Chapter 29

: Brandon

T his is not why I came here tonight. She did this. She smelled me. Everyone knows that’s an automatic green light.

But this would be bad. Kissing her would be the exact wrong thing to do. It doesn’t matter how much I want to.

And I do.

I clear my throat and take a step back, my hands dropping away. There needs to be some space between us. Like a few states.

“What’s going on here?” Andi finally says in a hoarse voice.

“I just stopped by to check on you.”

“I’m still breathing,” she all but pants.

“Quite heavily, I may add.” I smile.

Andi takes a step back too. “This ... is not what I expected.” She sits down on the couch, somewhat dazed. I’m almost certain it’s not because of her concussion. I sit down as well, leaving a respectable six inches between us.

“Okay, well, now I know you’re alive and well. I can probably go.” I glance at her out of the corner of my eye.

“That would probably be best.”

“Did you let work know you’re out for the week?” I don’t know why I ask her this. It’s none of my business. It’s almost as if I’m stalling, like I don’t want to leave.

“Yeah. I canceled my trip to Birmingham. I have to see if they still want me in Atlanta.”

“Who’s playing in Atlanta?”

“No one. I’m supposed to meet with Nathan Forget at USSLRA headquarters.”

This doesn’t sound good. In all honesty, I thought she’d been blowing this whole thing out of proportion. If they’re calling her in for a meeting, then probably not.

“That’s not good.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Tell them about the thing we’re doing. We have nothing to hide. Nothing’s happened that shouldn’t have.”

“Except you’re sitting on my couch right now.”

I stand up. “Tell me who else you have arranged to come and check on you, and I’ll leave.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I’ll wait.”

It’s kind of sad that she doesn’t have anyone.

“My parents will text or call me.”

“Are they back from their trip yet?”

She shakes her head. “They’ll be back in two days.”

“Then I’ll stop checking on you in two days.”

I head for the door, knowing this is the absolute right thing to do, even though it’s the last thing I want to do. I pull open the door, and then turn back over my shoulder. “What would you do if I kissed you right now?”

Andi’s lips part, a breath whooshing out of them. “I’d hate you even more than I already do.”

“Because you know you’d love it.” And with that, I close the door and stride to my car.

It’s only once my car hits I-93 south that I finally exhale. That was reckless. That was stupid. That was classic Brandon Nix, thinking I can say whatever I want and do whatever I want to get whatever I want.

I’m just like my sister.

It occurs to me that maybe I am. Except instead of being addicted to pain pills, I’m very quickly becoming addicted to a certain blonde referee who doesn’t put up with my bullshit.

If you’d offered me a million dollars at any point between the moment Andi gave me my red card and right now, I would not have predicted ending up at this point, unable to keep her out of my thoughts. Wondering what she tastes like. Wondering what she feels like.

I need to stop this right now.

Andi doesn’t need a horn-dog soccer player trying to get into her pants. She needs a friend to check on her just to make sure she’s okay.

I can be that friend. It might kill me, but I can do it.

The next two days are carbon copies, with the exception of Andi trying to sniff me. I stay far enough away from her that she’s not tempted. Or maybe it’s because I don’t think I’m strong enough to resist her temptation.

And at least once a night, she tells me she hates me, but from the twinkle in her eyes, I can tell she doesn’t mean it. At least not anymore.

“You know, I really think I’m fine now. I haven’t had a headache since yesterday. Surely, I’m out of the danger zone. Or at least the zone where I need a babysitter.”

“I’m not your babysitter. I’m just a fr—”

Andi quickly puts a finger over my lips, preventing me from finishing my sentence. “Don’t. We’re not friends. We can’t be friends. It’s a conflict of interest.”

I hold still, knowing if I move a muscle, it would be to take her finger in my mouth. I’m guessing she won’t like that. Or more likely, she will, and that will be even worse. Then slowly, very slowly, she starts to trace the outline of my lips with a delicate touch.

Holy fuck, I could come from just that.

I stare into her blue eyes. We both feel the shift in the air. I snake one of my hands up to the back of her neck. I lean in and lower my lips to hers. They’re warm and inviting, tasting like cinnamon and home. After a few moments of intermingled tongues and breath, I pull back. If I don’t stop now, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to.

“What changed for you?” I ask, my words coming in staccato pants.

“You’re not who I thought you were.”

What does she mean by that? “I’m exactly who I say I am. I don’t pretend to be anything I’m not.”

“You don’t pretend, but you hide.”

I pull back a little. “I’m out in the open on everything. I say what I think, pretty much at all times.”

“You hide behind that persona so no one gets to know the real you.”

Now I take a step back. Then another one. “That’s bullshit. This is me. If you don’t like it, leave it.”

“You’re in my place. You’re the one who should leave.” She folds her arms across her chest, eyes blazing.

“You’re right, I should. And I will.” I’m across her small floor in about three steps. I turn back to take one final look at her when I see the pattern of my red hair tie peeping through the messy blonde knot on the top of her head.

Damn, why is that so sexy?

One look at her face tells me she’s not in the mood for any more frisky business, so I mentally tell my dick to calm down.

It works about as well as telling someone in the middle of a panic attack to calm down.

It doesn’t matter though. Even if we wanted it to, this would never work. That thought makes me pause. But what if I wanted it to work?

What if we wanted it to work?

There’s definitely something between us. No one gets me riled up like she does. What if I walk out of here and blow the only chance I will ever have with this woman?

Why am I thinking about this? As if I’ll ever get the chance to put my mouth on hers again. As if this were a long-term thing.

As if there were feelings involved here.

“But what if ...” I say quietly, “what if we wanted to see what there is here between us? Because you know it’s something.”

She shakes her head. Her closed-off expression is back.

“Why not, Andi?”

“First of all, I hate you.” Andi holds up a finger to count off her points. “Second of all,” she continues, “this is going to cost me my career. The rumor of this”—she gestures between us—“was enough to have me scheduled to fly to Atlanta this week to meet with my supervisors. The mere rumor . And now? What am I supposed to say?”

“That we are two consenting adults who like the way each other smells and tastes.”

She shakes her head, the frustration evident once again. “What am I supposed to do if I—by some huge stroke of luck—keep my job and have to officiate one of your games?”

“Don’t give me a red card?”

Andi lets out a strangled scream. “Don’t you see? You just screwed my career. How am I ever supposed to ref in the MUSSL again? This is a fireable offense.”

“For you or for me?” Before this moment, I never considered that. Hell, I didn’t even consider what it would mean for Andi. I just saw something I wanted, and I went for it. She touched me first.

It was just a kiss.

“Oh, come on, there’s no way you’d even come close to being fired. They’d probably hang up a plaque for you in the locker room. You have no idea, do you? No idea what it’s like for a woman in sports. Not only do women athletes get paid less than their male counterparts, but I as a referee get paid less to officiate a woman’s game. And not only that, I get paid less than my male counterparts doing the same exact job. And for the same work at a lower rate, I get to deal with heckling, wolf whistles, and constant criticism that I don’t know what I’m doing. Calls to go ‘back to the kitchen where I belong.’ Do you have to face any of that?”

We both know the answer, so I don’t patronize her with one.

I do offer this, “If Mike Barnaby had made the same call you did, I would have yelled in his face too. I didn’t get in your face because you’re a woman. It’s just what I do.”

“Well, what you do set in motion a chain of events that has fucked me over. I think you and your stupid hair need to leave now.”

I stare at her for a brief moment and then walk out the door without saying a word. I’ve never heard her curse like that. I get her point, I really do, but why’d she have to insult my hair?

As soon as the door shuts behind me, I open it back up. Andi looks up, startled over my quick return. “For the record, the reason I fouled Trevyon was because he was talking shit to me all game.”

“Everyone talks shit,” she fires back. “You need to have a thicker skin. If you’re going to dish it out, you should be able to take it.”

I shake my head. “No, he was talking shit about my sister. About how she was basically a crack whore and would do anything—and I mean anything—to get money for drugs. And that does include screwing Trevyon and a bunch of his friends when we were playing in Vegas. That’s why I went after him. So yes, my behavior set about a chain of events, but I don’t regret it. I don’t care about many people in this world, but for those I do, I’ll do anything.”

And then I leave. For real this time.