The Rules We Break (The Alphaletes Book 4), page 8
“Erica can write down the gate code for you, and I’ll get your fingerprint added to the biometric scanner for the door.”
Sage nods as I turn to head out.
“Thanks,” she says softly, so softly I barely register it.
I choose to act like I didn’t hear it, because what else do I say to it? Despite this being a clear violation of rule number three, I’m not as irritated as I probably should be. She’s scared and doesn’t feel safe. Erica has taken her under her wing, which means she obviously cares about her, and if Erica cares about her, then I guess I care enough to make sure she can sleep in a house where the doors lock. At least for a little while.
Later that night, I push the door open, surprised to see Sage in the kitchen. I would have thought she would have holed up in the room for the rest of the night. Instead, she’s bobbing her head to Bad Omens as she stirs the mixing bowl that she’s holding in her hands.
Her usual spunk looks to have returned as her body gyrates to the music, giving me flashes of her in that club. Fuck, the girl knows how to move her body and is unapologetic about it. She’s currently wearing a slouchy black sweatshirt that is slipping off one shoulder and a pair of black yoga shorts. I’m not sure if the woman has a single color in her closet, outside of the Crusaders gear she wears, and even those clothes are black and Crusader green.
My eyes run down her body, stopping on that perfect peach-shaped ass as it moves around in my kitchen. She may be a pain in the ass, but she’s definitely a hot pain in the ass. Too bad I don’t do repeats, I wouldn’t mind killing some time with her again. As long as I could tape her mouth shut or something.
When she turns to face me, she nearly jumps out of her skin, letting out a high-pitched shriek that has me wincing as she reaches over for her phone, turning the music almost all the way down as she glares at me.
“You couldn’t have announced yourself?” she snaps.
I raise my eyebrows at her in surprise.
“In my own house? Oh, my mistake. I’ll be sure to let you know. Hey, I gotta take a piss, is that okay with you?” I snark.
She doesn’t skip a beat as she sets the bowl down.
“As a matter of fact, it’s not. Don’t you know dogs go outside? I saw a lovely bush with your name written all over it out front.” She smiles so sweetly it’s venomous.
“I see you’re back to being your bratty self,” I say pointedly.
“And you’re back to your ‘I’m hot shit’ attitude.”
“Raven, you were at the game. I am hot shit.”
“Oh, like you played every position by yourself in that game? Must have missed that part. God, you’re such an egotistical narcissist.”
“At least I’m not a jaded little girl with daddy issues,” I toss out, almost regretting it when I see the flinch that passes through her body at my words.
It doesn’t take a genius to realize that Aberton doesn’t have a great relationship with his daughter. All of the times I’ve seen them in the same room, they hardly look at each other and something tells me that the same lack of interaction extends off the field.
I expect her to lash out, to shout at me, call me an asshole or something, but she doesn’t. Instead, she seems to shed the hurt off like an unwanted coat, setting the bowl in her hands down onto the counter, as she smooths out her hair and points a daggered look my way.
“You’re right, Trevor. I do have daddy issues. Do you enjoy throwing people’s obvious trauma in their face? Is that why Erica doesn’t love you? Is that why she left you for Sebastian? Because she saw the real you? The one you try to hide behind that golden boy façade? She realized that you were less than what she deserved, and she found what she had wanted all along in your friend?”
Blinding rage rips through me at her words, and my stomach turns. My pulse is thundering, my breathing labored. I’m ready to wrap my hand around her fucking hair and drag her ass out of the house when she scoffs at me, throwing the bowl of whatever the fuck she was mixing into the fridge before stomping away.
I want to drag her ass back here, but I do my best to stay rooted in place because I’m definitely not in control of my emotions right now. My eyes look around to see several other bowls and dishes scattered around the kitchen and what looks like flour smeared across the marble counter.
“Hey! Come clean up your fucking mess!” I shout out to her.
I watch as she leans her head over the banister to look down at me as she rolls her eyes.
“Get your maid to do it.”
Two seconds later, I hear a loud slam of her bedroom door shutting before I mutter out a string of curse words and begin cleaning up after her.
Fucking. Brat.
I literally opened my house up to her, begrudgingly so, and not three hours later, she’s already crossed the fucking line. I don’t care how much she means to Erica. I’m not putting up with this shit.
My hands angrily scrub at the dishes in the sink, rinsing them off before putting them into the dishwasher. I used to be a slob when I was a teenager, always having someone to pick up after me, and I do have a maid that comes twice a week, but that’s to do the deep cleaning stuff like the bathrooms and mopping the floors. Clutter didn’t used to bother me, but as I’ve gotten older, it has become a huge pet peeve of mine.
I’ll let her stay the night, mainly because I don’t want to see her fucking face right now, but tomorrow she’s gone.
Sage
The grease from the bacon snaps at me, searing my skin and causing me to drop the tongs in defense.
“Ow! Fuck,” I grumble as I quickly reach for a paper towel near me, wiping away the searing hot liquid before turning to check on the lemon blueberry scones I made this morning.
I’ve always liked cooking, mainly because I’ve always liked eating. A lot of people think that because I’m fit, I starve myself or watch what I eat, when in reality I eat like a fifteen-year-old boy.
No one really taught me how to cook—no one was really around to take the time to show me. But one day when my dad was working late, a cooking show came on the TV, and I was hooked. I’ve gotten pretty good over the years, and I always like coming up with new combinations of flavors.
Another thing food is good for is apologizing. I don’t do it often, but when I do, I mean it. I was a bitch yesterday, more so than usual. More so than what is acceptable. I was on edge, in my emotions, and if I’m honest, pretty fucking scared.
I snapped. Trevor, despite hating me, opened his door to me when he could have easily slammed it in my face. Despite the fact that I know Erica had everything to do with his sudden generosity, I still didn’t have to hit him below the belt like that.
I don’t know the full story, but from what I can tell, there is more than I could probably even guess. I know that Erica and Trevor used to date, and I know they broke up when he went to college. I also know she met Sebastian a few years later, and that he was Trevor’s best friend at the time. Key word on was.
If Erica hadn’t told me that part, I would have known anyway. Anyone can step into the room with Sebastian and Trevor and feel the temperature practically plummet. You can tell there is some tension from Trevor toward Sebastian, but the icy glares, the stiff body language, and aggressive energy is all Sebastian. The nosy part of me is so curious.
Did Sebastian steal Erica from Trevor? Was she dating both of them until she wasn’t? Were they a throuple?
I doubt the last one based on the two alpha-male personalities alone, but you never know.
Still, despite how obvious Trevor makes his feelings for Erica, it’s not my business. I was being a bitch, so now I’m here trying to undo my bitchiness with some refined sugar and processed pig fat.
I hear footsteps pad down the stairs before a shirtless Trevor emerges. His hair is sleep-mussed, his black boxers practically skintight. I do my best to keep my eyes on his, but they skim down his exposed skin, greedily taking in every inch. I didn’t really get a good look at him during our back-of-the-club romp, and now I’m kind of sad for past Sage because fuck. Trevor Michaels is hot. Like really hot.
His body is lean but firm, all hard lines and smooth skin with the softest tan, probably thanks to those Texas summers. As far as a quarterback’s physique, his body is perfection, and the way his boxers are leaving practically nothing to the imagination has pussy butterflies running through me. Yup. Pussy butterflies. If you didn’t know that was a thing, you obviously aren’t fucking the right people.
A soft noise leaves him, and my eyes jump back up to his, catching the curious, albeit guarded, look on his face as he watches me. Not knowing what to say, I grab one of the cooling scones and offer it to him.
“Eat,” I say as he continues staring at me.
He lifts a dubious eyebrow.
“Why? You trying to poison me?”
I roll my eyes and set the scone onto an empty plate before scooping a pile of bacon beside it.
“Please. I’d never ruin my cooking with poison. If I wanted you dead, I would have suffocated you in your sleep or something.”
Trevor doesn’t look amused as he looks around the kitchen.
“Charming. Did you not wreck my kitchen enough last night? Figured you’d have another go at it?”
I grit my teeth as the smart-ass response rests right on the tip of my tongue as I speak.
“I’m trying to apologize. This is how I apologize. Take it or leave it.”
Trevor’s standoffish attitude ebbs a bit, but he still wears a disbelieving look as he assesses me.
“Really? That’s the best apology you are capable of?”
“Yup.”
Trevor scoffs but glances down to the scone for a moment before grabbing it. He rolls it around in his hand a few times before his blue eyes come to mine, not budging an inch as he lifts the pastry to his mouth. Surprises flashes in those crystal eyes, followed by what looks like appreciation.
He takes another bite and another before reaching for more. I can’t help but bite back my satisfied smile. Ask any cook, there is nothing quite like watching someone enjoy your food. Even better if they weren’t expecting it to be much in the first place.
“Didn’t know you could cook,” he mutters as he swallows a bite.
“You don’t know much about me,” I shrug.
“Weird, right? You’re so approachable.”
An unexpected laugh bursts from me before I can stop it, causing me to tilt my head to the ceiling and shake it. When I face Trevor again, his posture is more relaxed, happily shoving his face full with my scones.
“True. Thank you for letting me crash here, though. I understand if you want me out of here. I was an asshole.”
He watches me for several seconds before setting the half-eaten scone onto the plate as he walks past me to the fridge.
“Your shit is already here, and Erica will have my balls if I kick you out. You can stay if you make more stuff like that, and you keep the snarky comments to a minimum,” he says as he pulls out what looks like a pre-made protein shake.
“I’ll try,” I say, knowing that until my apartment is at least secure again it’s not safe for me to go back there. Not that they now know where I live. Hopefully I’ll only be here a day or two tops, though. Then I can figure out whatever the hell I’m gonna do next…
Trevor nods as he takes a seat at the island while I dish up a plate of my own. I hesitate for a moment, contemplating if I should take it back to the room I slept in or not. Obviously sensing my indecisiveness, Trevor hooks his foot underneath the seat beside him, kicking it out in offering to me. I don’t think much of it as I slide into the seat and begin eating.
Several moments of silence pass by before Trevor’s phone dings on the countertop, and he reaches for it, a small smile curving his full lips upward as he taps out a response to whatever message he got.
“Who is that?” I ask, earning a sharp look from Trevor.
“None of your business.”
“Hey. If I have to watch the attitude, so do you.”
“My house, my rules, Raven.”
I roll my eyes at the stupid nickname as he continues typing. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who put a smile on that surly face this early in the morning.
“How did Erica sleep?”
Trevor’s eyes flick to mine as he gives me a look full of suspicion.
“Fine. Why?”
I shrug. “Just wondering.”
“Bullshit,” he scoffs.
“I just can’t imagine a man like Caldwell being good with his wife sending another man good morning texts. He seems a little too…possessive.”
Trevor snorts in a way that sounds like he definitely agrees before he runs a hand through his disheveled hair.
“For your nosy information, she was just texting to make sure I didn’t murder your bratty ass. I told her I came close.”
“I’m shaking,” I say with my hands held up in mock fear. “What’s the deal with all of that, though?”
“With what?”
“You, her, him,” l say as I punctuate my words with a piece of bacon.
“I thought this whole breakfast was an apology for being nosy,” he says with a tired sigh.
“Nah, this was an apology for crossing the line from kinda bitchy to straight-up cunty. I’ll never apologize for being nosy. Knowing your opponent is half the battle.”
“We’re opponents?” he asks dubiously.
I nod at that with a slight furrow to my brows.
“You’re right. You aren’t even in the same league as me.”
He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, but I see him forcibly bite back a smile as I speak again.
“So, what’s the deal? Spill the tea.”
“The tea?” Trevor asks.
“Oh my god. I knew you were old, but I didn’t realize you were that old,” I say on a sigh.
“Fuck off. Thirty-one is hardly old.”
“Eleven years older than me. Sounds pretty fucking old.”
He narrows his eyes at me, taking an overly aggressive bite of the bacon in his hand that oddly does something to me. I like pushing his buttons like this, watching the all-American, pretty boy thing he has going on drop for a minute before that darker, jaded side comes out. It’s the side of him I saw first, the side that had me getting tongue fucked by a stranger bent over the side of a couch in the back of a club.
We’re silent for a little while, and I think that’s the end of it until he speaks.
“She was mine first. We were together for years, and then I…I fucked up.”
“Cheated?” I guess.
“Fuck no,” he snaps as his head whips up to me, a look of outrage splashed across his face. “I’d never. But I did break us. Thought we needed it when I went off to college. Only took her being on campus for five minutes to realize how royally I fucked up. Unfortunately, five minutes was long enough for her to meet Seb.”
I grimace at that, feeling surprised at his honesty and also pity for the obvious heartbreak in his tone.
Poor guy is really fucked up over her.
“And now?” I question gently.
Trevor blows out a deep breath as he folds his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair as he stares at the wall in front of him.
“Now…they’re married with kids and the whole white picket fence thing, and I’m just…me, I guess.”
“Do you want that? The ring, the kids, the whole shebang?”
He shrugs, still refusing to look at me.
“Well, you have to move on then. No offense, but they seem pretty happy as is, and no matter how well you fuck, I don’t think they’ll be opening up their marriage for you to join anytime soon.”
Trevor’s eyes narrow, and it looks like he’s about to tear into me, so I raise my hand to stop him.
“I said no offense. I just meant, why don’t you try to take your eyes off the ‘one that got away,’ for now and focus on the future? You’re a professional NFL player. I’m fairly certain you could have anyone you want.”
“Yeah,” he says absentmindedly, his palm outstretched against the cool countertop as silence slowly creeps in around us.
Poor love sick fool.
“Give me your phone,” I say with an outstretched hand.
He gives me a ‘yeah right’ look, but I just continue to wait.
Slowly, he hands it to me, and I hold the screen up to his face to unlock it before I begin my mission.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Helping,” I say.
“How?”
The app finishes downloading, and I spin it around to face him before I start filling in the sign-up info.
“Luxe in Love? What the fuck does that mean?” Trevor asks.
“An ad came up for it the other day. It’s like Bumble but for wealthy people. If you want that whole all-American dream thing, you’re gonna need to find someone who is on your same level. Not a social-climbing gold digger. This dating app has a minimum annual salary requirement of $250,000 for all applicants. Any chance you have a paystub laying around?” I ask, to which Trevor just blinks.
“Fine. I’ll just screenshot the last article that stated your $49.2 million dollar annual contract with the Crusaders.”
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Signing you up for a rich people dating app. Keep up, old man.”
“I’m not fucking old,” he grits between his teeth.
I ignore him though and continue putting in his information as I start filling in his bio.
“A star NFL quarterback looking for my forever teammate?” he scoffs as he reads over my shoulder. “What, do you write greeting cards for Hallmark in your spare time?”
“Fuck off,” I say simply as I pull up the screen and pass it to him.
“Alright. What do you think of her?” I ask, showcasing a beautiful brunette with dark brown eyes who is the CEO of a pharmaceutical company.
Trevor shrugs and wrinkles his nose slightly. So I scroll again, to which he’s even less enthusiastic than before. He rejects almost everyone, blonde, brunette, even the redheads. No one is good enough. Until we finally come across a pretty blonde who is a divorce lawyer. Her striking blue eyes are very similar to Trevor’s. They are the kind of eyes that catch you off guard and take your breath away.
