He looks at me like I’m nuts. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”
“It’s fine. It’s almost dawn.” I peer through the slats of his vertical blinds.
He bends down to tie his boots. “You could stay but you won’t, right? Because you don’t want Ace to know you’re sleeping with me?”
I let the blinds fall back into place. “I stayed a few nights,” I point out, but, yes, I can’t deny part of my decision relates to Ace. “He’s hurting right now. I don’t want to twist the knife in any further.”
Matt’s jaw clenches, but he’s skating on thin ice since I found my dossier, so whatever jealous thoughts he has he keeps to himself. Instead, he steps toward me, halting close enough that I have to tip my head back to look at him. “Want me to talk to him?”
“No offense, but I don’t think he’d listen to you.” Although, if this situation on the team is going to get resolved, Ace and Matt and the entire team are going to have to talk and listen to each other.
“You’re probably right.” He pulls me against him and I breathe deep, enjoying the smell of warm, sexy Matt for a moment longer.
“I can’t stay tonight. Tomorrow—today,” I correct myself. “Today is going to be hard for him, and I need to be there. He’d be there for me.”
A flicker of unhappiness flits through his eyes at the reminder of my closeness with Ace, but then his easygoing nature breaks through and he gives me a rueful smile. “I can’t believe I’m trying to talk a woman into spending the night with me.”
It’s my turn to glance down to hide the sting of his comment. He means it as a compliment, but it’s a reminder of how many girls have shuffled in and out of this bedroom.
“Hey, you.” He tips my chin up. “No one else is spending time in here just because you aren’t around. I hope you know that.”
I push the doubt away and cling to those words.
* * *
ACE SITS in front of the television, his bloodless hands gripped between his legs, looking as angry as I’ve ever seen him. I immediately text Sutton and Charity and tell them to take a long time at dinner.
My thoughts flit to Matty. I never thought to ask him if he was worried. He probably isn’t in any danger of being replaced, but I never asked, either—too caught up in my own drama. I tell Ace I need to use the bathroom and slip away to shoot off a quick text.
Me: Day going okay for you?
Matty: It’s all good. Thanks for asking. You?
I’m doing okay. Worried about, I don’t want to bring up Ace again, so I just type, friends.
Matty: Got it. Call me if you want to talk or meet up. I’ll be up late.
Me: I’ll probably be busy.
Matty: Practice starts tomorrow. We’ll work it out.
When I get out, Ace is pacing.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do?”
“I’m the quarterback, Lucy, or did loverboy convince you otherwise?”
“Ace, I’m behind you. It doesn’t matter who I’m dating.”
He snorts out an ugly laugh. “Does it feel good to be Ives’s current slam piece?”
I grind my teeth together to keep from lashing out. “If you’re going to be an asshole, you can leave.”
Ace runs a hand through his closely cropped hair. “What is that you see in him?”
“He’s kind.” I think back to how he made me breakfast, his thoughtfulness in taking my glucose measurements.
“He’s working to turn the team against me. The entire defensive squad follows his lead. If he stood up and supported me, the team would support me. If I don’t have him, I’m as good as gone.”
I rub my lips together. I don’t like where this is going. I didn’t like it when Matt presented his side of the argument to me and I definitely don’t like Ace trying to leverage our friendship. “I have no influence over him, just like I have no influence over you.”
Ace’s jaw works furiously as he holds in whatever horrible invective he’d like to spit out at me. Finally, he fixes his attention on the television and we watch the show in silence. For two excruciating hours. I’m so stressed out I end up checking my glucose levels five times. I open my mouth to ask him to leave just as the show flips from the studio to the camera at Remington Barr’s home.
If I thought Ace was angry before, it’s nothing like the rage consuming him now. He squeezes the remote so tight, the plastic cover over the battery cracks in his hands.
I get up and move to the kitchen because the tension in the living room is suffocating. The phone rings, startling me. I glance at my phone, but I realize it’s not mine ringing. It’s Ace’s. It rings and rings until the voicemail cuts in.
Then there’s a series of pings that signal an influx of text messages or emails arriving. Ace sits there like a statute. I feel stupid and useless. Should I answer the inquiries for him? Say no comment? Block them? Or hell, just turn the stupid thing off.
“Ace, honey, can I help you?”
He doesn’t answer.
I fumble with my phone and text Matty.
Ace is frozen and his phone is blowing up. What should I do?
The phone rings immediately. Ace’s head tips slightly to the side, as if registering it’s at least not his phone.
“Hello?”
My heart leaps and my stomach drops at the same time.
“You okay?” Matty asks.