Personal Foul (Moving the Chains Book 6) Page 6

  If I want Pavlov to have a safe, loving home, then I’m going to have to make amends with Alex to break this childish stalemate we’re caught up in. The rules have always been ambiguous. We simply need to define our expectations for each other in a clearer manner. That’s all.

  I’m also not unaware of the fact that Alex hasn’t had much time to adjust to my presence in his life again, especially in an altered capacity. He’s a stickler for power balance. In my current position, I hold slightly more power than he does. Alex’s lack of leverage explains why he insisted on me moving in with him, and why he ordered me to stay away from the quarterback. They’re both a means of exerting influence over me in a misguided attempt to keep the balance between us.

  That’s one of the hardest things about long-term relationships. Once the pattern is set, it’s extremely difficult—if not impossible—to change the fabric of interpersonal behavior. Women will remain in toxic relationships for years because they grow accustomed to the poor treatment. Abused children cry for their parents as they’re being taken away by the social workers who are trying to save them because that same abuse is all they know. Change is scary at any age.

  Very few people are self-aware enough to realize that they change as they grow older regardless of trying. No one is the same in their mid-twenties as they were in college. As humans evolve throughout their lifespan, so must the relationships that they value. It’s a catch-22. The more people change, the more the relationship cannot stay the same.

  I glance around at Alex’s new and improved living room. I’ve had neither much free time nor energy during camp, but I tried my best to make it look like a relaxing oasis instead of a sparsely furnished hotel. My hope is that this gesture of goodwill will be the first thing he sees when he walks in the front door. This small peace offering surely is better than any fake compliment I could pay him.

  I have no intention of mentioning the real ones. That would be backsliding, not moving forward.

  My muscles tense with anticipation at the sound of the knob turning.

  “Welcome home!” I shout when the door swings open. I hold out my arms and all my hopes for a peace treaty.

  He freezes in the foyer with his duffel bag in one hand and an extravagant bouquet of flowers in the other. His eyebrow arches over a steely blue eye. “Am I home?”

  “Well, yes. Of course.” My nervous laughter belies my confidence that the new area rug, plant, curtains, and knickknacks were a smart move. “You said interior decorating wasn’t part of your job description, but I got the distinct impression you were not happy with the way things were…”

  The longer he stares at my handiwork, the more I sweat. Literally. A droplet of liquid slides down my back like a snake. I’m so hot all the time lately. Florida is much more humid than California.

  “I thought you were a cat person?” he finally asks. He’s staring at the grouping of small dog statues in a variety of colors and breeds that now line the mantle.

  “Yes. And you are a dog person.”

  He shakes his head and blinks. “What the hell made you think that?”

  I gesture toward the hideously large statue of a white dog that I left in its original position near the fireplace. “It is the only decorative piece you own.”

  A slow smile spreads across his face that he tries to tamp down by biting his lip. Damn him for being so effortlessly sexy. He takes his time closing the door behind him and setting down his duffel bag before he crosses the floor to me. “It was a gift from Jimmy when I got drafted. I should’ve known you wouldn’t get the reference. We’ve really gotta work on Americanizing you more.”

  I fold my arms across my chest. The power I used to enjoy from making people guess my heritage and the source of the accent I can’t quite eradicate has grown old and stale. Because I’m changing. “I was born in America.”

  He chuckles—a low, vibrating sound that rumbles up from his chest and lights his eyes on fire. “And yet you don’t recognize a Pat the dog replica when you see one. It’s a hilarious gift, and you don’t even know why.”

  “Explain it to me,” I demand. Remembering my goal for this evening, I soften my stance and my tone of voice. “Please.”

  He smiles. “I will. But first…” He leans forward to press a soft kiss to my cheek, then he holds out the flowers. “Welcome home, yourself. You did a great job for your first training camp.”

  “Thank you.” It is a rote response to praise.

  How could he possibly know how hard I’ve worked? We have not so much as exchanged one of our old text memes in the past two weeks. Ignoring each other became the lesser of two evils compared with embarrassing each other at work.

  “Don’t look so suspicious.” He laughs, but it’s subdued in affect. “I was a little shit to you, and I’m sorry.”

  Now, I’m suspicious. This is the second time Alex has apologized to me since I arrived in Orlando. And he accuses me of breaking the rules?

  “About that. I would like to discuss how we could both behave better at work. We should iron out more concrete parameters for interacting with each other in this new, shared phase of our lives.”

  He rolls his eyes at my narrowed ones. “I can see this is going to be a long conversation. Come on. Walk and talk with me.”

  I follow on an invisible leash as he winds his way through the sprawling house until he reaches the workout room.

  “Are you joking?” I’m a psychologist—not a trainer—but even I know this is a horrible idea. “You just completed training camp. You cannot possibly be thinking of getting in a workout on your first night home.”

  “Are you crazy?” he fires back, his eyes wide. “I just completed training camp. I’m not thinking about getting in a workout on my first night home.”

  I flatten my brow.

  He grins. “I’m exhausted, and I’m sore as fuck. I’m going to my hot tub. You can either join me or sit on the chair and interrogate me about my nefarious intentions for giving you flowers and apologizing.”

  I’m already so overheated. The very idea of sliding into scalding water makes me woozy. “I do not have a swimsuit.”

  Come to think of it, I don’t even have a swimsuit in my belongings that are still in storage. I haven’t had time for luxuries such as swimming in the past few years.

  He shrugs. “Why would you need one?”

  While Alex and I have seen each other naked in the past, that is another rule that needs to be modified going forward. Nudity does not belong in the friend zone.

  Neither does morbid remembrances of his fingers inside my body in order for me to reach orgasm, but what Alex doesn’t know won’t hurt me. Although it does. I’ve often considered that I’m suffering from a horrible, incurable fixation that has no bearing on reality.

  He peels his shirt over his head with one hand in the fascinating way that men do. “What’ll it be? A relaxing discussion or a one-sided argument?”

  Sliding into a hot tub in the nude with Alex sounds like my idea of a bad-for-me time. Not relaxing in the slightest. My stomach heaves and rolls like the bubbling, boiling water waiting outside the French doors.

  He tilts his head, studying me as he pulls down his shorts and underwear with little fanfare.

  Nope. Can’t fight it anymore.

  Thank God, I’ve already explored every inch of this house because I know exactly where the bathroom is. My knees barely hit the tile floor before I’m retching into the toilet.

  Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. This cannot be happening. Not to me. Not now.

  I’ve been denying the obvious. Using every excuse under the sun—a cross-country move, a new job, unhealthy levels of stress and anxiety, finally being forced to confront my deepest, darkest secret.

  The stages of grief 101—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, then finally acceptance. So far, I’ve only fulfilled the first three. I don’t have time to be depressed.

  I’m not exactly in a position for acceptance either.

  A bot
tle of water is thrust into my field of blurry vision.

  “I’ve gotta admit, my dick has never elicited that reaction before.”

  I’m too busy sucking down the blissfully cool water to respond. Even if I wasn’t otherwise occupied, I have no intention of commenting on what his dick does to me.

  “Didn’t stay hydrated enough in the sun and heat the past two weeks, did you?”

  I accept Alex’s plausible excuse. “I guess not.”

  He leans against the doorframe, still completely naked and confident in ways he tried to teach me to emulate. “It’s a rookie mistake. Failure is the best teacher though. You’ll do better next season.”

  I snort. “You already accused me of failing your lessons in college.”

  Apparently, I didn’t learn as much as I thought.

  He shrugs. “I didn’t expect you to be a slow learner, but you caught up eventually.” He furrows his brow. “Unfortunately.”

  He’s not wrong. I did. I wasn’t convinced back in college that I could be the casual sex type of person, but here I am. The last hookup I had was… Doing the mental math makes me want to throw up again.

  It was too long ago for me to have any other options. Because I’ve wasted too much time in the denial stage. I might not agree with all the tenets of my heritage nor with my parents’ wishes for my life, but there are some principles that I can’t toss aside when it’s convenient either.

  “We’re adults now, Amira. We can’t bury our heads in the hook-up culture sand forever,” Alex says.

  Oh, but I want to. I want to continue on my path of willful ignorance in the pursuit of personal freedom. “You’re only twenty-five! It’s not like you need to worry about kids anytime soon. One of your most important rules, right? Safety first. Always wrap it up before dipping it, or something similar.”

  I always insisted on that. He didn’t even need to teach me that lesson. I already knew it. Condoms can only do so much though. Along with oral contraceptives. Oh, the odds are slim, but it’s still possible.

  Alex chuckles and tips his gaze toward the floor in an uncharacteristic show of either remorse or embarrassment. “It’s a good rule. I don’t have any kids running around the planet. I’m positive.”

  A sob coils inside my chest. If all I can control is my reaction to the unfairness of it all, then that’s what I’ll do. I hold my breath until stars appear in front of my eyes. I release all my anxiety in a rush of controlled breath. I swish more water in my mouth to rid myself of the taste of failure. I flush the evidence down the toilet, then stand on my own two feet.

  “Thank you for the water,” I murmur, not quite able to meet his eyes. “I know you don’t really do puke, as you’ve said so many times.”

  He brushes a stray strand of hair from my cheek. His voice is equally low. “There’s not much I wouldn’t do for you, even if I haven’t always done a good job of showing it.”

  I lift my gaze as my heart cracks in my chest. His admission couldn’t come at a worse time. There’s no sense in discussing those missed opportunities now. Soon enough, I’ll have a new set of rules for my life. Ones that do not include him. “You have always been a good friend to me. I’ve never discounted what you sacrificed to help me. Thank you for that, too.”

  He furrows his brow again and blocks my escape route with his large body. “What happened to discussing the concrete parameters for interacting with each other in this new, shared phase of our lives? Why does it feel like you’re saying good-bye while you’re standing right in front of me?”

  A crackly sigh escapes from my chest. “Because I found several places to rent this past week. I feel bad asking you for more help, but I need it.”

  He blinks. “That’s not gonna work for me.”

  “You have not even heard my request yet!” Apparently, I am not done with the anger phase.

  “Okay.” He rolls his eyes. “What’s the request?”

  “The apartments I have found do not accept pets. Would you consider keeping Pavlov here? I do not want to have to surrender him to an animal shelter.”

  His electric blue gaze snaps back and forth between my eyes. There’s not much this man doesn’t see, doesn’t notice. Whatever he sees in me causes him to roll his lips between his teeth before sighing out a gust of breath that wraps around my throat like his hands once did. “Sure. Maybe you’ll have a reason to come visit me once in a while.”

  The doorway holds me up as I watch him make his way out to the hot tub. He sinks into the water like a man who’s in obvious pain. All those rippling muscles come with a price. Although he’s lonely, it’s not fair to ask Alex to pay for my mistakes, too.

  At least he’ll have Pavlov for company.

  It’s been a hot minute since I enjoyed being a voyeur. I definitely don’t like what I’m seeing as much as I used to in college.

  Through the cracks in the blinds of Amira’s office at the Sharks complex, I watch Mayview smile then laugh, then say a bunch of words that are probably stupid. A flash of bright petals on her desk catches my eye.

  “Fucking amateur,” I mutter.

  The flowers didn’t work for me. They’re sure as shit not gonna work for him.

  I can’t exactly go barging in there either. Her door is closed, and they might be in the middle of a session. The last thing I want to do is piss Amira off again. She’s already got one foot out the door as it is.

  I’m not surprised she wants out of my house. Not really. I have insider information about her that Mayview doesn’t have. She’s as fiercely independent as she is fucking gorgeous. The whole reason we became friends in college is because she was desperate to break free from her parents’ control. While she’s somehow managed to avoid an arranged marriage like they wanted for her, I’d be stupid to think she wants to sign up for another one with me.

  Okay, that’s a lie. I’m stupid. I thought about it.

  I was actually planning to ask her to marry me in the hot tub last night.

  Hey, Amira, wanna do something really wild and crazy to piss off your parents? Let’s get engaged!

  She probably would have ripped my dick off, Mortal Kombat style.

  Amira, I never told you this when I had the chance because I was fucking scared, but I love you. I know you listened to me cry like a little bitch about another woman I fell for because I’m a total asshole, but I never expected to see you again. At the time, it seemed like a good idea to talk about the woman I loved with the woman I…love. No, don’t ask me to explain it. It sounds insane out loud, but it was totally logical in my head. Yes, you still drive me batshit fucking crazy, but I love you. Only you. Will you marry me?

  I laugh. Out loud. At myself.

  One of the janitors who’s pushing a trash can down the hallway gives me the side eye.

  “What? A guy can’t entertain himself?” I shrug then lean against the wall to wait.

  Yeah. It’s weirdly a good thing that she barfed and snapped me out of my tunnel vision. She’d be the first to tell me I’m so focused on the goal that I’m missing the whole point.

  I know this woman.

  I know what she wants, what she doesn’t, and everything in between.

  Amira doesn’t want another arranged marriage. She doesn’t want fucking flowers.

  She wants her own damn apartment, this job she worked her ass off to earn, and for me to man up and be her fucking friend instead of one more person in her life that’s trying to manipulate her.

  The goal isn’t actually to put a ring on her finger. It’s to keep Mayview from scoring. I can’t do that if she pushes me away.

  Her office door swings open, and the devil himself appears.

  He grins at me, then leans over to whisper, “I primed her for you to keep the playing field even. Flowers, compliments, and laughter. She’s in a great mood.”

  “Oh, okay. Thanks,” I say.

  Dickweed, I don’t say.

  He laughs when he sees the gifts I have—a bottle of ginger ale and a sleeve
of crackers from a nearby vending machine. “Damn, man. I know you’ve been trying to keep up appearances for the past two years, but this shit is pathetic for a guy who used to be rolling in pussy. I almost feel bad taking this much money from you.”

  I push off the wall and smile, ignoring the stab of pain in my knee from the movement. “A taste of that golden pussy is what’s kept me off the market for the past few years, B-Lake. I don’t feel bad taking anything from you.”

  The hilarious part is that I’m not lying. Not even a little.

  It might actually be a tragedy. Not sure yet. Not sure it’s going to get better before it gets worse either.

  Mayview glances back into Amira’s office. “It’s weird. I don’t even mind getting your sloppy seconds. She’s the whole package.”

  It is weird. A hot poker of jealousy stabs at my chest. I almost wish he’d talk about her like a mindless piece of ass instead of someone he’s actually interested in.

  Oh, wait. He’s not. This is a fucking bet to him.

  I already gave her to someone else. Many someone else’s. I’ll be damned if I’m gonna do that again.

  “Are you done?” I check my invisible watch. “Because Amira and I have an appointment.”

  He clucks his tongue.

  I want to rip it out of his throat.

  “She already said that she can’t treat you, bro. If you want an appointment, you’re on your own.”

  Huh. Somewhere in the back of my jock brain, I’ve always known the term bro sounds fucking sleazy. I never really heard it until just now.

  Awareness is only half the battle. If I want to win this game, then I have to play on his level. “She treats me every night. It’s not just her pussy that’s golden.”

  Because the universe hates me, that’s the exact moment she appears in her doorway. If I thought she was planning my slow torture and murder a few times back in college? The level of blackness in her eyes right this second probably means she’s ready to skip the torture and go straight for homicide.