Playing for Kinley (Cruz Brothers Book 1) (9 page)

I was in my bedroom packing up my things when Parker walked in.

“Heading out already?” he asked, looking a little crestfallen.

I wasn’t going to consider why, though. “Yeah, I’ve got a shoot in upstate New York I’ve got to get to.”

“You can’t even give yourself Christmas Day off?”

He was walking around my room, looking at all the old photos on the walls, ones I’d taken in high school when I was first discovering my love of photography.

“The shoot isn’t until tomorrow, but I need to be there early so I want to get a jump start.”

He turned back to grin at me. “You’re going to miss Mexican Train.”

I smiled reluctantly. He knew how much I loved playing the domino game. And beating everyone else at it. “I’ll destroy you next time.”

“Um, I believe I killed you last time by, like, a hundred points.”

I scoffed and put my hand on my hip. “Please.
You
beat
me
at dominoes? You might be thinking of Phase Ten.”

His grin grew and he shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “Maybe. My bad.”

We stood there, staring at each other, the silence between us thick with unspoken emotions. And then my phone chimed with a text, breaking our connection.

Since it was on my desk, which Parker was standing in front of, he turned and picked it up. He held it out for me but not before I saw his eyes flicker down to the screen. His face became hard, his eyes darkening, and his lips thinned.

He looked like he wanted to chuck the phone out the window.

I glanced down and saw the reason.

The text was from Ryan, the gallery owner in New York I often worked with.

Ryan:
Merry Christmas, beautiful. I’ll see you on Thursday at the gallery, right?

“Ryan?” Parker spat, the name dripping with disdain. “As in that douche you were talking about at the Fourth of July?”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

His jaw clenched. He was angry. Why the hell should he be angry?

“Are you dating him or something?” His voice was rough and broken.

He did
not
just ask me that.

“That’s none of your business, is it?”

He looked away and his hand squeezed the back of his neck.

“He owns the gallery that features some of my work. We’ve gone out a couple of times.” Why I decided to add that last part I had no idea.

He blew out a frustrated breath. “Do you like him?” he asked but didn’t look up at me.

“Again, that’s none of your business.”

He didn’t respond and I really didn’t want to have this conversation. There was no reason for it and I didn’t have anything to explain nor apologize for. I walked over to my bedroom door and shut it to ensure that no one else in the house would hear this conversation.

“Okay. This, right here, is why I said I didn’t think we could be friends. Nothing in my personal life concerns you, Parker. You want to be friends? Well, rule number one. Friends don’t talk that way to each other. You can’t ask about who I’m dating or how I feel about anyone else. Just like I couldn’t ask you. There has to be lines, boundaries, if this whole friend thing is going to work.”

He looked to be waging an internal battle. But he eventually sighed and reluctantly nodded.

“I know. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have looked at your phone. Or asked you about it. I’m being an asshole.” He shifted around on his feet and then raised his eyes to me. “I do want us to be friends, so I’m going to try and not screw that up. It feels like I’m always screwing up with you.”

I wasn’t going to comment on that. “We’ll just ease into it. Take our new friendship slow. But don’t push me, Parker. Because I will push back.”

He nodded again. “I know.”

He walked toward me and I braced myself for his touch. Surely, he wouldn’t do something stupid after everything we just said. But all he did was squeeze my arm briefly. “I’ll leave you to your packing. Have a safe flight.”

And then he walked out.

No matter how hard I tried to ignore it, one question kept nagging at me the entire rest of the day.

Did I just make a huge mistake?

Parker

Winter in New York was a cold son of a bitch.

Not that Boston was any different.

Man, why am I here? Why did I come here?

The team had some kick-ass New Year’s Eve party in Boston every year. So, why wasn’t I there? There would be dozens of women at that party, any number of them I knew I could have in my bed if I wanted. With nothing more than a flash of my smile.

So, why was I here in New York, chasing after the one woman who I knew was definitely
not
going to wind up in my bed at the end of the night?

Trying to get anywhere in New York City tonight took some maneuvering, no question. But I made it to the art gallery that I knew Kinley’s work was being featured at with minimal issues. Just walking through the city in the ass-cold weather and dodging drunks, that was mainly it. This was a special New Year’s Eve show or something at the gallery, so it hadn’t even started until eleven. Unfortunately, the gallery was in Chelsea, too close to Times Square for my liking.

I could admit that I was nervous about seeing her.

What if she didn’t want me here? What if she told me to leave? What if I saw her and that Ryan guy together and I lost it?

Grow a pair, Cruz.

My first impression of the gallery when I stepped inside was
upscale
. The sharp edges and clean cut angles of the architecture were modern and relevant. The whites, blacks, and grays of the design and décor were tasteful and classy. The dress of the guests was modest and elegant and most definitely rich.

And I immediately felt out of my element.

It didn’t matter how many millions I raked in, or how many A-list celebrities I rubbed elbows with at parties, I always felt out of place at events like this. These people lived a completely different lifestyle than what I was used to. I just knew that I didn’t belong with them. Usually, I felt like a bystander, an observer. Someone who was often looking through the window from the outside, but would never be officially invited to the party.

No matter how famous I was.

I constantly had to remind myself that I had earned my success, I worked hard for my money. But I didn’t have the upbringing that these people had. I hadn’t grown up with the social standing of these people. Every single one of them would frown with derision if they saw my childhood home.

I was trash compared to them.

And compared to Kinley.

Even if I hadn’t hurt her years ago, I knew that I would never be good enough for her. It was a fact. She deserved someone who was used to wining and dining women. Who knew how to be romantic and charming. Someone from a good, stable family. Someone who wouldn’t throw her into the middle of dysfunction. Someone who didn’t come with so much baggage.

“Parker Cruz?”

My head turned in the direction of my name, and my hand was immediately engulfed in the hand of an older gentleman with gray hair, a smiling face, and a cane.

“I thought that was you!” he said, shaking my hand and slapping me on the shoulder. Used to the attention from strangers and fans, I smiled back. “I’m a big fan, son.”

“I appreciate that, sir. Thank you.”

“Hell of a Series, that was. Shame.” He shook his head as rubbed a hand over his chin. “But we’ll get ‘em this year, yeah?” 

“I’m going to do my best, sir.”

Someone behind me caught his attention and he started to move past me. “Well, I have season tickets, so I look forward to it. Good luck.” He patted me once more on the shoulder and walked away.

Hoping that was the last fan I would have to talk to, I made my way around the wall of photos, looking for Kinley’s work and scanning the room for the woman herself. I had no problem indulging fans, signing autographs and taking pictures with them. But my head wasn’t in it tonight. I had a lot of things on my mind and they all revolved around one person.

I couldn’t completely avoid it, though, and was stopped a few more times by eager fans and took a few pictures. Finally, I made it to a cordoned off section of six photographs that I would have recognized as Kinley’s even if I hadn’t seen her name on the plaque below them. I had followed her work over the years—not that she knew that—so I was familiar with her style and techniques.

It was a black-and-white series but each had a different focus. One was a nature shot of a snow-covered mountainous landscape. Another was of two buildings with a canal running through it, which looked to me like Venice. Another was of a rocky bluff by the ocean. The shot was captured just as a wave hit the cliff, the spray of the water forever frozen in time. There was one taken of an endless field of sunflowers, which was more appealing in black and white than I would have expected. The fifth image was of a log cabin at the base of a mountain with smoke rising up out of its chimney. And the last image was of a sailboat in the water, its sails at full mast, looking regal and magnificent.

That last image made my chest tighten.

The guilt was like a slap to the face.

The memory it provoked took me back years ago when I’d been a sophomore in college, already playing in the minors, and Kinley had been getting ready to be a senior in high school. That one summer we had together…

“How many pictures are you going to take?” I asked Kinley from my position on the blanket, watching her move from one spot to the next in the meadow that had become our spot over the summer.

“Until I get the shot I like,” she replied distractedly as she crouched over a bundle of wildflowers.

The meadow was hidden behind a patch of woods not too far from my parents’ house. I hated being even this close to that house, but no one else knew about the meadow. So, Kinley and I had made it our place for the last couple of months. I never really came home anymore, refusing to visit the man who I had once called my father, but this summer was different. I was making frequent trips back to D.C. and staying with Clay at his parents’ house…for her.

To see her.

Kinley.

It was all for her.

“I’m kind of lonely over here.” I patted the area next to me on the blanket. “Why don’t you come back and keep me company? Not that I’m not enjoying the view right now.” Because her ass was aimed toward the sky at the moment as she contorted her body for her shot.

It was the sweetest, tightest ass I’d ever seen, too.

Beat every single sorority girls’ who had flashed theirs at me in college.

Kinley sent me a sly look over her shoulder and just angled her butt higher, giving it a little shake. My dick definitely took notice of that. In fact, there wasn’t much Kinley did that it
didn’t
take notice of.

Then, she started to crawl toward me on all fours, an image I immediately knew I would never, ever forget. She reached around and slid the camera off her neck, lowering her slender body right over mine. I worked hard to make sure that our lower bodies didn’t come into contact because if I felt her heat against my shaft, I’d be done.

“What about this view?” she asked as she hovered over me, a sexy smirk on her face and her dark hair forming a curtain around our heads.

I looked down to see her perky tits spilling out of her tank top as they pressed against my chest and raised my eyes back to hers. “This works for me, too.”

She giggled and leaned down to give me a chaste kiss on the lips. Just when I was about to grab the back of her head and pull her closer to me so I could ravage that sweet mouth of hers, she pulled back. She knew I loved those plump lips of hers. I could never resist them.

“I think I’m going to make you work for it today.” She scooted off my body to lie down right next to me, tucking herself under my arms, her head resting in the crook of my shoulder.

I wasn’t going to complain.

It felt right having her there in my arms. Despite the fact that we had kept our relationship a secret from everyone, especially her family, it felt right holding her like this.

“We’ll see,” I told her as I started to run my fingers down her slim arm. “I know you. Before we leave here, I’ll have you begging me to touch you.”

The small groan she released told me she knew it was the truth.

“So, you decided that you want to take pictures for a living. What do you want to take pictures of?”

She sighed dreamily. “The world. Everything. I want to see everything and capture it all with this,” she said as she picked up her camera. “There are too many beautiful things in this world and you can never have too many photos of them.”

I smiled and my heart melted. I loved talking to her. About life, about the future, about who we wanted to be. She was the only person I could be like this with. I wanted to hear everything about her. What she liked, what she thought about, what she dreamed about. And she was the only person who had ever cared to ask those things about me. Well, Clay talked to me about stuff but it wasn’t like I wanted to kiss him.

Nope. Just his sister.

I don’t even know where the next question came from.

“Can I come with you to all those places?”

She angled her body around to look up at me, a serious expression on her face. “Do you want to?”

I nodded, not even hesitating. I didn’t need to. “Yeah, I do. You’re going to be an amazing photographer, Kin. I want to be there with you when you experience all of that, see all those places.”

Her perfect lips curved up into the most breathtaking smile I had ever seen. “Then you will be. What about when you get to the majors?”

I shrugged, unconcerned. “You’ll come with me, then. I’ll take you places, too. We’ll travel the world together.”

She propped her head on my chest, never taking her emerald eyes from mine. The sunlight made them shine even brighter, making her look like some kind of ethereal goddess.

“Could we get a sailboat?” she asked. “We could sail around the world. Go to Europe. The Mediterranean. I’ve always wanted to go to Australia.”

I brushed some hair off her face when the wind blew through it. “The first paycheck I get in the majors, we’ll buy a sailboat.”

“And we could name it the
Cruz Ship
.” She laughed. “Get it?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. She was adorable. “Corny. We really need to work on your jokes.”

“Hey!” She swatted my arm. “I’m funny. There once was a man from Nantucket—”

I tackled her, cutting her off, my fingers going for her ribs. “No tickling!” she screamed but was laughing hysterically at the same time.

I knew that as long as I had her with me, every day would be as perfect as our summer had been.

We never bought that sailboat, though.

Because by the time I got my first paycheck in the majors, Kinley hated me, wanted nothing to do with me, and those afternoons in the meadow were but a distant memory.

Regardless, I was so proud of her. Because even if I hadn’t been with her like I should have been, she was still doing what she loved to do. She was seeing all of the places she’d dreamed of seeing. And I’d been right about one thing. She was an amazing photographer.

“She does beautiful work, doesn’t she?” a man’s voice beside me asked.

I’d been so engrossed in Kinley’s work and my memories, I hadn’t even noticed him approach. I looked over to find a man a few inches shorter than me with blonde hair that definitely had hairspray in it, judging from the fact that not a single strand moved as he shifted around on his feet. He had an expensive-looking suit on, something I imagined he saw in GQ, had commercial white teeth, and absolutely no facial hair. The hands that held his glass of champagne also looked like they were manicured.

Not the type of guy I would go have a beer with.

Mainly because he would probably order a martini.

“Yes, she does. I’m a fan.”

He stuck his hand out so I shook it. Just as I thought. No calluses and a weak grip. I didn’t usually take a man with a handshake like that too seriously.

“I’m Ryan Moorehead. This is my gallery.”

My hand tightened in his, squeezing his harder without me even realizing it.

So,
this
was Ryan.

The Ryan Kinley had talked about.

The one she’d went on a couple of dates with.

The one who had called her beautiful.

He had to struggle a little to extract his hand from mine but I eventually let it go. And was sizing the guy up in a much different light, now that I knew who he was. I’d be lying if I said that text I saw from him on Kinley’s phone hadn’t been a huge reason for why I came to New York tonight. I had looked it up and knew Kinley had a show here tonight, and I knew Ryan owned the gallery her work was being featured in.

After I learned all of that, images started flooding my mind of the two of them here tonight, standing together, being all cozy, and shaking hands with New York society.

And I didn’t like it.

Not. One. Damn. Bit.

Especially when I considered the fact that it was New Year’s Eve and I pictured them sharing a kiss at midnight.