Sugar Rush (Offensive Line #1) (8 page)

“I don’t know,” he tells me, “but I needed it today.”

I feel good when I lean into him. Like I’m on solid ground for the first time today.

“Me too.”

Michael offers to drive. I agree, getting into his black Accord without asking where we’re going. Even though I’m the baker, he’s the foodie. He’s addicted to following food blogs and trying new restaurants. He used to go to a new place every week when he was with Cassie. After the split he went alone. Then he didn’t go at all. It pissed me off that he was losing all of the things he loved just because one of those things turned out to be a complete cunt. That’s when I started going with him. I’m not an adventurous eater. I like what I like and I’d rather not taste goat cheese anything, but I love my brother more than my stomach so I don’t complain.

Okay, I complain less than I’d like. That’s still saying something.

“How was work?” I ask as he pulls out onto the freeway.

Oh man. We’re leaving the city. This is gonna be a serious adventure.

“It was good. Slow. Only two appointments. One was a guy recording a song for his wife for their anniversary. That was pretty cool.”

“Was he any good?”

Michael grins. “It’s the thought that counts.”

“So no.”

“No.”

Michael works at a small recording studio in a big part of town. Deep in the bowels of L.A. it looks like nothing from the outside, just a brick façade with a NO DUMPING sign on the side, but that’s what people go crazy for. If I can’t find it, it has to be good. They usually get the odd person looking to record a demo. Small commercial work. People at the start of a potential career looking to make it big because that’s what L.A. is. Dreams hanging forever on the cusp of reality.

I compulsively check my phone. It’s three forty-five. I have seventy-eight percent battery life. No new messages. No missed calls.

“You okay?” Michael asks.

I darken the screen before dropping it into my lap. “Yeah, I’m good. Why?”

“You were frowning at your phone.”

“Watch the road, not my face.”

“Okay,” he chuckles at my sharp tone. “How’d the shoot go?”

“It was good. Better than I thought it’d be.” I absently run my fingertip along my chin, wiping away a feeling that’s long since faded but burned in my memory. “I signed the waiver. I’ll be in the episode.”

“That’s cool. What changed your mind?”

“A Kodiak.”

Michael’s face is confused as he checks his blind spot, sliding us into the fast lane. “Like a bear?”

“Like a linebacker.”

“I’m lost. Wait, you mean a Los Angeles Kodiak? A football player?”

“I met one at the gender reveal party yesterday. He showed up at the shop today looking for more cookies.”

“Just cookies?” he asks heavily.

I grin. “He might have had other motives.”

“With my sister?”

“Are you gonna beat him up if I say yes?”

“That depends. You said he’s a linebacker?”

“It’s Colt Avery.”

Michael grunts disapprovingly. “He’s a running back. Not a linebacker. He’s also a player, and not just football.”

“So you’ll kick his ass and defend my honor?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“He’s not that big.”

“Bigger than I am. Bigger than your honor.”

I swat at him wildly. “You dick!”

He cringes away from me, laughing. “Hey! No hitting the driver!”

“I’m allowed to hit the driver when he acts like a pussy and a dick.”

“That’s a lot of anatomy you’re throwing around.”

“Beat him up for me.”

“No.”

“Ugh,” I groan, slinking down in my seat petulantly. “You’re worthless.”

“Sorry. I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

“Gross.”

“How is that gross?!” he demands.

“You’re my brother. I don’t want to hear that shit.”

“Whatever,” he mumbles. “Why do you want me to beat this guy up? Was he rude to you?”

“No. I want you to beat him up because he was nice to me.”

“Are you being sarcastic?” he asks, sounding like Colt.

“Nope. It’s the truth. He was fun and it was awful.”

“Showing up at the bakery, it sounds like he came looking for you. Do you think he likes you?”

“I hope not,” I reply glumly.

It’s a bigger lie than I’d like it to be.

“Do you like him?”

“Maybe.”

“It’s not a bad thing to be liked by someone, Lil,” he tells me seriously. “And it’s definitely not a bad thing to like somebody.”

“It is if it’s the wrong kind of somebody.”

“What makes him wrong?”

“Everything.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“He’s famous. Or he’s getting famous, which is probably worse.”

“So?” he laughs. “Half of the people in L.A. consider themselves famous. You should give him a chance.”

“That’s what Rona said.”

“Rona’s smart. You should listen to her. And you better tell Mom about him before she does.”

“There’s nothing to tell. He asked me to dinner. I said no. That’s it.”

“Hmm,” he hums thoughtfully.

I glare at him mildly. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking things.”

“I think you should tell Dad at least,” he says distractedly, pulling us off the freeway. “He’d flip out if he heard you met one of the Kodiaks.”

I feel my stomach turn, my appetite disappearing in an instant. “I really doubt that, Mike,” I mutter miserably.

His hands clench on the steering wheel, flexing and stressing. “Sorry, Lil. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay.”

We fall into an awkward silence where we pretend everything is fine. Like no one’s hurt and nothing is wrong. My family is famous for it.

I check my phone again.

It’s three fifty-one. I have seventy-seven percent battery life.

No new messages.

No missed calls.

COLT

Palmetto Warehouse

Los Angeles, CA

“Maria, I love you. I mean it.”

“
Alto
,” she laughs.

“I can’t stop. It’s too real. I love you.” I take another bite of lasagna, the cheese stretching gooey and thick from my mouth to my plate. “This is so good. What’s in it? Oregano? Cocaine?”

“Cheese. A lot of cheese.”

“
Mucho queso.
”

“
Si. Bueno.”

“
Te amo, Maria.
”

She laughs again, her back to me, her hands in the sink washing the last of the dishes. “I love you too, Mr. Avery.”

Short, thick, sixty, and sassy, Maria is a surrogate mother for me here in Cali. She’s been with me for the last two years cleaning my apartment, making me dinner, and taking care of Kat, my big, beautiful yellow lab, whenever I’m away. I couldn’t function without her. Tyus gives me shit for hiring her. He says I can’t live without a woman taking care of me, and he’s not wrong. Not entirely. The truth is, I like having someone to come home to. When I’m alone in my empty apartment I feel jittery. I’m painfully aware of the silence. And having someone to download my day with helps me cool it for the night, like I’m settling in. Unplugging.

“Your mother called me today,” Maria tells me in her thick accent and flawless English. “The other apartment is empty soon.”

“Really? I talked to her on the drive home and she didn’t mention it.”

“She does not like you to know when it’s open.”

“No, she does not. This is the first time in a while, right?”

“Yes. Mrs. Schaal is good at keeping it rented.”

“A little too good. I haven’t been able to use it in months.”

“She says a couple is taking vacation next Sunday. They’ve booked it for the week. It will be booked through Christmas after that.”

“Shit,” I groan, my mouth full of lasagna.

“Do you want me to clean it?”

“No. I’ll have some people over on Saturday.”

She nods her head knowingly. She knows my drill.

When I was house hunting with my mom three years ago our agent brought us to this building. An old warehouse that had been converted into two industrial looking lofts with high ceilings, exposed beams, open floor plan, and floor to ceiling windows too much for your average curtain to handle. I loved it so much I bought it twice. This one and the matching apartment downstairs. I tried to talk my mom into moving into the second one, but she wouldn’t do it. She likes her job and her husband too much to leave them. Even for me.

I handed the apartment off to my mom anyway, letting her decorate it and turn it into a vacation rental. She manages it online from Kansas, letting Maria know when people come and go so she can go down and clean it. Restock soaps. Drop mints on pillows. But when it’s empty I get my own use out of it. Every now and then I throw a party down there, and it doesn’t matter if it gets out of hand or if anyone steals anything because none of it is mine. Not personally. I go to Ikea to replace what’s damaged. No muss, no emotions. No one stealing my toothbrush as a souvenir.

Fans are great but people can get weird.

When I finish my dinner I hit the showers to wash off today’s practice. Maria will finish cleaning up and head out to take care of her family. Kat will whine at the door after her for five minutes before jumping up on my bed to wait for me. I’ll put on my warm up pants and my gray Kodiak hoodie to take her on her walk. Then we’ll sit on the couch together and watch TV until I either fall asleep with the remote in my hand or she bullies me to bed. Another woman in my life taking care of me. It’s our routine and it’s a good one.

But tonight when I get out of the shower I feel restless. More awake than I should be after the early start and long practice. A quick glance at the clock tells me it’s only ten thirty, but I have another practice early tomorrow morning. Six sharp. There’s no time to go out. Not if I want to be smart.

I could always stay in, though.

A text message is on my mind. One I got immediately after practice. I pull it up, rereading the brief, direct words.

I miss you, baby. Call me.

It’s Nikki, a cheerleader on the Kodiaks squad who I’ve been seeing on and off for the last eight months. We’re off at the moment, but when we’re on it’s hot. It’s all consuming and exciting. Crazy, even for me. She’s nonstop in everything she does, her energy matching mine in a way most women can’t handle; I want to be going all the time, crashing hard so I can bounce back up and do it all again. She’s the nearest thing to a relationship I’ve had since I got to L.A. I came close to telling her I loved her the last time we were dating. I didn’t come quite as close to actually meaning it, though. That’s why I got out. Now she wants back in.

I drop down onto the edge of my bed, my phone sitting indecisively in my hand. Kat belly crawls across the gray duvet to lay next to me. Her big, dark eyes look up at me imploringly, begging me not to do it. Not to call Nikki. If I call her, Kat will never get her walk. She’ll get shut out of the bedroom in the hall where she’ll cry and moan while Nikki cries and groans.

I’m looking at those words and I’m imagining how this will play out, and it’s tempting. So tempting. But it’s also a disaster. The sex is hot but the break ups are always hotter. Angrier. Nikki is a screamer in bed and in life, and a night of fun isn’t worth an afternoon of fighting three months from now because we can’t stand each other in the long run.

Kat whines faintly.

I impulsively scroll through my phone, looking for a name. I have to scroll for a long time. I have a lot of names. It’s not bragging, it’s simple math.

Lilly

There it is. Five letters. Ten digits. Twelve hours since I saw her last.

I can’t call her. It’s too soon, and besides, she’s not even the one who gave me her number. I got it from her friend along with the assurance that Lilly’s bark is worse than her bite, but I’m kind of hoping that’s not true. I think her bite is sexy as hell.

What I should do is go for a walk, go to sleep, and get up early for that practice. I should be smart about this. I should think with my brain and not my dick, just this once. Just to see what’s like.

But try telling that to my dick.

I scroll randomly through my contacts, type a quick text message, and toss my phone on the bed before leaving the room. Kat follows me faithfully out of the apartment and down to the sidewalk. We take it easy, strolling around the neighborhood for a good thirty minutes before heading back home. It should be enough time to get a reply, but what kind of reply I’ll get is still up in the air. That’s the fun of it. The thrill of Russian roulette. You load a chamber, a random chamber, and you pull the trigger. Maybe you survive it, maybe you don’t, but you get a rush out of the deal and that’s worth playing the game. Every time.

When I get back home I spot a car parked behind mine. It’s a yellow Mustang convertible. I’d know that car anywhere.

Nikki.

“Sorry, girl,” I tell Kat solemnly. “Looks like you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

She looks up at me with a mournful stare that daggers me in the heart.

“I know. We’ll regret it in the morning, but you can’t fight fate. You shouldn’t even try.”

Kat looks at me like she knows it’s bullshit. Like she knows I’m making a monumental mistake, all in the name of getting a piece of ass. Like she thinks I’m not responsible enough to have a phone full of women.

That makes two of us.

Three of us if you include my mom.

Four if you count Maria.

Five if—I just probably shouldn’t have one, that’s the point!