Page 10 of The Defender
I’d moved into Adil’s house two nights ago, and I was already reaching my limit.
Don’t get me wrong. He was a great guy, and I really appreciated him letting me crash here. He was also the only guy on the team who didn’t live with a partner or have disgusting hygiene habits, which was why I’d turned to him after I bolted out of Scarlett and Asher’s place.
Ideally, I’d suck it up and move back home, but every time I thought about it, my muscles tensed like I was bracing for a punch I couldn’t see coming. The intruder had done a number on me, and although I hated being ruled by fear, I needed to keep my shit together for the team’s sake. I couldn’t risk distraction before or during a match, so home was still a no-go.
Unfortunately, while Adil was welcoming, he was also a littletoofriendly. Not in a creepy way, but in a “we must hang out twenty-four-seven and I’ll talk your ear off every minute” type of way. So far, the only alone time I’d had when I wasn’t sleeping was in the shower.
“That was the previous installment,” I said in response to his question. “Listen, I’m happy to chat later, but I prefer to watch?—”
“You know which movie of his is criminally underrated?” Adil bulldozed over my attempt to end the conversation. It wasn’t malicious, just oblivious. “The Grey Dogs.It’s an indie film, not a big action blockbuster, but I thought it was very heartfelt. Honestly, he has the range to play different characters?—”
“Adil.” I placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “I appreciate your enthusiasm regarding Reynolds’s acting career, but let’s pause those thoughts until the movie is over, okay?”
He bobbed his head. “Okay.”
I was blessed with two minutes of peace and quiet (unless you counted the explosions onscreen) before Adil spoke again.
“Dude, how much do you think they spend on special effects for these movies? And do you think Reynolds does his own stunts? I heard he does, which iscrazybecause what do you mean he really jumped from all those cliffs? I wanted to be an actor for a minute when I was little, but there’s no way…”
I groaned as Adil rambled on about every stunt from Nate Reynolds’s filmography. Thank God the captions were on because I couldn’t hear a word the actors were saying.
I was an extrovert, but I wasn’t extroverted enough to live with Adil.
I needed to find a new place to stay. Again.
Another three days later
The only other teammate I would’ve considered rooming with was Noah Wilson, our goalkeeper. He was clean and quiet, but he also had a preteen daughter. Living with them would’ve been weird, and I doubted he would’ve agreed anyway.
So Noah’s place was out, which left me with no other option but a hotel again. The police didn’t have any leads on the intruder, but the more days that passed, the more tempted I was to move home.
“No way,” Scarlett said firmly when I brought it up over weekend brunch. “That’s how stalkers and weirdos get you. They wait until you think the danger has passed, and thenbam! They Tyler Conley you. Next thing you know, you’re bleeding out on the kitchen floor with knife wounds all over your body.”
Asher and I winced in unison. We were seated in the back of the restaurant with Brooklyn and Scarlett’s other best friend, Carina Vu, who’d been caught up on my intruder situation. Thankfully, no one bothered us beyond a few double takes.
“Someone’s been listening to too much true crime.” I took a sip of coffee. Even though half my family was British, I’d never gotten on the tea train. I was more of an espresso person.
“It’s calledtruecrime for a reason,” Carina said. “Don’t underestimate how fucked up the average person can be.”
“I’m surprised someone’s stalking you to begin with.” Brooklyn gazed at me with innocent doe eyes. “There are so many more interesting celebrities in this restaurant alone.”
Asher coughed out a laugh while I cocked one eyebrow and set my cup down. I leaned in slightly, just enough to make her shift in her seat. “You talk so much shit, yet you’re obsessed with my life. Projecting much?”
“Please. I couldn’t care less about your life.” Her voice was airy, but her gaze dipped to my mouth for a fraction too long before it darted away.
Too late. I caught it. Every damn time, I caught it.
My pulse kicked up a notch. “You care enough to follow my every move during a match.”
“I told you that was for work.” A flush crept up her neck. “Is this what it’s like to have a narcissistic personality? It must be exhausting to makeeverythingabout yourself at all times.”
I smirked, knowing exactly how she’d react to the challenge in my voice. Her gaze dropped again to my mouth—right where I wanted it—before she caught herself and glared at me. “Keep deflecting, buttercup,” I drawled. “One day, you’ll admit the truth, and I’ll be right here to accept your apology.”
“Sure,” she said, sweet as pie. “Or maybe the intruder will do us all a favor and take you out before then.”
Surprise flared, and for the second time since the break-in, Brooklyn pulled an unexpected laugh out of me.
Some people might’ve found her statement morbid, but I appreciated her light-hearted roast. I wasn’t good at coping with serious issues in a serious way. It was a character flaw that I should probably work on in therapy, but the world was shitty enough without me adding my woes to it.
