Winner Takes All (25 page)

Where had all of that gone? Had Annabelle whittled it away? Had she allowed her propensity for being a know-it-all damage that part of their relationship?

If so, how in the world had she become that person? The last thing she wanted was to make her own sister feel inadequate. To damage her confidence. Annabelle knew firsthand what that was like.

Without taking a second thought, Annabelle pushed away from the counter and wrapped her sister in a tight hug. Naomi wound her arms around Annabelle's shoulders, gripping harder than she ever had. As they stood there in the silent kitchen, Annabelle thought back to the last time she'd extended this kind of affection toward her sister. The sad truth was, she couldn't remember. She was pretty sure she'd given Naomi a long hug at the airport the last time she'd visited. But that had been different. A good-bye until next time.

This was deep and emotional and long overdue.

The dreaded lump formed in Annabelle's throat, followed by hot tears pushing past her closed eyelids. Damn it, why did she have to cry? Annabelle hated crying; it always exhausted her.

But the tears came anyway and she let them fall, sliding down her cheeks and dropping to Naomi's bare shoulder.

When the first tear hit, Naomi pulled away and swiped at her own moisture. “You're not allowed to cry,” she told Annabelle. “You're supposed to be the strong one.”

But she wasn't strong. It was all an illusion. “I'm not as strong as you think I am.” If she were, she'd give it a go with Blake. To see where they would go. But she was terrified of being hurt, so she stayed back.

“That's because you're your own worst critic,” Naomi said with a small smile. “Through the eyes of a little sister, you're perfect.”

Annabelle's heart turned over again and she wanted to tell her sister to stop. To stop saying things that Annabelle didn't deserve.

“I'm sorry for giving you a hard time,” she told Naomi. “Of course you're free to live your life however you want to live it.” She lifted one shoulder. “I just wish we saw you more. Mom and I miss you.”

Naomi expelled a long breath. “I bet not as much as I miss you. Now go sit down with Mom.” Naomi shooed her out of the kitchen. “I'll clean the rest of the dishes.”

Annabelle turned around but stopped when she got to the door. She glanced back at her sister. “The casserole was really good.”

A slow smile pulled at the corners of Naomi's mouth as she grabbed the sponge and started cleaning.

A
fter leaving her mother's house, Annabelle went to her studio for an appointment with Matt West.

On the way there, she'd picked up her cell phone at least three times to call Blake. Just to check on him. To see if he'd slept well or needed anything from her. She wasn't his girlfriend and if he wanted to speak with her, he'd call.

So she kept the phone in the cup holder and both hands firmly on the wheel. Two and ten and all that. But that didn't stop her from glancing at the device every thirty seconds, willing it to ring.

Which it didn't. Because he wasn't going to call. Because Blake Carpenter, the human island, didn't need anyone.

Maybe she could just text him.

No!

She'd left him a note, so the ball was in his court. And that, as they said, would just have to be that. Annabelle entered the studio and flipped on all the lights. The place was freezing, seeing as though fall had finally decided to come, dropping nighttime temps to downright cold. So she activated the heat and set her bag down. Just as she made her way to the reception desk to check messages, her phone vibrated.

The noise startled her but she tried to not be too psychotic when checking the message. It could be anyone. No reason to believe a certain man would be texting her. Maybe sending a nice good morning message. Or thanking her for the coffee. Or, even better, something like “I miss you.”

An “I love you” would be great too.

Annabelle shoved that insane thought away the second it entered her mind. Because it
was
insane. Preposterous.

She pulled up the text and read a message from Stella. One simple word:

Lunch?

Annabelle glanced at the clock and tried calculating what time she'd be available after her eleven o'clock appointment with Brandon's son.
How about 12:30?

A second later, Stella responded.
I'll meet you there and we can walk to the Cat.

She confirmed the plans with Stella, then checked the studio's messages before Brandon and Matt arrived about ten minutes later.

Brandon was a big guy, probably about an inch or so shorter than Blake, with long legs and powerfully wide shoulders. He had the same dark hair as his cousin, though Brandon's was shaggier, and his eyes were darker, resembling a rich bourbon. Whatever Blake lacked in the carefree department, though, Brandon more than made up for. He always had a smile for everyone, especially the ladies, and then his carefree grins became quick and devilish, earning him the nickname back in high school of “Wild West.”

Or so she'd heard. Brandon and Blake had graduated from Blanco Valley High School four years before her, so by the time she'd got to high school, all that had been left of them were stories.

“Good morning,” she greeted Brandon and Matt.

Matt extended his hand first and offered a friendly smile. The boy had inherited his size and dark hair from his father, but his eyes were much darker, bordering on a rich chocolate. He was a sweet kid who loved football probably as much as Blake did.

“Good morning, Ms. Turner,” Brandon greeted in that deep voice of his. The gravelly tone reminded her of Blake, which in turn reminded her of how he sounded murmuring in her ear. A wave of goose bumps rose on her arms, an odd sensation to be having in front of Blake's cousin.

Brandon didn't seem to notice as he let go of her hand and went on to describe the tightness Matt had been having in his neck.

“I have to go meet with one of my subcontractors,” Brandon said with a glance at his watch. “I'll be back in about an hour to pick Matt up.” He ruffled a hand over his son's too long hair, then strolled out the door.

Annabelle offered Matt a smile. “Your dad seems like a good guy,” she told him, then led him to a treatment table. “Go ahead and lie down on your back.”

Matt lifted one shoulder, then settled himself on the table. “Yeah, he's cool.”

Quite the conversationalist. Annabelle positioned herself at the end of the table, near Matt's head. “I'm going to start with some cervical traction,” she explained to him. “Basically it gives a gentle separation of the bones and joints in your neck, which takes pressure off the nerves.” Annabelle wrapped one hand around the back of Matt's neck, then cupped her hand underneath his chin. “Try and relax for me,” she explained to him. “You're going to feel a little bit of pulling in your neck.” She gave Matt a moment to take and release a deep breath. Then she began the slow and gentle motion of applying the traction force to Matt's neck by leaning back and holding for ten seconds. “So how's football going for you?” she asked the kid.

“Okay, I guess,” he answered in a slightly strained voice. “Wish I played more, though.”

“Is this hurting?” she asked him. When he muttered a no, she gently relieved the pressure, then started the exercise over again. “I bet a lot of your teammates wish that. But it seems like Coach does a good job of keeping you all rotated.” After another ten seconds, Annabelle released Matt's neck, and went through the motions one more time.

“Are you, like, Coach's girlfriend, or something?” Matt asked when Annabelle finished the last rep of tractions.

Annabelle almost answered with “or something” because she wasn't sure what she and Blake were. And because she knew a lot of the players suspected there was something going on between them. So she didn't bother to ask why Matt thought that.

“Honestly, Matt?” she asked him.

Matt pushed himself to a sitting position on the table. “Yeah. I mean, some of the other players think the two you are all hot and heavy and stuff.”

She knew Blake wished they were hot and heavy, but Annabelle couldn't bring herself to take that leap.

“I'm not sure what your coach and I are. I know that we're friends, and he's a good coach,” Annabelle answered as honestly as she could. “And the Bobcats mean a lot to him.”

Matt huffed out a breath. “Yeah, he's a really good coach. Probably the best coach we've ever had.” He pinned his deep brown gaze on hers. “I know a lot of the parents didn't like having him here. Some of the other players had to leave the team.”

Annabelle motioned for him to hop off the table. “That's because those parents are ignorant and think they know everything.” The words slipped out before she had a chance to stop them, making her sound like some overprotective mother bear. She knew it was because she wanted to protect Blake. Which was ridiculous because Blake Carpenter was more than capable of taking care of himself. The man didn't need anyone's protection, least of all hers.

“That's what my dad said,” Matt answered.

“Because your dad and Blake are really close, aren't they?” she asked the boy.

“Yeah, they're like best friends. They grew up together after my grandparents died.”

Annabelle wanted to ask about Matt's mother, but she bit her tongue. Point for her, because Annabelle never bit her tongue about anything.

She led him through more stretches while giving some techniques on proper posture to help with the stiffness and showing him how to exercise his neck at home. They worked for another forty-five minutes before Brandon came back, strolling through the glass door with that long-legged loose-limbed walk that reminded her so much of Blake.

A navy blue polo, with
West Custom Homes
stitched in white across Brandon's left pec, was tucked into a pair of faded blue jeans.

Brandon came to a stop in front of Matt, with only a few inches in height separating the two. He placed a large hand on his son's shoulder. “Better?” he asked the teen.

Matt rotated his head from side to side. It was still a bit stiff, but they'd definitely made progress. “Yeah, Ms. Turner knows her stuff,” Matt answered, shooting Annabelle a grin. When the kid's full mouth turned up like that, he looked like an eighteen-year-old version of his dad.

“Let's go get some lunch,” Brandon told his son, then guided him toward the door. “Do me a favor and grab us a table at Slices,” Brandon said, indicating the pizza place two doors down from hers.

“All right,” Matt answered, then glanced back at Annabelle. “Bye, Ms. Turner. Thanks for the help.”

“Anytime, Matt,” she told him, and watched as he went out the door and disappeared down the street. “Are you going to warn me away from your cousin?” she asked Brandon when he drilled his brown gaze into hers.

His brows pinched over his eyes. “Actually, no. I was going to ask what the hell is taking so long. When my cousin sees something he wants, he goes after it,” Brandon explained. “I'm just wondering why he's taking his sweet time with you.”

Annabelle tilted her head. “How do you know he hasn't gone after me?” she countered. If Annabelle were to be completely honest with Brandon, she'd correct his assumption. That
she
was the one who hadn't gone after Blake. She was the one holding back and, for all the reasons she had before, she couldn't remember a single damn one of them.

“For one thing,” Brandon said, “Blake's been walking around with a stick up his ass for weeks.” Brandon's eyes narrowed. “Unless you've rejected him.”

“How is this any of your business, Brandon? Why are you so concerned about my relationship with Blake?”

“He's had a rough couple of years and doesn't need someone stringing him along. If you're not going to be legit with him, you need to cut him loose and move on.”

Legit? “Is that what you think I'm doing with him? Stringing him along?”

Brandon studied her a moment. “If you're not, then what are you doing?”

Annabelle expelled a deep sigh. “Look, not that it's any of your business, but I like Blake—a lot. I don't want to see him hurt. And, yes, I know he's had some difficult times. But—and I've told him this from the very beginning—I don't do casual. He's made it clear he's not looking for anything more serious.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“He's told me that himself more than once. I know what he's been through with his team and the surgeries on his knee—”

“He showed you his knee?”

Annabelle waited a moment before answering, trying to read Brandon's poker face, but his expression was just that. “Yeah, why?” she asked.

Brandon slowly shook his head. “No reason. But if he lets you see his jersey, the one hanging in his living room, then you'll know.”

Annabelle's blood ran cold and a layer of sweat gathered on her palms. “Know what?”

Brandon slid his dark sunglasses over his eyes and opened the door. “That he's a big fat liar.” Then he stepped through the door, colliding with Stella, who stumbled and dropped her cell phone.

Brandon maneuvered around her and Stella scooped her phone off the ground. “Yeah, don't worry about it,” she called after him, wagging her phone in the air. “The phone's fine in case you were wondering.”

But he was long gone, leaving Stella to scowl after him.

“Rude, much?” her friend muttered as she pocketed the phone and settled her sunglasses on top of her head. “Ready for lunch?” she asked, and when Annabelle only stared, Stella took a step closer. “What's wrong? You look like you just got kicked in the stomach.”

Her friend's description wasn't that far off. Brandon's words, or more accurately, a warning, had little sirens going off in her head. The same ones she usually heard right before Blake touched his lips to hers. They told her to stop, use caution, or cease and desist altogether. She hadn't listened to them before and Annabelle wasn't so sure she'd listen to them now.

Because despite how much he tried to make her think otherwise, Blake cared about her. For some reason she just instinctively
knew
. The same way she knew she'd fallen for him or that their relationship would never be casual. They had too much chemistry to maintain a simple friendship.

So where did that leave them? Damned if Annabelle could figure it out.

“Sorry,” she told her friend, realizing she'd been standing there like an idiot and not speaking. “Yes, I'm ready.”

“What was that?” Stella asked, pointing in the direction Brandon had disappeared to.

“I was helping Matt out with a stiff neck. Brandon just come by to pick him up, and they were headed to lunch.”

Stella shook her head and slid her sunglasses over her face. “I hope it's not the same place we're going to. Something about that man doesn't sit right with me.”

“I know what you mean,” Annabelle agreed. “Gorgeous ass. Dreamy brown eyes. Mile-wide shoulders. That would rub any woman the wrong way.”

Stella elbowed her in the ribs. “Well, it apparently rubbed you the wrong way. You should have seen the look on your face when he left. Now spill it, woman. Did he give you the whole don't-break-my-cousin's-heart-or-I'll-kill-you speech?”

Damn, sometimes Annabelle forgot just how observant her best friend could be. “More or less,” she answered, grateful to have a sounding board. “Except how can I break his heart when we're not even involved?”

“Oh, honey, you're involved. You just don't know you're involved.” Stella whipped her sunglasses off and pierced Annabelle with those baby blues. “You like this guy, right?” Annabelle nodded and Stella continued. “And you enjoy his company. Not to mention he's smokin' hot.”

Yeah, and hell yeah.

“So then what's the problem?” Stella asked.

Annabelle opened her mouth, then shut it again. For the past few months, she'd had all kinds of reasons for not pursuing a relationship with Blake, and all of them pretty valid, thank you very much. The odd thing was, when Stella asked the question, Annabelle couldn't come up with a single one. Her logic had gone AWOL, leaving her without any kind of defense.