Spinning Out (The Blackhawk Boy #1) Read online

  When I step into the kitchen, Bailey already has the oven open. “The hors d’oeuvres are ready.” She pulls out the pan and wrinkles her nose. “What is this shit?”

  “Shh!” I look over my shoulder to make sure no one else is in here, but of course, the guests are just arriving and oblivious to Bailey’s potty mouth. Loud, forced laughter carries in from the foyer and across the hall. “It’s escargot wrapped in bacon,” I tell Bailey, grabbing the glass serving platter I’ll present them on.

  “Escar— That’s snail, isn’t it? That’s just the fancy-people way of saying snails.”

  “Can’t get anything by you, Bail.”

  “Just looking at them makes me want to gag. No way would I put something that disgusting in my mouth.”

  “Never stopped you before,” a deep voice says from the hallway door.

  Bailey spins around to put a face to the asshole, but her glare softens when she sees Mason. Bailey can take razzing from Mason because she knows he doesn’t mean it. Anybody else would probably have a knee in the balls by now.

  “I made a one-time exception for you,” she says, batting her lashes.

  “Don’t think I don’t appreciate it.” He looks over his shoulder toward the dining room, then shuts the door behind him and lowers his voice. “What the fuck happened to Arrow’s hand?”

  The question kicks at my heart like a couple of shock paddles.

  “Do you remember? I need to know.”

  “I don’t regret it.”

  Bailey and Mason both stare at me, and I realize I haven’t answered. “The idiot punched a picture frame, but it was hung on a stud, so instead of busting right through the wall, he broke two bones in his hand.”

  His dad came out of his room while I was trying to get Arrow upstairs, and he took over. It was pathetic how much I wanted to be the one to take Arrow to the ER. Would he have kept talking?

  “Ouch,” Mason says, massaging his own knuckles. “That’s . . .” He shakes out his hand. “His hand.”

  “His hand is his hand?” Bailey asks. “Aren’t you the genius?”

  “You know what I’m saying. How’s he supposed to play ball with his hand all banged up? I know he’s out for this season, but he could have fucked it up long-term.”

  “It’s like that’s the point,” I whisper. I hate the way he looked at his busted hand—as if it were inconsequential.

  “If you’re in the kitchen, you have to help,” Bailey tells Mason, and I’m grateful for the change in subject.

  Mason grins and unbuttons the cuffs of his gray Oxford, the one that makes his green eyes even dreamier than normal and his dark skin look like melted chocolate. He rolls up his sleeves. “Honestly, I’m more comfortable serving than being served. Put me to work.”

  “Mason,” I say. “We can’t let you help. Gwen would kill us.”

  Bailey presses the palm of her hand to my chest, gently pushing me away from Mason. “Mia, the sexy man is offering to do the dishes. Let him, please?”

  I roll my eyes. “Get out of here, Mason. Gwen would be horrified to know the staff was fraternizing with one of her guests.”

  He arches a brow. “The staff? That’s not seriously how you see yourself?”

  “That is literally what we are.” I nudge him toward the hall. “So get out of here.”

  Mason turns pleading eyes on Bailey. “Don't make me go out there, Bail. They’re talking about the year of the wine, and I can’t pretend to care.”

  “Who’s out there anyway?” Bailey asks. “We were told it was a party for some of Uriah’s friends.”

  He grunts then drops his voice to a whisper. “Mr. Woodison is kissing ass. This dinner is all about sweet-talking Coach. I’m just here to make it less awkward, but Arrow’s mood is so foul you could have the whole team at that table and it would still be uncomfortable as fuck.”

  I snap my gaze around to Mason. “Arrow’s in there?” Gwen’s comment about not looking at Arrow should have tipped me off, but I just thought he’d be around, not at the table. I don’t know why I assumed he’d stay in his room. He’s on house arrest, not solitary confinement. But I don’t want to have to look at him tonight. I don’t want his angry eyes watching me while I serve dinner and refill their drinks.

  “I’d better get out of here,” Mason says. He gives Bailey a final once-over that’s so suggestive it makes me blush. “Stay out of trouble, sexy.”

  “Fuck, he’s hot,” she says when he’s gone.

  I should totally take this opportunity to give her the third degree about Mason. This time last year, they were still screwing like bunnies and insisting their relationship was “platonic.”

  Everything changed after Nic was released from prison and Bailey’s head got all screwed up about him again. Now Nic’s gone, Mason seems as interested as ever, and I’m the world’s worst friend because I honestly don’t know where she stands with him.

  I check my tray to make sure the snails didn’t slide around too much when I dropped it, and when I take a breath to broach the subject, Bailey smacks me between the shoulder blades. “I won’t ask you about Arrow if you don’t ask me about Mason.”

  Our eyes meet and she gives me her special I’ve got your back smile. It’s not like the brazen grin she gives the world, and it doesn’t meet her eyes the way a smile should, but it’s the smile of the girl I’ve known since I was eight. The one who taught me to practice kissing on the inside of my hand. The one who left half her dinner on my deck when times were tight. The one who’d throw a punch to anyone who looked at me funny. It’s the smile of a friend who wants you to know she’s still there, and even when everything else changes, your friendship won’t.

  “Thanks,” I whisper.

  “Let’s get this over with.”

  Arrow

  “Where’s Trish tonight, Coach?” my father asks.

  Coach shifts his gaze to mine before meeting my father’s eyes again. “She had plans with some friends, I’m afraid.”

  “We would have loved to see her, but I understand. Kids are busy these days, aren’t they?”

  I guess I should count my blessings. The only thing that would make this night more awkward for me would be trying to eat dinner while having my dad play matchmaker. I’ve gotten the lecture already. He saw the pictures from New Year’s Eve. He’s on Facebook like everyone else.

  “If you’re going to fuck around with the coach’s daughter, you’d better be planning to buy the girl a ring.”

  It was never about Trish. Dad’s not that kind of guy. It was about football and how my relationship with Trish might be a politically risky move for my place on the team. My best friend was fighting for his life in the hospital, and my dad thought I needed lectures about keeping my dick in my pants.

  A tall, bearded guy joins us in the dining room. Sebastian Crowe. He was my quarterback my last year at West High School. A year younger than me, he always had a chip on his shoulder. He spent his first year of college playing running back at Purdue. Recognition must flash across my face, because Coach gives me an apologetic wince.

  “Uriah,” Coach says, his hand on Sebastian’s back. “This is Sebastian Crowe. He’s the transfer from Purdue, and we’re excited to see what he can do on offense next year.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Woodison,” Sebastian says, taking my dad’s hand.

  My father is hosting a meal for the BHU coaches and a few of the starters for next year. I’m grateful to have Mason here, but seeing Sebastian Crowe is a kick in the nuts. And that’s exactly what my dad wanted it to be.

  Sebastian transferred in this fall. Something about being close to his grandma, but rumor is he couldn’t get along with the coach at Purdue and mouthed off one too many times during his freshman year. Of course, NCAA rules state that players can’t play the first year they transfer to a new team, so he had to sit this year out. Brogan was worried sick about Sebastian’s move. It wasn’t likely Coach was going to give Sebastian my position, but Brogan’s had a
lways been up for grabs. I told him not to worry about it. I wouldn’t have had half the yards I did last year if Brog wasn’t blocking for me, and anyone who knows what they’re looking at can see that on the film. But now neither of us is playing next year, paving the way for Sebastian to step in and be the hero.

  Whatever. Football is the least of my worries. It doesn’t even seem important in the light of everything else. But that doesn’t mean knowing someone can replace me doesn’t gnaw on something in my gut.

  There are awkward smiles all around as we find our seats at the dining room table.

  Sebastian takes the seat across from me and inclines his chin. “Hey.”

  I nod. “Hey.”

  His gaze settles on my cast-covered hand resting on the table. “What happened?”

  “I got into a fight with a wall. I lost.”

  Sebastian grimaces. “It’s your hand, man.”

  I set my jaw and return Sebastian’s worried stare with my cold one.

  He shifts his attention to Gwen. “Thanks for inviting us to dinner, Mrs. Woodison.”

  She beams at him. “We love having company. You’re welcome anytime.”

  Dad opens his napkin and positions it on his lap. “We just want to make it clear that the BHU football program has our full support. Even though Arrow’s not playing this year, we still want to be a part of making the season a successful one. That means exactly what it did last year—the boys can watch film in the theater room anytime they want, and of course the team will get my usual monetary support.”

  I want to kiss your ass and make sure Arrow still has a spot on the team when he comes back, I mentally translate.

  I eye the door to the kitchen, willing Mason to reappear. He’s my ally tonight. Chris is visiting his mom in Texas and couldn’t come, though I don’t think I’d care for watching my QB bond with my replacement.

  Gwen follows my gaze and shifts uncomfortably. “The appetizers should be out anytime,” she says. “I apologize for the delay.”

  “Can I interest anyone in a drink?” Dad asks, scanning the table.

  Sebastian takes a drink of his water. “I’m good, sir.”

  “I have a nice Syrah or a single-malt scotch,” Dad offers. “Arrow won’t be drinking tonight, of course. He lost that right.” He laughs awkwardly, and I want to punch him in the face just so I don’t have to hear it anymore. “What do you say, Coach?”

  Mason emerges from the kitchen and takes the spot beside me, but I don’t have the chance to be relieved before Mia and Bailey follow behind him, trays of appetizers in their hands.

  “There they are,” Gwen says. Her cooing tone is contrary to the sharp disapproval in her eyes.

  Mia avoids my gaze as she places the tray in the center of the table. “Escargot wrapped in bacon,” she says, pointing to her tray. Bailey settles her tray next to it, and Mia points to it and says, “And bacon-wrapped dates.”

  “Woodison pork all around, of course,” Bailey says with a smile that’s a touch too forced.

  “Can I get anyone anything before I serve the entrees?” Mia asks. Her eyes scan the table and freeze when they land on Sebastian. I swear I can see her tense. “Sebastian?”

  He grins and shamelessly slides his gaze over her, from her white button-up shirt to her black skirt and down her bare legs. “Hey, Mia.”

  My stomach knots. This fucker isn’t just taking over my position on the team; there’s something proprietary about the way he looks at Mia. And she’s looking at him like . . . like she has a secret and he’s holding it for her.

  “Do you know each other?” my father asks, directing his question to Sebastian.

  “Not really,” Mia says at the same time as Sebastian says, “Sure do.” He hasn’t taken his eyes off her since she walked into the room, and he narrows his gaze now, his lips quirking.

  “Mia’s our live-in help,” Gwen says. “She’s made herself quite useful since my Katie was born.”

  I don’t trust myself not to glare in Gwen’s general direction, so I drop my gaze to my hands. The help. I hate hearing Mia described like that, and I hate watching her act like it.

  “You work here?” Sebastian says. “That’s interesting.” He finally takes his eyes off her and looks at my father. “I know Mia’s father. He lives by my gram.”

  “What are you doing here, anyway?” Mia asks him.

  “Mia!” Gwen says. “Forgive her rudeness, Sebastian. She typically cares for the baby. She doesn’t understand the appropriate way to act in these situations.”

  “I apologize,” she says quickly.

  Sebastian grins. “Nothing inappropriate about her question, ma’am. Mia probably doesn’t know I’m on the team.” He shifts his gaze to me. “I haven’t been traveling in the same social circles as the rest of the guys, since I wasn’t playing last season.”

  “Well, that’s about to change,” Dad says. “Seriously, the boys are welcome here anytime, and that offer stands for you, too, son. I forget you were raised in Blackhawk Valley. Is it good to be home?”

  “It’s always good to be close to family.”

  Bailey busies herself filling water glasses, and Mia bites her lip and stares at Sebastian. For the first time it occurs to me that maybe she didn’t tell her father about working here. Her old man would probably go on a tear if he knew. Does Sebastian know that?

  “You should probably go check on dinner,” Gwen says to Mia.

  Mia nods and scurries out of the room, Bailey not far behind.

  Mia

  “Did you know Mr. Muscles was on the team?” Bailey asks. “Because damn. Sebastian Mother-May-I? And the way he was looking at you? I think he would have tried to devour you whole if he didn’t have an audience.”

  I pull the broiling pan from the oven and sprinkle the filet with blue cheese crumbles before sliding the pan back in to let it melt. “You have an overactive imagination. He was looking at me like that because he knows how my dad would feel about me working here. Not everything is sexual.”

  “Not everything.” She cuts a slit in each of the foil-wrapped potatoes and then positions them on the plates lining the counter. “But most things, and definitely the way he was eye-fucking you.”

  Sebastian definitely wasn’t eye-fucking me—he was looking at me like a guy who knows how my father would feel about my job—but there’s no use arguing any such thing with Bailey. She sees what she wants to see.

  We work in silence for a few minutes, then she sighs heavily and turns to me. “Ask me about Mason.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I’ve been good. I don’t ask questions. I don’t demand you tell me things normal best friends tell each other. So ask me about Mason so I can talk about the damn elephant in the room.”

  I fold my arms. “Fine. What’s going on with you and Mason?”

  “Nothing. I broke it off when Nic got out of prison.”

  “I remember.” She fed me some bullshit excuse about things getting too serious between the two of them, but I knew the truth. Nic was home, and she needed to be available.

  “Mason has been nothing but a friend for me since,” she says. “Trust me, I wanted more after Nic died, but Mason says we can’t be just sex anymore. He said we’re in too deep for that, so he’s holding out. No sex unless I’ll be his girlfriend, and you and I both know I’m not in a place to sign up for that. So. Your turn.”

  “Wait. Slow down. Mason won’t sleep with you?”

  “Selfish motherfucker, isn’t he?”

  I bite my lip. “I kind of respect his restraint. He cares about you, and he wants more. It’s sweet.”

  She narrows her eyes. “It’s sexual blackmail.” Grabbing the potholder, she opens the oven, pulls out the steaks, and begins adding them to the plates. I follow behind her with the green beans.

  “Let’s get these on the table before they get cold,” I say, grabbing a few plates.

  We serve dinner and refill drinks. Sebastian watches me with undisguised cu
riosity the whole time, but we’re able to escape the dining room without another awkward conversation.

  “The elephant!” Bailey says when we’re back in the kitchen.

  “What’s the elephant?”

  She grabs my hand and pulls me into the living room and out the French doors. “Arrow. I’m going to be honest, I was hoping him coming home might be good for you. Good for you both.” Her eyes are soft and gentle, and I know all I have to do is say that I don’t want to talk about it and she’ll let it drop.

  “I’m the reason Brogan was in the middle of the street in the middle of the night. Arrow should hate me for that. How could being around him be good for me?”

  She tilts her head and squeezes my shoulder. “I thought maybe he’d help you live your life instead of hiding from it.”

  “I’m not hiding.” The words come out sharper than I intend.

  “Don’t be mad. I’m being selfish. I never see you anymore. I miss you.”

  “You’re not selfish.” I drop my gaze to my hands. I hoped the fresh air would do me good, but the night is hot and I can’t breathe much better out here than I could in there. “And you’re not the first person to say I’m not really living. Arrow has said the same thing.” If I’ve been avoiding my life it isn’t a conscious choice, but I understand why they see it that way. I didn’t think it mattered. Who cares if I just go through the motions? Who cares if I never feel sincerely happy again?

  I know Bailey cares. And I guess Arrow does, too. I’m not sure what to make of that.

  “Do you ever wish you’d picked Arrow?” she asks softly.

  Lifting my head, I study the wispy clouds floating across the starry night sky. “I don’t know. All I know is that I wish we hadn’t been out there that night. I wish Brogan could still laugh and Nic could still be my overprotective big brother. I don’t think of what would have happened if I’d picked Arrow.” I swallow hard, pushing down tears before they surge too high. “I think, what would things be like if I’d stayed away from both of them like I said I would when I met them? Brogan would be himself. We wouldn’t have been out there that night. And Nicholas would still be alive.”