Page 36 of Those Heartbreak Scars

“Yeah.” He glances up at me for a long moment before he climbs off me so he can access his phone. His eyes crease in the corners as he reads his screen. “I need to cancel lunch. I’m sorry. There’s a problem. Mikey Valance is in a signing year. And the Bears just picked up Luke Rooney instead.”

“It’s okay.” I’ve watched him work deals like magic tricks for years. He works his ass off to get the best contracts for his players. Sometimes things go south, and then all his focus needs to be on fixing them.

“It was supposed to be a done deal,” he says darkly while he tugs his pants over his hips. “This is the last thing I need.”

I pull on a fresh thong and some yoga leggings while he checks his appearance in the mirror inside my closet. Grabbing a bra, I cover up the girls and pull on the sweater hanging on the end of the iron bed frame. “Perhaps we can meet up later for drinks or dinner.”

“I’d love to, but if I can’t salvage this…” He narrows his gaze at my chest, and the light in his blue eyes dies. “What is that?”

I glance down at the sweater with the Cardinals logo on the front. “A sweater.”

“Show me the back.”

“Excuse me?” I frown. What on earth is his problem?

“Rica, turn the fuck around.” He stalks toward me. “Does that have Everett Mann’s number on the back? Are you wearing his number?”

“I guess.” I turn and show him the back, glancing over my shoulder to try and see it too. Everett gave me this sweater. It would make sense for it to be one with his number.

It still has a hint of his cologne, actually. It’s faded, but still there to my overly sensitive nose. Under the stronger tones of cedar, lemon, and cloves of Gray’s fragrance.

“You said he wasn’t your boyfriend.”

“He isn’t.”

“You’re wearing his fucking jersey.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” I stand my ground. He’s acting territorial. The independent woman in me balks at that, but a part of me wants him to tear my clothes off and throw me back on the bed even though he doesn’t have the time for what I want to do. Again. I hug the sweater to my body. “I just grabbed the closest thing.”

He reaches for the hem of my sweater. “Take it off. Or I’ll take it off for you.”

“No.” I step out of his reach.

He opens his mouth, then snaps it shut before reaching up to tug on his hair. The intensity in his eyes dissipates. “Fine. You’re right. Wear whoever’s clothes you want.”

“Fine.” I grab the hem and drag the sweater up over my head. “It’s off.”

Everything with him seems to be just another layer of confusion that I don’t know how to navigate. I can speak a half dozen living languages and can understand several extinct ones. My IQ is too high for this bullshit. I should be able to make sense of it. “I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal.”

“Because…” He wraps his hand around the side of my neck and holds me in place. He brushes his thumb over my pulse point. He finally takes a deep breath that loosens his chest. “I want—”

A barrage of sounds come from his phone.

“Shit.” He walks away while answering his phone. “Mikey…”

I grab another top and pull it over my head. Push the arms up to my elbows and watch him prowl my bedroom while speaking in a tone that takes no prisoners. His presence is commanding, his body language dominant. Watching him control all the elements—how confident he is— makes me want to sink to my knees for him. Again.

He hangs up.

His gaze settles on my sweater, which is stretched so tightly over my rose-gold bra that it shows through. His pupils dilate.

“Better?”

He rolls his bottom lip with his teeth and swallows whatever thought is on his mind. “I’ll call you once I’m done.”

“I’d like that.”

“Okay.” He hesitates until his phone beeps with yet another message. “I’ve got to go deal with this.”

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