I am so giddy, I can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol or him. Something shifted between us. I wouldn’t say I’ve won him over, but he seems to be having fun now. I’m going to go ahead and call that a win.
“So not cool, Henny,” Archer says after he misses a cup. Again.
Every time they’re about to throw the ball, I repeat some tidbit that Hendrick has told me about them. Archer sent Selena Gomez DMs every day for an entire year when he was twelve. She never replied.
Brogan cried watching The Hunger Games. And plenty of other little tidbits that have made me laugh. I have a feeling Hendrick’s holding back and not revealing anything too embarrassing, but he’s still successfully thrown them off their game and we’re now down to two cups and it’s our turn.
The corner of his lips twitch like Hendrick’s fighting a smile. His focus is intense as he aims and fires, dunking his ball in one of the two remaining cups of beer in front of Archer and Brogan.
Brogan grimaces as he picks up the cup and swallows the warm liquid in one long gulp. When he finishes, he sets the cup down with some force. “Don’t forget we know shit about you too.”
“That’s right.” Archer nods along.
“Well, it’s her turn, so I’m not sure that’s going to help.” He tilts his head toward me.
My nerves ramp up as I roll the ball around in my hand. “They don’t need to razz me because I’m already missing.”
“You can do this.” Hendrick steps closer, sending my heart rate into overdrive. “Take your time. Aim for the middle of the cup.”
“That’s where I’ve been aiming,” I say, then adjust my gaze across the table. “I think. I don’t know. Maybe it’d just be better if I close my eyes.”
My body lights up as he lets out one of those deep chuckles that he holds in so protectively most of the time.
“Don’t do that.” He comes to stand behind me, close enough that I could lean back and rest my back against his chest. One hand gently caresses the bicep of my throwing arm. He brings his face closer to mine. “Nice and easy, Jane.”
I look up and over my shoulder, locking eyes with him. “What if I don’t like nice and easy?”
His brows lift higher and then he barks out a laugh. A full, hearty laugh that makes him look a lot more like Archer.
“I think I’d prefer rough and hard,” I add in case he wasn’t fully appreciating my comment.
He shakes his head like he can’t believe I said it, and his face takes on a bit of a blush like he’s fully imagining how hot we’d be together. It’s a real good image, so I don’t blame him. Me in his lap, straddling him while he kisses me until my lips hurt, and then him stripping me down and commanding my body with all that gruff sexiness.
“Why don’t we just focus on nice and easy right now.” His voice is deeper than it was before.
“I can be easy for the right guy.”
“You’re killing me,” he mutters in an amused tone with another shake of his head. He tears his gaze from mine and steps back.
It’s hard to focus when all I want is for him to come closer and put his hands on me again, but I take a breath, use every ounce of my self-control (very little) and I do as he says: Take my time and aim for the middle of the cup.
When the ball plunks into the beer, Brogan and Archer wear matching shocked expressions.
“Oh my gosh!” I whirl around to a smiling Hendrick. “I did it. We won!”
I jump into his arms. Hugging him around the neck, I bounce in front of him all while continuing to squeal my excitement.
It takes a beat, but eventually his arms circle around my waist and he hugs me back. I stop and look up at him. “We won!”
“I know. You crushed it.”
I’m fully aware that he did ninety percent of the work, but I accept the compliment just the same.
“I demand a rematch,” Brogan says, breaking us apart with his words. “This time, no talking allowed.”
“Oh no,” I say. “I could never stay quiet that long.”
“You did us dirty.” Archer points at his brother.
“It’s just a game, bro. Don’t take it so seriously.” Hendrick isn’t even trying to hide his smug smile.
“I will so get you back for this.”
I link my arm through Hendrick’s. “Tell it to Selena the next time you write.”
Everyone around us laughs as I pull Hendrick away from the beer pong table. I stop when we get into the middle of the yard and drop his arm. It’s louder this close to the speakers. The band is taking a break, but they turned on music to keep the vibe going. I stand on my toes and shout near his ear. “I hope I didn’t just create a mess of trouble for you at home.”
“They’re harmless,” he shouts back. “Or I think so. Been awhile since I messed with them.”
“I feel like there are probably some good stories there.”
“Yeah.” He smiles, and then it falls and is replaced with some expression I can’t quite read.
“Will you tell me some of them?”
He considers it and then nods. “Sure.”
I tip my head toward the house. He follows me inside where I grab a seltzer for myself. “What do you want? We have beer, seltzer, champagne—”
“I’m all set. Thanks.”
With my drink in hand, I walk through the living room and out to the front porch. He lingers in the doorway as I sit on the top step.
“It’s quieter out here,” I say by way of explaining my choice of location.
His long legs erase the space between us, and he lowers himself to the step beside me. We both stare out into the night. Cars are lined up down the street and the music and voices drift out here in a pleasant, inviting way. Or it would be inviting if I didn’t want to be alone with Hendrick.
I angle my body toward him, and my knees rest against his thigh. “What was it like growing up with a big family?”
“Loud and chaotic,” he says.
“Sounds fun.”
“Sometimes it was.”
“And other times?”
“I wanted to kick their asses.” He shoots me a sheepish half-smile. “Knox and I were the worst. We were always butting heads over dumb shit. Both of us were too competitive to back down. We got into a lot of brawls. Mostly harmless.”
He pauses then, like he’s surprised himself by how much he’s said.
“Mostly?” I laugh lightly. “Your poor parents. Did you get in trouble a lot?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Hendrick stretches one leg out in front of him. He gets this look on his face when he’s thinking, like he’s far away in the memories or deciding how much to share.
“Not really.”
“Were they not around much or . . .”
“Our mom died when Archer was twelve.”
“Oh my gosh.” I place a hand on his leg. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have pried.”
“It’s okay. We fought before that, but after it was worse, with all of us dealing with it in our own ways.”
“That makes sense. I’m really sorry.”
“Thanks.”
“Is your dad still . . . around?” I realize I don’t know how to phrase these personal questions. I don’t usually interrogate people like this, but he makes getting to know him very difficult.
Thankfully, he doesn’t wait for me to finish. “Nah, he wasn’t around much to begin with, but he took off for good a few years ago.”
My heart breaks for him. And for his brothers.
“How old were you?”
His brows pinch together like he doesn’t understand the question.
“You said your mom died when Archer was twelve. You couldn’t have been more than what, sixteen?” I know he’s older than Archer, but he hasn’t given me enough information to know exactly how much older.
“Seventeen.” He nods. “I’m the oldest.”
I do some quick math in my head and figure out that Hendrick is twenty-five.
“I can see that. You have that whole oldest sibling vibe about you.”
A short snort is his only response.
“Who looked after you and your brothers once she passed away?”
“No one.” He shrugs. “Dad popped in enough that we avoided too many people realizing that we were mostly on our own. We made sure we did what we needed not to draw any attention to us. None of us wanted to be sent away or separated.” He shrugs again like it’s no big deal.
“Why do I get the feeling that most of that burden came down on you?”
“It wasn’t a burden,” he says simply.
“I just mean it must have been hard.”
He smiles stiffly, and I’m sure I’ve just led us down the worst party-conversation path ever, but Hendrick surprises me by asking me a question. “What was it like growing up as an only child?”
“How’d you know I was an only child?”
He hesitates and then asks, “You are, aren’t you?”
“That obvious?” I laugh. “It was fine. I was always good at playing make believe and entertaining myself. Plus, once I started acting, that was a little like having another family.”
“Do you miss it?”
“I don’t know if anyone’s really asked me that,” I say as I stare down at my lap.
He doesn’t push me, just waits for me to decide to answer. I think I like that about him.
“Yes and no, I guess. I miss performing in front of people, but I don’t know if I really miss that life.”
“I get that.”
“Right. I almost forgot. You lied to me.” I bump his shoulder with mine.
He freezes and his mouth falls open like he’s about to offer an apology.
“Why didn’t you just tell me you were a big shot professional football player when I was peppering you with questions at the bar, Hendrick Holland?” I like saying his full name out loud. I’ve never heard of him, but his incredibly muscular body makes total sense now.
Relief washes over his features. “How did you figure it out?”
“I heard some guys talking about it while we were playing beer pong. I get it. Trying to stay under the radar. Trust me, I get it.”
A muscle in his cheek flexes. “I was a professional football player, but I was never a big shot. I played a couple of games my first year, got injured and then cut. I worked my way back onto the practice squad last season, so Brogan likes to tell people I’m on the team, but that’s not exactly the truth.”
“I don’t know what the practice squad is, but it sounds pretty important. Not a lot of people make it that far.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”
“So the thing about college and majors . . . total crap or are you going to Valley U now?” I try to think back to that day outside of the library. Was he carrying a backpack?
“I did go to the University of Washington for a couple of years before I quit to enter the draft, that was true.”
“And now?”
“I haven’t decided. I’ve thought about it, but I’m not sure if I can really see myself finishing my degree,” he says as he brings one hand up to my face and pushes back a strand of hair that the wind has blown across my cheek.
My breath hitches as his fingers drag along my skin, and he drops his hand quickly.
“Sorry,” he murmurs.
“It’s fine.” I wrap my arms around my waist, ignoring the tingles racing through my body, and lean forward. “Maybe this is a dumb question, but why did you decide to quit college early to go into the NFL?” I don’t know a lot about football or the NFL, but Felix is entering the draft this year, and he waited so he could finish college first.
“It’s a long story.”
“I have all kinds of time.”
He grins. “Talking about myself is not nearly as exciting as hearing about you.”
“So, you do think I’m exciting?”
I don’t get a response back, but it doesn’t matter. I can read it on his face right now. He’s feeling me too. But I don’t get why he’s so hesitant.
“Do you want to head back to the party?” I motion with my head toward the house.
“Honestly? Not really.”
“I have an idea.” I stand and walk back to the door while he stares after me. “Are you coming?”
He gets to his feet, and I hold the door open for us.
“Where are we going?” he asks.
“Trust me,” I say. “I’m your fun tour guide, remember?”
I head upstairs with him still following behind me, then lead him down the hall to my room.
“I have cards, board games, or we could watch a movie.” I turn to stand in front of my bedroom door facing him. I twist the handle behind my back and open it, still watching his reaction.
“You want to play a game?” His playful smirk has my heart beating wildly. “I don’t know if I can trust you. I saw your distraction technique.”
He has no idea just how much I want to distract him. Or maybe he does. His gaze drops to my mouth and the air feels charged between us. I take a step forward and his hazel eyes darken as his body tenses.
“Jane,” he whispers my name. The sound is somewhere between a plea and a warning.
I lean closer, bringing my lips to his. I stop at the last second and stare up at him. “Yeah?”
“I . . .” He starts and his throat works as he swallows. He tears his gaze away from my mouth and looks behind me.
Before I know what’s happening, Hendrick pushes past me and stands inside my room. “What the hell happened in here?”
I’m confused until I step into the room beside him. Gasping, I bring both hands to my face.
“Was this here earlier?” he asks, tone brisk as he holds an arm out to stop me from moving any farther into the room.
The walls are covered in red spray paint and some of my things have been tossed from the desk and nightstand onto the floor. But it’s the big, red letters above my bed that steal the air from my lungs. Go back to Cali, bitch.
There are dirty footprints on my white comforter from whoever stood there while they wrote the awful message.
“Jane,” he says my name roughly. “When was the last time you were in here?”
“I went downstairs for the party around eight-thirty.” I take a step closer to my bed and my stomach lurches. Who would write that? And why?
“And you haven’t been back up here?”
I shake my head. The thought of someone being in my room without me knowing it makes me feel sick all over.
“What about your roommates, were they all already downstairs?”
“They didn’t do this.”
“No shit,” he mumbles as he pulls his phone out of his jeans pocket. He taps the screen a couple of times and then puts it to his ear. “Don’t go anywhere.”
He steps out into the hallway. Is he calling the police? I guess maybe I should file a report, but I can’t have a bunch of cops show up with the party out back. And I don’t want this to get out. Paparazzi aren’t currently staking out the house, but one call and I’m sure they’d be swarming my front yard.
I start to go after him to tell him not to call the police, but he’s already down the hall and talking into the phone. I can just make out his words as I approach. “Hey, it’s Hendrick. We have a situation at the house. She’s not harmed, but someone was in her room. They trashed it and left a nasty message on the wall in red paint.”
A knot starts to form in my chest and my mind spins to make sense of the one-sided conversation. He must hear me approaching because he swivels around. His expression shifts, softening a little as he continues to hold the phone up to his ear, listening to whomever is on the other end of the phone.
He nods. “I’ll take care of it.”
Take care of what? And who is he talking to?
“Yeah, she’s right here.” His face twists, somehow looking tortured and still completely confident and controlled.
Before I can think too hard about the answers to those questions, he holds out the phone to me. I don’t reach for it, still having no idea who is on the other line. “Who is it?”
He sighs quietly. “It’s your dad. He wants to talk to you and make sure you’re okay.”
