Wrecking Ball (Hard to Love 1)

It takes me a moment to realize he’s asking about Amber. The smile this incites almost breaks my face in two. “Dimples––what about the girl you were crying about?”

He screws his face up in an adorable scowl. “She’s already datin’ someone else damn it.”

“Are you sure about this?”

I mean, I love Amber more than I love myself, but she’ll devour and spit him back out before he realizes he’s lunch meat. I feel the need to at least give him the opportunity to save himself.

He nods vigorously, eagerness sparking in his light brown gaze.

I’m thinking, ‘it’s your funeral’, even though I answer, “Yes, she’s single.”

“We’re going,” a deep voice shouts.

Justin narrows his eyes and we both turn in its direction––along with all the other thirty some odd people in the general area. Standing a few yards away, Calvin is watching me with a careful look of indifference. He’s facing a tall, attractive ginger wearing glasses and clutching an IPad. She’s trying to speak to him, her expression determined, but he’s clearly not paying attention to her. His hands are stuffed in the front pockets of his jeans, his body language illustrating his boredom. Typical. God forbid he has to engage with one of us mere mortals.

“I said we’re leaving.”

What the frigging hell is his problem?? A blast of humiliation marks my neck.

“Is he always so much fun?” I can tell Justin is keeping it PG because of Sam, who gets off the bench and begins walking toward Calvin.

“I’m sorry, Justin. This has nothing to do with you,” I say, chasing after Sam.

His eyes move between Calvin and me. The devious look on young Harper’s face makes me pause. “How about I take you to lunch some time?” he shouts loud enough for half the field to witness. It literally stops me in my tracks. Caught between answering and escaping, I choose option B, to escape. Speed walking past Calvin, I take Sam’s hand and head toward the exit of the training field.

On the drive home, we’re all silent. Once the Range Rover is parked in the garage, Calvin disappears into the house, not to be seen again. I end up ordering pizza for Sam and me. Sam looks as tired as I feel, so after dinner we go upstairs early and watch television together before bed.

My mind is swimming with the events of the day. In the shower, Ethan’s words come back to me in a rush. Calvin’s been raving about you. Raving? Yeah, maybe raving mad. Not even the sweet sensation of the hot water pounding on my head can make that admission sound remotely plausible. I’d have to stretch my imagination pretty thin to believe Calvin had anything better than neutral to say about me.

By the time the phone rings around eleven and Amber’s face pops up on the cell screen, I’m desperate for a distraction. “I’m so excited for you. This is the beginning of great things. I can feel it.” She’s just booked a national commercial for a major brand of soap and I couldn’t be any happier for her. Her gorgeous face will be piped into every household with a television.

“Meh, we’ll see,” she answers.

“When did you turn into such a cynic?”

“When I found out that Brad and Angelina were getting a divorce.”

A tall wall of muscles suddenly appears in my open doorway. For realz? He’s naked. For all intent and purposes, the man is naked. I’ll go on the record once again that I’ve sworn off men for all eternity, and yet it’s impossible for me to pry my eyes off of him. My mouth runs bone dry and heat crawls up my neck as I marvel at his body. I chalk this up to simple biology, to the fact that I’m female and alive. He’s staring, those unyielding cool eyes fixed on me over the bowl he’s busy eating out of.

“Amber, have to call you back. There’s a man darkening my doorway.” Before she can answer, I hang up.

He’s leaning against the doorframe in nothing but a pair of embarrassingly old and ratty boxer briefs. Those trapezius muscles, my own personal brand of kryptonite, are on full display. I swear I can see everything. Good grief, how does he even walk with that thing between his legs?

Without making it too obvious, I sit up in bed and slowly pull the sheet over the white tank top I sleep in. Unlike Mr. Modesty here, I do care that my boobs are on full display. The subtle lift of a black, masculine eyebrow tells me he’s noticed and finds this amusing.

“Did you at least heat up that pasta?”

“Nope.”

“I would’ve done it for you if you asked.”

A shrug. That’s what I get, a one-shoulder shrug. My eyes focus below his waist. Technically, it’s eye level for me so there’s that. And if he doesn’t have a problem with the log between his legs practically poking me in the eye, then why do I have to pretend I don’t see it? Something about his shameless, close-to-total nudity in front of me, a stranger, irritates the shit out of me. I can’t keep my mouth shut for a second longer.