The Long Game (Long Game, #1)(20)

“Can you please give it a rest?” I asked one of my two cats. “I can only deal with one complicated, frustrating female at a time.”

She held my gaze in silence, then moved closer to the pot. Challenging me.

“Willow,” I warned. But her paw came out in response. “I swear to God, Willow. That coffee is no good, but if you make me—”

She mewled, interrupting me. As if telling me, I don’t care what you do or do not think. And sweet Jesus, a humorless laugh burst out of my mouth, because how was it possible that the cat I’d adopted years ago could remind me of a woman I’d known for less than a day?

That tiny but sneaky paw inched closer, sobering me right up. “Willow,” I said. Softly, this time, pleadingly. “I know you’re not happy here, but we all need to—”

Willow jumped off the counter and dashed into the hallway.

“Adapt,” I finished, my eyes focusing on the trail of mud she’d just left behind. I raised my voice. “And please, stop sneaking out of the house.”

Pierogi lifted his head from the arm of the couch, giving me a charitable look.

“Thanks, P,” I told her.

My phone pinged from the kitchen island. I grabbed it, a glance telling me who it was—Liam, my former agent—and what he wanted—something I didn’t have the energy to deal with.

So I locked the screen, slipped it into my pocket, and gave myself five seconds to regroup. Then, I stomped my way out of the house and onto the porch. I wasn’t going to fool myself, a large—and loud—part of me knew that I shouldn’t be involving myself in anything concerning that woman. I shouldn’t even be entertaining going to her. She knew who I was, and she’d almost blurted it out to the girls.

I’d gone through almost a month of anonymity. I went on my hikes, grabbed coffee from Josie’s Joint, reluctantly ran practice three times a week since the season had kicked off, and kept to myself. Coaching was already a stretch on what I had been looking for here. Peace and quiet. Silence. Nature. Nothing football—or soccer, I thought with an eyeroll—related. Yes, even after five years playing in L.A. I still felt a prickle when I had to call the sport I loved something other than football.

The arrival of that woman had muddled everything up. Adalyn Elisa Reyes was a major inconvenience and I should not be walking toward her car.

I should have been going in the opposite direction. Probably move away. To a different town.

I knew she’d bring only trouble with her suits and her heels and her plans to drive the team to its full potential or some bullshit I suspected would only bring attention I didn’t need or want.

And yet, I found myself crossing my yard and banging my fist on the window of her car.

Ignoring the sense of déjà vu, I waited for the woman curled up in the driver’s seat to react. Her head was once again against the window, and her lips were parted, but her expression was lax with sleep. My eyes betrayed me, dipping down her body and noticing how her arms hugged her bare legs. I cursed under my breath. She was wearing next to nothing. Just some flimsy silky sleep set that left very little to the imagination.

Something deep in my gut flared.

Was she mad? September was on the mild side in this area, but at night, temperatures could decrease at least twenty degrees. She could—

Ah, for fuck’s sake. I didn’t care whether this woman was cold or not.

I ripped my gaze from all that skin on display and banged on the window again. Much, much harder.

She awoke with a jolt.

Her whole body jumped as she clutched her meager top, looking so disoriented and frightened that for an instant I felt bad. Me. Feeling remorseful when she was being so recklessly irresponsible.

Her eyes found me. “You again,” she scoffed, her words muffled by the glass. “You scared me! What in the world do you think you’re doing?”

“What am I doing?” I repeated, flabbergasted. “Better question is, what in the world do you think you are doing sleeping in your car like this? Are you mad?”

“What I do is none of your business.” She turned her head, giving me her profile.

With a slow exhale, I placed my hand on the roof of the car and leaned closer. “You are camped in my yard, that makes you my business. Can you roll down the window so we don’t have to yell at each other?”

“Our yard,” she said, gaze on the windshield. “And you’re always yelling. Glass or not.”

My exasperation sparked. “Adalyn,” I said, and that word alone was somehow enough for her to shake her head and grudgingly press the button.

Once the window was down, she pinned me with an unimpressed glance. “So? What can I help you with?”

My brows shot to the top of my head. “Pardon me?”

“Oh, where are my manners.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice. “Good morning, neighbor. May I help you with something on this crisp and beautiful morning?” Her lips curled up in what was the phoniest smile I’d ever seen. “That better?”

I blinked at the woman. Stared, really. I was at a loss. Again. Never—not even once—in my life had anyone managed to unarm me like this woman did. And I’d met some sneaky bastards throughout my career.

In my silence, she pointed at my hand. “Is that coffee for me? If so, no thanks. Not only do I not accept things from strangers but I don’t trust you.”