Page 12 of Trust Me With Forever

She sat on a stool at the kitchen island and turned toward me. For a few seconds, she frowned and studied me. Then just as quickly, her face returned to her default—as if she were about to smirk at some remark or other. “Chocolate is always a good choice. But only put out a few and hide the rest, though. Brownies are definitely one of my weaknesses, and I can’t stop eating them, even if I’m full.”

“Can’t say I’m the same with sweet stuff.” I went to the espresso machine. “What do you want?”

She smiled, propped her arms on the counter, and said, “A latte with a pretty chocolate design on top?”

“Think you’re outsmarting me, don’t you? But guess what?” I removed one of those stencils they used for exactly her request. “I came prepared.”

She laughed. “Point to Mendoza. However, the jury’s still out about whether it tastes any good or not. If not, then you owe me a coffee from Starry Eyes Bakery.”

Her comment gave me hope she would agree to the year of marriage. However, I wanted a little more playfulness with Abby before broaching that topic. Even though it was something so simple—bantering over coffee—it was more fun than I’d had in a long time.

Not wanting to think about how it was my own fucking fault I hadn’t made many friends over the years, I focused on making the best damn latte in the world.

After I finished and placed the mug and some brownies in front of her, she sipped her drink and closed her eyes. “Mmm. That’s pretty good.”

I should make a remark or gloat or say something. However, I could only stare at the milk foam on her upper lip. I wanted to lean over, lick it off, and kiss her before spreading her wide and fucking her on the counter.

I stumbled backward and rattled the espresso machine on the counter. Abby’s eyes flew open, but I busied myself making my own cup.

“It’s actually pretty good, Rafe. I hadn’t expected a famous soccer player such as yourself to know how to make a latte.”

“You can’t train for or play soccer twenty-four hours a day.”

“No, but as a pro, it probably consumed most of your time. And speaking of your career, it’s one of the things you have to promise to talk about if you want me to remain your wife.”

Your wife.The words on her lips sent a little thrill through me.

Okay, I must’ve had too much caffeine this morning because this was Abigail Wolfe we were talking about. Putting aside how love wasn’t for me, she was my little sister’s best friend. One who deserved so much better than me.

Think of your training facility.Right. Abby was part of a plan, one that would benefit the both of us, if she agreed to it.

I turned around. “So tell me what’s on this list of things I have to agree to.”

She swallowed her bite of brownie. Too bad there wasn’t any chocolate on her lips for me to lick off.

Focus, Mendoza.

Abby replied, “Well, the main ones are that we need to be honest with each other, you need to work on fixing things with your sister, and at the end of it, I want a big favor. I’m still not sure what it’ll be yet, but I have a few options—ranging from you buying me a house to destroying an ex to introducing me to some of your soccer friends.”

The thought of introducing Abby to other footballers—er, soccer players, yes, I needed to start thinking that way again—made me want to punch something. Or someone.

Which was ridiculous, as she wasn’t mine in any way.Except she is your wife.

I replied, “You can have just about anything, Abigail, provided I have enough funds left over to run my business and get it going.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Just how rich are you, then?”

“Enough.”

“That’s not very honest.”

I shrugged. “Too many former teammates got wrapped up in being rich and turned into complete assholes. I try not to. I buy what I need, donate to a few charities, and save or invest the rest. If you’re looking for ten private jets, a yacht, or some other such crap, I don’t have it.”

“I get seasick, so no thanks to a yacht, anyway.”

Part of me was relieved she didn’t push the money thing. My fame and fortune had always been a double-edged sword, for many reasons.

I asked, “You get seasick? Really? But you loved swimming in Lake Tahoe when you were little. Or even Lake Sonoma.”

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