7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Cole

I should have left. That's starting to feel like a pattern with me, and yet I'm still sitting on the edge of the training pitch instead of on my dad's back porch, where I'm supposed to be, because Carissa Paxton has once again made herself a nuisance.

Rolling my eyes, I swallow a gulp of water and tell myself—again—that the only reason I'm here is because I chose to be. I could have left an hour ago, when practice ended, and Carissa probably would have been fine.

It's that ‘probably' that has kept me here longer than I need to be.

I trust the guys on my team, but after the talk I heard in the locker room today, that trust is hanging by a thread. All of the single guys—and some of the taken ones—were quick to express their interest in Carissa, which is ridiculous because Bean's the only one who can say he's spoken to her for more than a few seconds. I can't decide if he's more interested than he was to begin with or if he's afraid of her. It might be both.

Besides, Carissa is engaged. She's not even available .

But now there's a bet on who will get a date first, and high stakes tend to turn people into idiots when they are otherwise rational. That's why I'm watching Carissa teach the guys some stretches on the field. Not because I want to win the bet but because I'm worried Carissa will be the one to lose. According to Bean, who is out there stretching with the dozen other guys who have stuck around, Carissa can take care of herself, but I'm not willing to leave her safety up to her.

I wonder if she knows how to say no.

Right now, she's hugging French Roast's extended leg while he lies on his back on the ground, and despite knowing she's helping him stretch his hamstring, the position they're both in looks…questionable. And isn't at all convincing me that it's a good idea to leave.

My phone buzzes where it's resting on my leg, and I look down at the text, unsurprised to see the message from my dad.

Dad:

Did practice go long?

I could lie and say yes, but even through a text he would know it's not the truth. Sighing, I pick up my phone and type back a response.

Cole:

No, but something came up. I'll be there soon.

That all depends on how long Carissa plans on doing her little yoga routine.

I do feel bad that I've delayed our weekly barbecue, but Dad will understand. He and Gramps would kill me if they ever found out I left a girl like Carissa on her own with half a rugby team, even if these guys are all pretty decent. Sure, it would make more sense if I was actually over there stretching with them, but despite Freya's threats, I'm no more interested in the idea of befriending my teammates than they are in accepting me .

My phone buzzes again, and I grit my teeth when I realize it's not my dad this time but the princess herself. Seriously, does she have a camera trained on me at all times or something?

Freya:

Are you making friends yet?

Cole:

I don't agree with your terms.

Freya:

You do not have to agree. Consider it a royal edict.

Cole:

I'm not Candoran. Neither are you queen.

Freya:

Yet.

Cole:

I'm not going to that wedding.

Freya:

Then you had better make some friends among the Thunder, or you and I will be going to Oregon.

"You could have joined us, you know."

My head snaps up at the sound of Carissa's voice right in front of me. It hits the wall behind me, and I groan from the impact. "Have you never learned not to sneak up on people?"

She bites her lip, clearly trying not to laugh. "Well, you've been watching me for the last forty-five minutes, so I figured you saw me coming."

She noticed me? Great. Now I'm not only a grump but a creepy grump. Why do people use that word, anyway? It sounds ridiculous. Grump . It was one of Sage's favorite tropes in books, though I never understood the appeal of a surly romantic partner. As the team's resident grump, I'm not the kind of guy anyone would want to date, and I certainly wouldn't let any of my female friends date someone like me. I'm a walking red flag.

Maybe I should have gotten this way before Sage dumped me so she would have stuck around. Then again, Javi's not necessarily a grump either, so she must only like the grumpy type in books. Not real life. In real life, she likes pro football players. Super Bowl ring owners. Morally questionable guys.

I need to say something, but I have no good reasons for watching Carissa's stretch lessons. Not reasons she'll like. I grunt and shake my head. "I wasn't watching you." I was watching the guys . And okay, maybe I was watching her some of the time.

Folding her arms, she raises an eyebrow at me. "Why don't you like me, Cole Evanson?"

Under other circumstances, I might have appreciated her refreshing directness, but too much of my mind is caught up in Freya's edict and knowing I'll have to explain to Dad and Gramps why I was late for dinner. I don't have the bandwidth to deal with a metaphorical princess on top of a real one.

Grunting, I push myself to my feet and sling my bag over my shoulder. "I don't dislike you." It's a lie, and we both know it, so I start walking toward the exit before this conversation gets out of hand. Now that everyone's leaving, she'll be fine.

That thought only lasts long enough for me to catch the way French Roast is eyeing Carissa behind me, as well as a few other guys taking their sweet time to head to the parking lot.

I slow until Carissa catches up to me. "Sorry," I say, if only so we can keep talking until she reaches her car. If I'm with her, the guys are less likely to try to get her one-on-one. "I'm not great at conversation." That has always been true, but it's gotten worse since Sage left me .

Carissa laughs, the sound filling the air with sparkles. Metaphorical sparkles, of course, but it's enough to catch the attention of anyone within earshot. Not that any of these guys weren't already watching Carissa… "I kind of figured that one out on my own. You've pretty much done nothing but threaten me since we met."

Okay, when she puts it like that, I feel like a jerk. Which I am. But I don't like being called out on it.

"I didn't…" I huff and come to a stop at the edge of the parking lot. I don't know where her car is, or I would head straight for it. "I didn't threaten you."

Carissa lifts one delicate eyebrow.

"I warned you."

"The word ‘threaten' literally came out of your mouth when we were at Derek's house."

I'm sticking my foot in my mouth, and that's straight up disgusting. My foot has been in locker rooms for most of my life, and who knows what nasty things grow in those. "Yes," I admit. "I did say that." And for some reason I keep this train wreck of a conversation going. "But I didn't mean it."

"So why did you say it?"

Running a hand through my hair, I search the parking lot for some sort of escape but come up empty. I need to catch the bus before I miss Gramps's ribs. If I show up too late, he and Dad will have eaten them all without remorse. "Because I say a lot of things I don't mean," I mumble. "Were…" How am I supposed to ask this without the guys hearing me? They're slowly inching closer, like lions hoping to pick off the easiest prey. I don't know if that prey is me or Carissa, but I don't want them coming closer regardless. "How did your stretching thing go?"

Carissa grins and wraps her fingers around the strap of her purse. She's not wearing the ring she had on the first day she was here, which probably explains why the guys are all drooling over her. "I think the team was hoping for something a little more hands-on, but I wore myself out with Bean."

My mind is going places it shouldn't, conjuring up some of the scenes that were in Sage's books. I believe the term she used was spicy . That does not refer to what Carissa is talking about, so I shouldn't be thinking it.

I cough. "He wasn't too rough, was he?" Well that didn't help steer me in the right direction. "I mean, he was nice to you, right?"

Another glittery laugh from Carissa pulls the team even closer, and I notice Bean among them. Hopefully he's too far away to hear anything, but based on the way he's glaring at me, he's probably thinking he needs to protect Carissa from me . I don't blame him.

"Bean was fine," she says with a shake of her head. "In all fairness, I was really digging into his leg, so he's not responsible for any of the words that came out of his mouth."

I swear under my breath, cursing his mouth in the presence of a woman. The hypocrisy of that thought is not lost on me. "If he ever gives you trouble…" I'll do what? Punch him? That would be a great way to make some friendships with my teammates. I don't generally like violence—one of the reasons I play a position with less tackling than others—but I doubt any of the Thunder players would be surprised if I decked one of them one of these days. I've gotten angry enough to set some precedents.

Derek's words flash through my mind. You're angry . I was never angry before Sage, and I hate that he's right. I hate more that I don't know how to fix it. I'm not hung up on my ex, but I can't move past her either, and I'm just…stuck. Sinking.

With her lips twisting in an amused smirk, Carissa looks to her left and meets Bean's gaze. "He won't be any trouble. We understand each other now. "

Whatever that means, I don't like it, but her deliberate eye contact pulls Bean all the way over to us, a bounce in his step. "Need a ride, Magic Hands?"

"Dude," I breathe, shaking my head at the nickname.

He, of course, ignores me. "I know you don't have a car, and Rihanna here doesn't drive, so he's useless."

I curse again as Carissa's warm brown eyes fall back on me, her curiosity on full display. "Why don't you drive?" she asks.

Because every time I get behind the wheel I get too anxious and tense to drive smoothly and safely. But I will never in a million years admit as much to my teammates. I need them to respect me, to tolerate me, and that will never happen if they think I'm too wound up to do something most adults can do by muscle memory.

Shrugging, I keep my mouth shut, and I feel like a pathetic moron when Carissa hooks her arm through Bean's and follows him to his car. There was nothing nervous in her body language, so I think she'll be okay. She had better be. As far as I know, Bean is a decent guy, but if I hear he did anything she didn't like…

"You're wasting your time, Rihanna," Tink says, bumping his shoulder into mine like we're buds. We're not. "A girl like that won't look twice at a guy like you."

A few other guys chuckle, and then they all head to their cars and leave me standing on the sidewalk with my jaw clenched so hard it might never open again. I don't need these guys to like me, no matter what Freya wants for me. But I really don't want their opinions of me to be right.

Gramps is just taking the ribs off the grill when I step through the back door of Dad's house in Sherman Oaks, which means they waited for me. Guilt threads through me, but I ignore it and grab the plate out of Gramps's hands as soon as he loads the last of the meat.

"Smells good, Gramps!" I say, holding the plate high out of his reach when he swipes for it. "What are you two going to eat?"

Gramps's next swipe is more of a fist to the stomach, knocking the air out of me. He snatches the plate and snickers. "You're getting slow, Lemon."

"I am not," I complain breathlessly.

"Then what took you so long?" Dad asks, coming through the back door with a bowl of his famous potato salad. "You should have been here over an hour ago."

"I told you." Massaging my abdomen, I settle myself at the patio table and start dishing up coleslaw onto the three plates already set out for our dinner. "Something came up. Geez, Gramps, have you taken up boxing? That was quite the uppercut."

"The senior center has a kickboxing class every Tuesday and Thursday," Gramps says. He sets the ribs on the corner farthest from me, apparently convinced I'll still try to steal all of them.

I laugh. "Kickboxing, huh?"

Dad rolls his eyes as he sits across from me. "He already bought a bag and installed it in the basement."

Oh, they're not kidding? "I'm going to have to see that in action," I say with a chuckle.

I've been here less than three minutes, and already I'm feeling the weight of the day melt away. I shouldn't have stuck around after practice. Carissa can take care of herself, and she doesn't need me messing up her life. What was I even trying to protect her from?

There must be something in my expression because both Dad and Gramps grow still and fix their eyes on me .

I become suddenly engrossed by the cabbage on my plate. That lasts maybe two seconds before I can't help but look up at them again because they're never this quiet.

It's moments like these, when they give me matching looks of bemused curiosity, that father and son's similarities are the most obvious. Gramps still has his hair, though it has gone mostly gray, and he also has a pep in his step, enough for him to keep up with Dad. And take up kickboxing, apparently. Dad has Gramps's round chin, a trait I also inherited, and though his eyes are a lighter shade of green, they have the same piercing power that Gramps's do.

I don't have their eyes. I got mine from my mom, who I've been told was everything warm and dark and sensual.

No kid wants to hear his mom described like that, but seeing as I never knew her, I'm happy my dad talks about her at all.

"What?" I finally say when the staring continues beyond what I'm comfortable with.

Dad blinks and dishes himself some potato salad.

Gramps is not so easily deterred. "Something is different about you, Coleman."

"Ha!" I roll my eyes. "Nothing is different." That's part of my problem.

"No, I think Gramps is right," Dad says.

Maybe it's because something in my gut is agreeing with them, or maybe it's because I'm starving. Or maybe I'm desperate to change the subject. But I do the only thing I can think of and shove an entire rib in my mouth, bone and all.

Dad chuckles. "That's one way to avoid a conversation."

And maybe a good way to choke. There's no dignified way to get out of my self-imposed predicament, so I spend the next several seconds with my fingers in my mouth, prying the bone loose while tearing the meat free and chewing.

Gramps clucks his tongue as he watches me with furrowed brow. "And you wonder why you're single."

That blow hits harder than his fist in my gut. I don't think he meant his comment as an attack, but I feel it deep in my chest, sharp and burning.

Free of my makeshift gag, I wipe my hands and face clean with a napkin, taking my time before I speak. "You know why I'm single." The words are small but so, so heavy.

"You were too good for her anyway," Gramps says, waving away the gloom that has settled back over me.

Dad, on the other hand, reaches across the table and puts his hand over my fist. We're not an especially affectionate family, the three of us, but when Dad does something like this, it feels like he can see straight into my soul. He knows the things I refuse to acknowledge, even to myself.

I need a change of subject, and I need it fast.

"Freya was in town," I say, stabbing my fork into a potato.

Dad still looks like he wants to chat about my breakup with Sage, but Gramps gets a twinkle in his eyes at the mention of my royal friend. "Ah, Her Highness. Did she ask about me?"

I chuckle. "Of course she did. She would have stopped by if she'd had the time."

While all of my friends here in Los Angeles have met my dad and grandpa, only Freya regularly visits. She says that because she never got to know her own grandparents, who all passed when she was little, she wants to borrow mine. No one else has living grandparents, so I'm happy to let her borrow Gramps whenever she wants.

Especially because Gramps fancies himself in love with her.

"I still don't understand why you haven't married that angel of a woman," Gramps says.

I don't know whether to laugh or roll my eyes. "And become king of a small country? That's a disaster waiting to happen." For more reasons than one. "Besides, Freya is like a sister to me." We get along great, but there has never been any attraction between us.

She acts like my big sister too, which brings me full circle to today's annoyance. I really don't want to make friends with my teammates right now. But I want to go to Sage's wedding even less.

As always, Dad seems to read my thoughts, though he's focused on his food as he talks. "I came across an article the other day. About Sage and Javi."

I groan. "Are you reading tabloids now?"

"When they have your name in them, yes."

"You know those are total bull."

"Are they?" He looks up, meeting my eyes with that look he gets when he thinks I'm doing something wrong. I got that look a lot as a kid, but lately it feels like I've been getting it more and more as an adult. I may be twenty-eight, but he's still my father. "Because every time your name comes up," he continues, "there is always a nugget of truth."

I hate that I can't argue. I've been lucky when it comes to Hollywood Hot Scoop , the most prolific tabloid site in the area, in that my name is usually only mentioned in passing connected to one of my friends. Liam got himself into a decent amount of trouble last fall, and Bonnie's relationship with Hank was all over that thing. Derek is pretty much constantly on their radar, no matter what he does.

But with Sage and Javi getting married, I have a feeling I'll be brought back to the forefront.

"I'm lying low," I say, even if that's not exactly a response to Dad's comment. "Once the wedding happens, there won't be any reason for me to be in any stories."

"Except you've met someone," Gramps says.

I drop my fork. It clatters on the patio floor, the sound condemning the trajectory of this conversation. I'll never be able to deny it now, but how in the world does he know?

I clear my throat, my skin turning itchy under their stares. "Not like that," I say in defense. "We have a new rehab specialist."

"A woman," Dad guesses.

"A pretty one?" Gramps asks.

If I answer that honestly, it'll only make things worse, so I gloss over that question and explain to the best of my ability. "She's young and inexperienced, and I'm worried the guys are going to cause problems for her."

"Hmm." Gramps rests his head in his hand and studies me the same way he studied game tape back when I played football. He tries to do the same with rugby, but he doesn't fully understand my new sport yet. He does understand me, though. He practically raised me alongside Dad and has seen me through my highs and lows. "I thought your teammates were decent fellas."

"They are," I agree. "But even the best of men turn into idiots when around a beautiful woman."

"Aha!" Dad says. "She is pretty!"

I curse under my breath, then flinch when Gramps smacks me in the side of the head and warns me to watch my language. "Sorry," I grumble, glad they stopped using a swear jar a couple of years ago. I'm pretty sure I fully funded the cruise they went on a couple of years ago thanks to that jar. "No matter how pretty Carissa is, I have no desire to see her as anything but a colleague."

"Why not?" Gramps leans in close, dropping his voice to just above a whisper. "Is she crazy?"

Dad whacks his arm. "Don't call people crazy, old man. But tell me, why have you already discounted this Carissa as an option?"

Why am I sitting here having this conversation with two men who haven't dated in nearly thirty years at minimum? That's a better question, but I answer Dad anyway. "Even if she and I were both single—which she isn't—it wouldn't mean we're a good match. And I'm not interested in dating anyone."

"For now," Dad prompts.

I shake my head. "It's a bad idea to let myself get attached to someone, and you know it." And this conversation is going to go in circles if I'm not careful. "Can we get back to the fact that Gramps has taken up kickboxing?"

I can see in both their eyes that they don't want to change subjects, but they also know that if they push me too hard, I'll drop the conversation and leave. I love them both, but sometimes I'm convinced they're invested in my love life only because they don't have their own. Like me, I don't think they have plans to change their single statuses. Doing so would be…dangerous.

Evanson men and happily ever afters don't mix.

"I think I'm getting the hang of the roundhouse kick," Gramps says, catching hold of my evasion. But he shares a look with Dad, and I know deep down I'm only going to be able to avoid the dating conversation for so long.