The Long Game (Long Game, #1)(55)

Robbie’s expression closed off. He even took a step back. “But your name,” he said. “It’s Reyes. I didn’t think—” He stopped himself.

I… I didn’t understand what I’d said to possibly offend him. Was he realizing that I was the crazy woman from the video the whole town was talking about? “I use my mother’s last name.” I clasped my hands so I wouldn’t fidget. “And I promise, the kids are safe with me. That—”

“Thanks for the offer, miss,” he interjected. “But I’m afraid I can’t accept the tickets. We’ve already taken more charity than I’m comfortable with.”

Charity.

The term seemed to hit me harder than it should have. Perhaps because I’d accused Cameron of the same thing. Robbie’s and my reactions weren’t that far off. So I shouldn’t be all that hurt. Only I’d tried to be nice. This was María’s dad, and I’d wanted to do something for him and his kids. It wouldn’t hurt to have someone besides Josie on my side. I couldn’t understand how it had backfired so miserably.

“Is there a problem?” a deep, accented voice said behind me.

Something happened in my body then, something that felt a lot like relief. Relief at Cameron Caldani being there. Here. It didn’t make sense.

Robbie’s eyes locked on a point over my head. He opened his mouth.

“Everything’s fine,” I interjected. “I was pestering Mr. Vasquez and not letting him do his work. Now that I think of it, I never arranged for the repairs of the shed. Did Josie call you? It was my mess to clean, and I’d like to take care of it. So who should I see about the cost?”

“It’s all taken care of, miss,” Robbie answered.

So we really were back to the miss. “But—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cameron interrupted. He came to my side and took a good look at me. His expression changed. Something flashed behind his eyes. Concern? “Now, where’s that binder with your detailed fifteen-step plan to make my life all the more complicated? I’d like to go home.”

Mr. Vasquez’s brows shot up.

Yeah, not concern. Whatever kind of relief I thought I’d felt had been a lapse in judgment. Clearly.

I said very, very calmly, and with that smile I knew he found so appalling, “Do you know what?”

“I don’t know what.” His lips mirrored mine, tilting. “But you’re gonna tell me anyway, aren’t you, darling?”

That stupid darling came back. It angered me.

“You.” I planted a finger on his unshockingly hard chest. “Can really be an ass.”

He looked down at my index finger as it impaled his left pec. An eyebrow rose. “I think you can do better than that.” His gaze met mine again. There was a challenge in there. “I did insult your binder. Again. I deserve a little more.”

He did. I narrowed my eyes, the words dancing on the tip of my tongue.

“Come on, darling,” he said, lowering his voice. “Let it out for me.”

Let it out for me? Who did he think he was?

“You.” I stabbed his chest with my finger. Anger swirling up my throat. “You are so exasperating that I can’t.” Another jab. “I can’t with you, you stubborn, know-it-all, curmudgeon of a man!”

My words hung in the air as Cameron looked at me with a face I didn’t understand. A face that wasn’t frustrated or angry or even remotely unhappy. In fact, it was the opposite.

“What’s a curmudgeon?” María said. “Is it the thing that Grandpa Moe got on his butt?”

I turned my head slowly, confirming María and Tony had returned. The nine-year-old was holding a grease-stained brown box and the teen was looking down at his sister with an expression of pure horror.

“Shut up, María,” Tony whispered loudly. But then he turned toward us. And his eyes landed on Cameron. They widened.

“Why?” she continued, glancing up at her brother. “They were talking about asses, and Coach Kisscam always looks like he’s angry about something.”

Tony remained silent, his face etched in a mix of shock and awe that I recognized well. He was starstruck. The kid had to know exactly who Cameron was and it looked a lot like he was finding out for the first time. “Don’t call him that,” he murmured, coming into himself. “He’s Cameron—”

“He’s just Cameron,” I stepped forward. Meeting the teenager’s eyes. My voice had been a little harsh. I cleared my throat. “Or Coach Cam.” I stepped back. “And we should really head home.”

There was a beat of silence.

María sighed. “Honestly, I would be angry, too, if I had a giant thing on my bu—”

Tony pinched her side. “Clip it, stinky monster.”

“Hey!” María complained. “I’m not a monster! And one day I’m going to be a boss-lady like Miss Adalyn. And I’ll kick your ass with my high heels like I know she does to anyone that calls her stinky.”

My chest felt like it had been filled with concrete and I… God.

All the fight escaped me.

I couldn’t believe how or why someone would say that when I was nothing but a trainwreck who apparently called infuriating men names with minimal provocation, ripped mascot heads off costumes, was the face of an energy drink that praised entertainment over dignity, and fell into goat poo.