 of Pick Six
“Oh, you were definitely helping her.” A little snort tumbles out of Violet and Ben rolls his eyes and kisses her cheek.
“You both better help each other, yeah?” Tobias looks at me knowingly. If he’s worried, I’m probably in deep. Because the two of us usually blow off most of our would-be problems, enough money and influence and it’s easier to skirt things I might not have been able to otherwise. I try not to take it for granted, especially now when the veneer of it is probably wearing thin.
“She’s going to like that idea about as much as she likes me.”
“Yeah, but you know management wanted him. Even against the coaches’ advice. So they’re going to at least listen to the accusations he makes against you.” Colt’s look turns pointed.
“I can talk to her if you want,” Violet offers, giving me a pitying look I hate.
“No. I’ll talk to her.” I shake my head.
Just fuck, is this going to be a nightmare.
FIVE
Harper
The next afternoonI’m in my painting clothes, yoga shorts, and an old, oversized T-shirt, teetering on a ladder to reach the far upper corner of the wall. I’m still living in the house Drew and I own together. It’s a shell of what it once was. Most of the furniture and decor left with Drew because “he bought it” and I didn’t argue for it in the divorce. Frankly, I’m fine with all of that bad energy leaving with him, and I’m grateful to have a place to stay for a while longer that doesn’t require rent.
In the meantime, we’re getting ready to put the place on the market. So I’m having to do all the updates by myself to get the house show worthy, which is less than fun and not exactly how I love to spend every weekend. Hopefully though, we’ll get a good offer on the house when it’s all said and done. Then I’ll have enough to be able to afford my own place—for a while at least. For now though, I’m stuck spending my Saturdays at home supply stores and my afternoons ascending steep ladders I have no business climbing.
On the upside, a little pop of color on this wall would go a long way, and once I arranged a few more plants around the window again it could almost pass for livable. Might make my remaining time in this dreary house a little less sad.
I bite my lip as I reach for the last corner, trying to steady my hand to get the edge without overpainting it when a loud knock comes at the door. I jump, practically falling off the ladder and dropping the brush to the floor in the process. Thankfully it lands on the drop cloth I’d put down, but it doesn’t stop the spray of color that splatters the white wall across from it.
“Shit!” I curse, steadying myself before I climb down the ladder.
I have no idea who could be knocking. Probably someone wanting to sell something and I’m trying to remember whether it’s Girl Scout season or not. Very few people know I still live here and I’m not expecting any deliveries. I walk to the door and peer through the peephole, shocked when I see the form on the other side.
It’s Alex.
I jump back away from the door and press against the wall like he can see me through it. I have no idea what he’s doing here. Who the hell just shows up at someone’s house? This is what text messages are for. Maybe a call if it’s urgent. You don’t just show up.
I stare down at my clothes and the paint I have splattered over my hands. I can’t answer, but I can’tnotanswer. Damn him.
There’s another knock, softer this time.
“You gonna open the door, Saint? Because I heard something fall and I could see the light change behind the peephole. So you might as well tell me to go fuck myself to my face rather than hide.”
I glare at him through the door. He’s the last person I want to see after last night. After I almost did the stupidest thing imaginable and kissed him. I’m blaming it on some sort of post-rescue haze. There has to be some psychological term for it. White knight adoration syndrome maybe? Except Alex is no fucking white knight. He’s the villain in just about everyone’s story, even his own.
“Your neighbors are staring at me. I’m pretty sure they recognize me, and I’m not in the mood for autographs right now. So tell me to fuck off or open the door, Saint.”
I take a deep breath and lean forward, swatting at the deadbolt and unlocking the door while trying not to smear paint everywhere. I open it and take him in. And fucking hell, he looks good,again.And I look like… I’ve just been painting and nearly fell off a ladder. Excellent.
He steps inside and closes the door behind him without asking.
“What do you want?” I don’t move from my spot because the last thing I want is him in my space. His giant ass frame taking up all the room and oxygen. I need to get a grip on whatever this is where I’m all heart palpitations and stomach flips when I see him. I’m a grown-ass woman.
“Can I come in?” He gives me an impatient look.
“You’re already in. Have you heard of something called texting? Or even calling?” I ask grumpily, madder at myself than him.
“Because you were going to answer me if I did?”
“Yes.”
“Liar.” His eyes narrow on me.
