Chapter Thirty-One EVERLEIGH

Chapter Thirty-One

EVERLEIGH

I wait for my roommates to finish practice before we all walk home together. Normally Nico is their ride home, but since he got kicked out of practice today because of me .?.?.

Here we are.

“Are you coming to practice tomorrow?” Frank asks me. “That session you led was great. Everyone said so. Right, Coop?”

Coop grunts in response.

“I can’t because I have class. And anyway, today was just a test run. Your coach said he’d let me know if they want me to come back again.” I’m guessing when their star offensive player basically asks to get booted from practice, they’re going to reconsider if they want to use me or not.

“Fucking Nico. He better not have ruined it for you with how he got kicked out,” Frank mutters, shocking me. I don’t hear him curse much. “He’s been a complete jackass lately.”

“It’s no big deal.” I put on a brave face, trying to smile through the humiliation.

Well, I’m not feeling so humiliated anymore, but I sure was when Nico was standing there in front of his entire team, rejecting me. I sound dramatic, but that’s what it felt like. He refused to do my class.

Just flat-out refused.

Who does that?

Is he mad at me for rejecting him? I ran out on him Sunday afternoon, and we’ve barely spoken since. I’m too embarrassed, and now I’m realizing he’s too angry.

See? This would’ve never worked. We’re already in a bad place. We should’ve never done what we did Saturday night.

Though deep down, I don’t totally regret it. That was the best night of my entire life. The three orgasms he gave me are more than proof of it.

“Don’t let what Nico did bother you.” This comes from Coop, who hasn’t said an actual word since we started walking home. “He doesn’t call the shots for our team.”

“He’s one of our captains,” Frank reminds us.

“So am I,” Coop says.

“Right. And Gav too. But if Nico ruined this opportunity for Ever .?.?.”

“He hasn’t,” Coop interjects. “I talked to Coach right after practice. They’re definitely interested in Everleigh participating in a couple of practices every week.”

“Really?” I remind myself to remain calm and not get my hopes up. This would be such a great way to make more money and have fun while doing it. As long as the guys cooperate.

Meaning Nico.

“Yep.” Coop nods. “Expect a call from one of the coaches tonight.”

“Wow. Thank you, Coop.”

“That’s great,” Frank says, and I can tell he’s truly pleased for me. “Now everyone is going to see how helpful yoga is.”

“Aw, thanks, Frank. You’re my biggest fan,” I tell him with a laugh as we turn onto the walkway that leads to our front porch.

I debate my decision the rest of the walk home, going over various scenarios in my head. Should I agree to do this? Or am I wanting to do it just to spite Nico? Am I secretly vengeful?

No and no. I need as much money as I can get. I asked for more hours at the café, but they can’t give them to me right now. If helping out the team actually happens, it means I won’t have to lead yoga sessions at home. I can do it all at practice and get paid for it.

Sounds like the perfect setup.

Hopefully Nico won’t have a problem with this. With me. Watching him walk away from practice earlier filled me with bitter disappointment—and a hint of guilt. Is he trying to avoid me so badly that he’ll get himself kicked out of practice? He’s putting himself at risk, pulling that stunt. What if they don’t let him play Saturday?

Ugh, that’s the problem. He’s so good out on that field, they’ll let him play no matter what. He has to do something truly awful to get benched. And he’s not that dumb.

We enter the house, and the first thing I notice is that the living room is clean. Not a leftover glass or discarded beer can in sight, which is a typical problem and one I take care of in the morning before I go to work.

Not this morning, though. I was still frustrated and not in the mood to be helpful.

The video games are in a neat stack on top of the console that sits just below the TV, and there’s even a lit candle sitting in the middle of the coffee table.

Weird.

Coop closes the door, looking around the room. “Did you clean up before you came to practice?” he asks me.

“I haven’t been home all day.” I shake my head. “This isn’t my doing.”

Music is playing. I can hear it coming from the little speaker in the kitchen, and I head toward the room, coming to a stop when I see another lit candle sitting on the counter and the dining table is perfectly set for six, a large bouquet of fresh flowers in a vase sitting right in the center.

Huh.

“What the hell is going on?” Frank asks, sounding as baffled as I feel.

The sliding glass door opens, and Nico emerges from it, carrying an empty plate in one hand and a pair of tongs in another. He stops short when he sees us, a contrite smile on his face. “Oh, hey. You’re finally home.”

“We took longer because we didn’t have our normal ride,” Coop reminds him, though he doesn’t sound pissed about it.

“Yeah.” Nico’s expression turns apologetic. “That’s on me. Sorry about that.”

“It’s cool.” Coop nods. Nothing fazes this guy, while Frank and I say nothing. I need more than a sorry about that, because what Nico did at the start of practice?

Felt personal. And rude.

“Whatcha up to?” Coop asks him.

“I’m making dinner.”

“What are you making?” Frank asks warily. Like he doesn’t trust him.

I feel the same way, Frank.

“Barbecuing some steaks. Got some garlic bread already in the oven. Everything will be ready soon.” Nico’s gaze shifts to mine, slightly pleading. “You make the best salads, Ever, and I was hoping you’d help me out? I already bought the ingredients.”

I lift my chin, ready to tell him he can stuff that salad up his butt, when Coop speaks up first. “He’s right, Ever. Your salads really are the best.”

“They’re delicious,” Frank chimes in.

How can I tell him no when my favorite roommates are praising my salad-making skills?

I give in.

“Fine.” I head for the fridge, hip-checking Nico when I walk past him, and he practically leaps out of my way. “I’ll make one. Who else is coming to dinner?”

“Me!”

We all turn our heads to see Sienna standing in the kitchen entryway clutching a giant bottle of wine in her hand. “I brought the spirits, just like you requested, Nico.”

“Thanks, Sienna.” He’s smiling at her, looking relieved, and I would love to tell him the things she called him just last night while we were on FaceTime for almost two hours. She listened to me go on and on about him, which means she’s a saint and I owe her one.

Next time she needs to have a bitch fest about Gavin, I’m all ears.

“That’s five,” Coop notes. “Who else is coming over?”

“Gav,” Nico answers, his gaze shifting to Coop. “Come outside and check out these steaks with me.”

“I’m going to wash up,” Frank says, his expression impassive. I’m sure he’s still upset with Nico because of the Portia stuff. And the me stuff.

It’s been a little messy around here the last few days.

Only when Nico and Coop head to the backyard and the sliding glass door is closed do I speak. “When did he invite you over?” I open the refrigerator door and start pulling out the ingredients I need to make my beloved salad.

“He called me about an hour ago and filled me in on his assholish ways.” When I send Sienna a confused look over my shoulder, she explains further. “He told me how he got kicked out of practice.”

“He did?” I’m surprised he’d admit it.

Sienna nods. “He feels bad about it too.”

I whirl on her, clutching a head of lettuce. “Don’t you dare fall for his smooth-talking ways.”

Sienna bursts out laughing. “Is that what we’re calling it now? Look, I’m not the one who has major beef with him. I can be nice when I need to be. And when he told me he was making a steak dinner as an apology for being such a jackass? I absolutely took him up on the invitation.”

I roll my eyes as I set all the salad ingredients on the counter. “Looks like I’m too late. You already fell for Mr. Smooth Talker.”

“No way.” Sienna shakes her head, watching me as I start to rinse off the lettuce in the sink. “I’m on your side, sister. These men need to get their heads out of their asses and figure out what they’re doing.”

My gaze goes to the sliding glass door. I can see Nico at the barbecue with Coop standing by his side. He’s tending to the steaks on the grill, and it seems like Coop is giving him an earful. For a man who doesn’t speak much, his mouth is moving nonstop.

“I think your brother is chewing out Nico,” I tell Sienna.

“Good. About time someone was real with him.” She settles onto one of the stools that sit by the counter. “How are you holding up?”

“In regards to him?” I wave the knife I’m using in Nico’s general direction. “Not so great.”

“He feels bad over what happened.” Sienna watches me as I begin to chop the salad, unleashing all my pent-up aggression.

“You already mentioned that,” I tell her, still chopping away. It feels good to cut the lettuce into tiny pieces, and when I scoop it up with my hands and drop it into the bowl, I catch the amused look on my friend’s face. “What are you laughing at?”

“You want me to be real with you right now?” I lift my gaze to hers, tempted to say no, but I remain quiet. “I think both of you are scared.”

“Nico Valente scared? No way.” I shake my head and grab a cucumber, ready to slice and dice that sucker.

“I’m serious. You make him nervous. And I know he makes you nervous.”

Sighing with exasperation, I set the knife down and focus all my attention on her. “He’s not scared. He had no problem doing what he did Saturday night. He was ready for a repeat performance Sunday, and I’m the one who ran. Remember? I’m the nervous Nellie in this situation. Not him.”

“I think he wants to make it up to you.” Sienna walks over to the sink and turns on the water, washing her hands. “Why don’t I finish that salad up for you, and you can go change? Maybe even take a quick shower.”

“I promised the guys I would make it—”

“And you did. Mostly,” Sienna interrupts, shutting off the water. “Go. You need to clear your head.”

I reluctantly leave the kitchen and head for my bedroom, stopping in the doorway when I see what’s waiting for me inside.

There’s a small bouquet sitting on my desk and an envelope with my name on it propped against the vase. The flowers match the ones that were on the dining table, and I know without looking at the card inside that they’re from Nico.

My heart tumbles over itself, and I give myself a stern mental lecture that this means nothing. I snatch up the envelope and open it, pulling out the plain white card inside with shaky fingers. The handwriting is bold, taking up almost the entirety of the card, and I read it.

I’m sorry I ruined your first practice with the team. Please let me make it up to you.

He didn’t sign his name or add a sweet endearment, either, but this is almost—not quite but almost—enough.

At the very least,I think as I tuck the card back into the envelope before I hide it away in my desk, he’s on the right track.

Now it’s up to me to make some progress with him.