Page 75 of I Blame the Club

“No.” I level him with a glare, “I did not.”

He taps his nose, “See? You are incapable of providing positive feedback. And I know the reason why.”

“Please, enlighten me.”

Ignoring my mocking tone, Nico takes a step closer. My eyes flick to the dark scruff lining his jaw, those smug lips sending an unwanted jolt of lust racing through me.

“You're scared, Maurice. You're scared that if you drop the hard-ass persona it will show that you are weak. That you are soft.” He pauses, “You put up these barriers that no one can climb over but at the end of the day, the only person you are blocking is yourself.”

“Is that right?” My teeth snap together as my blood starts to boil, indignation crashing through me.

Nico grins, “You know I’m right. That’s why you want to punch me in the face right now. Nothing hurts like the ugly truth.”

“Ugly truth? You want me to speak the ugly truth?” Staring him down, I lean in until we’re only inches apart, “My father didn’t raise me to hand out positive feedback, he raised me to get results. You perform well or you don’t perform at all.”

I pull back and shake my head, “The sooner these players realize that life doesn’t hand out rewards, the better. You have to earn every position and fight every day to keep it.”

“I’m sorry, Maurice.”

“I don't… what?"

My brows pinch together as I stare back at him, the sympathy spilling from his expression bringing me to a halt. Giving me a small smile, Nico reaches up and uses his thumb to smooth out the crease between my brows.

And for some unknown reason, I let him.

“You must be so tired of fighting.”

I blink as his words wash over me. The unfamiliar ache returns as Nico looks at me, the warmth in his gaze triggering an onslaught of grief I thought I had buried four years ago.

“You can’t get tired if you don’t stop.”

And that’s the truth.

When you don’t have time to breathe, it’s impossible to realize how suffocating your life has become until after the pressure has passed. Pushing myself to the limit day-in, day-out is what has kept me going since my mother was laid to rest, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon.

Nico purses his lips, “That’s how you run yourself into the ground.”

“Maybe."

“Babe, we've got to work on this communication thing. It’s supposed to go both ways.”

I raise a brow, grateful for the pivot in conversation, “You make it sound like we are in a relationship. Catching feelings already, Montez?”

He grins, “Hell nah. I’m just using you for your body.”

A chuckle escapes my lips and I don’t bother trying to hide it. Nico is so far buried under my skin by this point he’s an infectious disease that won't stop spreading.

“But while we’re on the topic…” A gleam brightens those dark eyes, “Give me your number. That way we can facilitate booty calls and work on your communication skills all at the same time.”

I smirk, “So no more unannounced house calls?”

“Now that I know what you wear to your virtual meetings, I make no promises.” Nico winks, “Your dress-up might be weird as fuck but at least I’ll be the one undressing you.”

I roll my eyes, “Most people attend meetings in work clothes.”

“Not virtual ones. Ask anyone.”

Nico flashes me a grin before turning and running off the field. I watch him go, my level of annoyance nowhere near as high as it should be. In fact, the only frustration burning through me is from the tent rapidly growing in my pants as I watch those tight red shorts disappear from view.

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