Kissing Madeline (Dearest #3) (3 page)

“I see you’re already familiar with this nearly mythical creature.”

I turn back to her as I put two fingers against my jugular. “Hmm. Let’s see.” I wait a few seconds for dramatic effect. “I have a pulse. Because that’s all one requires to take notice of your ‘favorite neighbor.’”

Inwardly, I growl. Even from here, his expression grates on me. Daren Sloan has this irritatingly smug look on his face, like he knows women everywhere are envisioning him ripping off their underwear with his teeth.

Of course Sheri and Daren are neighbors. Because her dad is a movie mogul, she knows everybody. When she says she loves Brad and Angelina, she actually means she loves them because they all vacationed together last Christmas.

“Let’s call Daren over.” Sheri starts to wave, but I yank her arm down before anyone sees her.

“Let’s not.”

“Why?” She gives me a look that tells me I might be insane.

“Because no.”

“Maddie, I need more than that. You’re going to love Daren. God, he’s such a great guy. Thank Jesus and the little lamb he finally broke up with that slore Veronica.” She clinks her beer against the bottle in my hand.
Slore?
“You should see him after a workout. All hot and sweaty and hard.” After a quick swig, Sheri gasps so loudly I’m half afraid she’s choking on her beverage, but before I can pat her on the back, she drops the bomb. “You should totally go out with him!”

Huh?

She wiggles in her seat, a giddy expression on her face like I just told her Charlie Hunnam wants to hump her. “He went through a manwhore-rebound phase this summer, but I think he’s getting over it. I haven’t heard his bed frame banging against the wall lately.”

“Wait. What?”

A devilish grin spreads on her face. “His bedroom shares a wall with your bedroom. I
might
have listened in. And if I’m right, he’s a beast in the sack. We’re talking Godzilla. And holy crap, you guys would make the cutest couple!”

A little snort escapes me. I’m still laughing when I realize she’s serious. She actually wants me to go out with Daren.

“Um, no, Sher-bear. That will never happen. Ne-ver. Never ever.”

“Never say never.” She tugs on my arm. “Don’t be a fool. He’s Boston’s most eligible bachelor. The Heisman winner. The number one draft pick. A god among men.” Sheri turns my face toward his table. “Look at that chin dimple. I mean, that alone gets girls to drop their panties. Never mind those eyes. I’m telling you, Maddie, if I were into jocks at all, I would scale Mount Everest over there so fast, I’d break the sound barrier.”

“Mount Everest?” My eyebrow tilts up.

“Yeah. Earth’s highest mountain. The Big Kahuna. The Big Enchilada. The—”

“I get the idea.” I’m trying to be patient because I know Sheri just wants to be helpful. “I’m not into athletes. Not anymore. There’s too much temptation for them, and I’m not good at being a doormat. It would never work. I’m going back to dating econ majors. Those guys might not be able to throw me over their shoulder or bench-press my body weight, but at least they’re not going to rear-naked-chokehold my heart.” I rack my brain to think of something to get her off my case. “Hey, Brad, the tech guy at work, asked me out.”

She looks at me suspiciously. “And did you say yes?”

“I don’t date coworkers, but we still had a nice chat. He’s a decent-looking guy. And I didn’t think about Jacob once.”

“I’m sure the poor schmuck will find that comforting when he’s jerking it with his left hand instead of boning the hot reporter.”

“Ew.” I do not want to think about Brad and his left hand.

My eyes trail back over to the table where Daren sits with a couple of friends. Thoughts of my coworker fade as I take in this elite athlete. To call him beautiful is an understatement. He’s a five-alarm fire of a man, and that’s with his clothes on.

I roll my eyes at myself.

That’s the old Maddie talking. The new Maddie realizes Daren is just a pretty boy who thinks he’s God’s gift to women. Been there, done that. Having grown up in the area, I’m probably better acquainted with Daren Sloan’s reputation than I care to be.

Daren runs a hand through his thick, dark hair that’s cropped short on the sides but long enough on top to flop onto his forehead. I don’t need to get closer to see the effect those hazel eyes have on girls as three women saunter over to his table.

Sheri flicks me in the shoulder. “At least let me introduce you two before some slussy gets her hooks into him.”

A cynical smile plays on my lips, one that I hope says I’m a no-fly zone for players. Because Daren’s a player just like Jacob, and players only do one thing. They cheat.

I shake my head. “No need. We’ve met.”

* * *

Go out with Daren.
That’s the worst idea ever. I want to punch myself in the face for the two-point-two seconds my brain found the suggestion appealing.

I finish tying my shoelaces before I trudge down the stairs and out into the humid morning. Well, night for most people.

Reaching behind me, I grab my ankle and stretch my quad. At quiet times like this, I always think about Jacob. Not that we ever worked out together. He never got out of bed at this hour. Maybe the fact that he didn’t says something about us.

I can’t stop doing this, replaying our relationship to try to pinpoint what went wrong. It’s been torture to not take his calls—I miss him like crazy—but I’ll never forgive him for what he did. Because it wasn’t a one-time thing. It wasn’t some crazy drunken accident. It was deliberate. Calculated. Habitual.

My hand twitches on my phone.

When I get desperate, when I get tempted to contact him, I watch the video on my cell. That’s a different kind of torture. Watching the man you thought loved you screw another woman feels like a slow death of a thousand lies.
I love you. I want to marry you. I want you to have my children.
All lies.

But rather than distance myself from these thoughts, I force myself to think about those excruciating details to harden my resolve.
His dick. Her mouth. Their moans.
Yeah, fuck him.

When I’m done stretching, I jog slowly and let the ache from last night’s drinking spread through my limbs. I’ve never run in Sheri’s neighborhood before, but I know the main streets well enough from attending school nearby, and I’m on the familiar ground of the Esplanade before I know it. The path meanders around the Charles River, which laps against the banks this morning with the steady breeze.

By the second mile, Jacob’s betrayal feels duller, less like a knife to my heart and more like a bruise to my ego. But I’m tired of feeling sorry for myself. For questioning my self-worth. Moving in with Sheri and getting my new job means I get to start over, and I intend to take full advantage of these opportunities.

Perhaps that’s why Daren sounded briefly alluring. A gorgeous face to distract me. God, I could use a distraction. That’s why I love work. It keeps me so busy, I barely have time to breathe.

By the time I loop around and reach Sheri’s building, the sun is starting to warm the horizon. Guns ‘n Roses blasts from my iPhone as I push into my final sprint. My blood is thrumming through my veins, and I’m drenched with sweat, but it feels good. I’d never admit this to a sane person, but I like having to get up this early. It forces me to stay on top of my life.

Internally, I’m ticking off today’s call schedule. I have a meeting in an hour, an on-air interview at eight a.m., three stories I’m researching for the week, the web report to update, and at least a dozen follow-up calls to make.

When I turn the corner, I never see it coming. But when my body slams into the brick wall, all the air escapes my lungs as I fall backwards and onto the pavement.

CHAPTER THREE

- Daren -

It’s still early as fuck, but if I don’t hit the road soon I’ll be stuck in rush-hour traffic, and I don’t want to be late. Plus, I need to check how long the drive takes at this hour since training starts at seven a.m. Although camp doesn’t begin for a few weeks, I’m meeting with one of the trainers to take a tour of the locker room and gym. The coach knows this is as much of a head game as it is about physical ability, so he agreed to let me work out there a few days a week and get a feel for the team’s facilities until preseason starts.

My key turns in the lock as I ask myself again why I’ve kept this condo. The parking is terrible, my commute sucks, and the building is old. I purchased it for Veronica and me to live in after we graduated because I knew she wanted to stay in the city, but since we broke up the night of the draft, she never even knew about it. I’ve been thinking about scoping out some condos closer to the stadium.

Thoughts of that failed relationship automatically put me in a foul mood. Four fucking years wasted. Even the eight months we spent apart sophomore year were plagued with her drama and lies.

I’m good at a lot of things, like football and school, but even the word “relationship” feels like a live wire waiting to electrocute me.

The problem with Veronica, aside from how she and I got together in the first place, was football, the one thing that gave her the attention she wanted. Ironic.

That’s just it. I can’t have a woman jealous over what I do for a living. I’ve busted my balls since I was a kid to get here. People can say I’m rich already, that it doesn’t matter how my football career pans out, but that shit makes me want to bust my ass more. Besides, that money isn’t mine, and I need to make my own way.

If I do this, if I make our demise about her shallowness instead of her betrayal, my chest doesn’t feel like it might explode. Like I might put my fist through a concrete slab. Because that confession...

My stomach twists when I think of what she told me that night. Even though she begged me to forgive her, there are some sins that can’t be washed away with words.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I realize the sun is rising and I need to haul ass. I toss the gym bag over my shoulder and head toward my SUV in the back lot. As I round the corner, I pull my phone out of my back pocket to see if the realtor returned my call.

Deep down, I think I dodged a bullet. Because at least Veronica never moved in with me. That would have been a nightmare.

Suddenly, I hear an “oomf” and my cell goes flying.

It takes me a second to realize what just happened, and that’s when my heart starts to race. Holy shit. A woman is on the pavement.

I drop my bag and lean down to her. “Ma’am, are you okay?”

She turns her face toward me with a groan.

Wait a sec.
I know that face. I could never forget that face.

“Maddie?” What’s she doing outside of my building at five thirty in the morning? She’s wearing yoga pants and a tank top. Her iPhone is on the ground a few feet away. “Maddie, shit. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

She blinks a few times. Finally, she groans. “Jesus Christ, Daren. Are you trying to kill me?”

Did I hurt her? Fuck.

I brush her hair out of her face until those piercing
blue eyes peer back at me. Without thinking, my hand trails through her hair and cradles the back of her neck.

We stare at each other, and she sucks in a breath.

Why am I holding her like this?
The same question registers in her expression, and I back away and clear my throat, trying not to notice the way her tank top reveals all kinds of creamy cleavage.

Why is she still sprawled on the ground?
Oh, yeah, asshole. You knocked her down. Help the girl up without trying to grope her this time.

“Here, let’s get you off the sidewalk.” I extend my hand, which she ignores as she pulls herself up.

She shoots me a dirty look as she dusts off her ass, which I’m wildly curious about seeing how she’s wearing snug-fitting workout clothes.

Wow. Maddie McDermott. Her thick, black hair sits in a messy ponytail, made even messier by our collision. She’s tall for a girl. Slender but curvy in all the right places. The last time I saw her in person, she was wearing a slate-colored business suit and was interviewing the mayor. And Maddie in a business suit is a sight to behold.

But shit. She’s even hotter when she doesn’t have any makeup on.

She leans over to grab her iPhone, and I avert my eyes from her rear because I don’t want to be the skeeve who checks out girls’ asses.

When she turns back to me, she’s frowning. “Someone should put you in charge of the welcoming committee. Is that how you greet all of your new neighbors? Don’t you think you should save the tackles for the field?”

Despite the non-staring pact I’ve made with myself, I can’t help but take in her pouty lips and the way her nose wrinkles in the cutest way when she frowns.

Wait. What is she talking about?

“I’m sorry. I was on my way to Dunkin’ Donuts for some coffee, so my brain isn’t fully functional yet. Did you say we’re neighbors?” She nods. My eyes widen. “You’re Sheri’s Maddie?”