Page 138 of Imperfect Player

“What are you doing here?” Maddox asks when he sees me on the opposite side of the open door.

He folds his arms across his chest and stands there as though he’s Everly’s personal bodyguard. For my sake, I hope that’s all he fucking is. The memory of his protectiveness over her, the way he tried to keep me away . . . It’s got my mind racing and wondering, what if? What if they’re together? What if she realizes that a guy like Maddox is way better for her than some asshole like me?

She’d be right. No doubt. But . . . fuck.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

I don’t want to, but if he wants to put my mind at ease, that would be fucking great.

“None of your business.”

He’s right, it’s not, but fuck if I’m not curious as hell.

“I’m not looking to fight. I just want to see Everly.”

“She’s busy.”

“Just get her,” I tell him.

“No. Not after what you put her through.”

I hate that he obviously knows what I put her through, how she feels. I hate that she opened up to him when I want it to be me that she does those things with. I sigh, resigning myself to the fact that she tried. I was the one that kept her away, and I sure as fuck deserve the gut punch of her having moved on because of how I treated her.

“Maddox, who is it?” Everly’s voice calls from the background.

“No one,” Maddox replies.

Over his shoulder, I can see Everly appear.

“Ethan?”

“Hey, sunshine.”

She looks gorgeous standing there in the red wrap dress. It’s shorter than I would have pictured her wearing to an event like this. Hell, any event, considering she’s all about being professional.

“What are you doing here?”

“Leaving,” Maddox says, blocking the doorway.

“Move, Maddox,” Everly orders him.

With an under-his-breath curse, Maddox steps out of the way.

“God, you’re beautiful,” I say, the words falling out before I can stop them. Not that I should stop them—they’re the truth. It’s just not how I wanted this conversation to start.

“Thank you,” she says with a small smile on her face. “What are you doing here?”

“I know it’s a little last minute, but I was hoping you would be my date tonight.”

“Your date?”

I nod.

“Two months I don’t hear from you, and now you show up on my doorstep and ask me on a date. Expect me to be your date.”

“I don’t expect anything from you. It’s just a question. One that you’re welcome to say no to.”

One she probably should say no to. Words that I think but don’t speak, because let’s face it, she would argue them.

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