Kissing Madeline (Dearest #3) (17 page)

My stomach twists as she stomps off. Another text message buzzes in on my phone, but I can’t bring myself to look at it.

She’s probably right.

No. Daren promised he’d tell me, break things off, if he ever wanted to sample other options.

It’s this moment that finds me cursing my ex because I trusted him so wholeheartedly that I ignored all the signs he was unfaithful. And now, whether or not Daren is hooking up with other girls, he bears my knee jerk mistrust.

An hour later, I’m about to drag myself home when Spencer pops his head in my cubicle. “We’re doing promos all week for Boston’s Number One Bachelor Contest, so I need you to lay off the news assignments.”

“I thought Nicole was covering that story.”

He gives me a bored shrug. “People seem to like you on the sports segment, so I’m going with a hunch.”

I love how he says “people” like me, as in, he doesn’t.
I don’t like you either, buddy.

Well, that would explain why Nicole looked like she wanted to tear me a new one. This should be her story. She’s been campaigning for it all week. Lord knows I don’t want it.

Glancing down at my color-coded notes for the other assignments I’m working on, I can’t quite believe what he’s asking me to do.

“But I’m doing research for two news stories already, and I’m hoping to do a feature on this homeless shelter that—”

“Yeah, I don’t give a shit. Give the work to someone else, and bring that darling smile that everyone seems to love and be ready tomorrow morning at eight.” He starts to walk out and pauses. “And would it kill you to wear something sexy for once? If you wear a business suit tomorrow like you’re covering City Hall, I’m firing you, so go home and find something that boosts ratings.”

And then he’s gone with every ounce of pride I used to have in my job clutched in his money-grubbing hands.

I spend the next several minutes moping around as I try to get a grip. But by the time I head home, I have an idea that I hope gets me a small reprieve. God knows I need one.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

- Daren -

Any semblance of contentment goes down the drain the moment I see that text from Veronica.

Can we talk?

That would be a resounding fuck, no. I’m actually surprised it’s taken her this long to reach out to me. But we are over. And no amount of crying on her part will repair the damage done in our relationship. I’m sick of her lies. Of her drama. Of her bullshit.

Besides, any feelings I had for her withered and died the night of the draft when she leveled that bomb at me. The moment she left, I packed up the shit she had at my place and shipped it to her mother’s the next day.

Jeanine pops her head into the locker room, jarring me from the foxhole I retreat to whenever I think of Veronica. “Daren, I need you out here in five. The other guys are here, and the station is ready to tape.”

When the door closes, Quentin struts over naked and mimics her voice. “Daren, I need you out here because all of your adoring fans are ready!” And then he pretends to make out with himself.

The guys laugh, and I toss a jockstrap at his face. He ducks with a laugh and shakes his bare ass at me.

I tilt my head back and laugh. “I see how it is, Q. Jealousy is an evil thing. Not everyone can be Boston’s number one bachelor.”

Dumbest contest ever, and if it didn’t raise millions for a few great causes, I’d never do it. Besides, the guy who wins gets the donation to his charity matched by the sponsoring corporations, and I plan to get the St. Martin’s Homeless Shelter expanded threefold.

My parents might be rich now, but my mother’s family was homeless at one point when she was a child, and that always resonated with me. Bad things happen to good people every day, and my family found help in this charity back when it was a one-room food pantry behind a grocery store. So yeah, I’ll stomach a silly bachelor contest if it means I can help St. Martin’s.

Brentwood rolls his eyes at me, not caring that I’m obviously joking. He’s been bitchy all week, and I’ve been tempted to ask if he needs tampons. But then, I don’t know any woman with PMS this bad, so it’s an unfair slight to females.

By the time I get to the conference room, the guys are each standing by their respective female fans, who have been rounded up to coo over us. Five Rebel cheerleaders hover in the corner, and when one spots me, she beelines over and hugs me.

“Hey, Daren.”

I give her an awkward side hug while my eyes search for the girl who has been front and center in my dirty dreams all week.

A fire-engine-red dress in the corner catches my attention.

Sweet mother.

Maddie glances over her shoulder, and I catch my breath. Her black hair is down, tousled like my hands have been in them. Doe eyes stare back at me in a moment that drowns out the thirty other people in the room.

I’ve never seen her so dressed up. Although she looked awesome the night of my party, the color red amps up her sexiness, which I didn’t think was possible. Today, she looks like a flame, from the silky smooth fabric wrapped around her like a second skin to her sky-blue eyes. Damn, she’s mouthwatering.

Her pouty lips give me a flirty smile before she returns her attention to the camera guy, and I take a gasping breath when our connection is broken.

Voodoo woman.

I haven’t had time to connect with her this week. And when I say connect, I mean fuck her senseless. I intend to rectify the situation as soon as possible. She’s supposed to come over tonight, thank Christ.

That Spencer asshole grabs the mic that’s been set up in front of a black backdrop and welcomes everyone, promising that the only reason we’re doing this on my home turf is because the team has the available space. Jeanine winks at me from his side, and I know that’s all bullshit. I’d bet money she talked Spencer into doing all of our group promo shots here. Why it makes a difference where it’s shot is beyond me.

Spencer motions toward us. “We’re adding two more athletes and breaking you into two teams. The group that gets the most money will get your cause featured in prime time segments, which can raise additional revenue for your charities. We’ll still do an individual winner, but this is another way to generate interest. One team of three guys will go with Maddie for interviews and promos, and the other will go with Nicole.” He motions to the two girls who wave behind him.

After a few more introductions, I get ushered toward Maddie, and as we’re gearing up to shoot our first promo, the back door opens and some tatted-up fighter walks in with what appear to be cage girls. He looks vaguely familiar.

Maddie tenses next to me and curses under her breath.

The guy heads straight for Maddie, and the way his eyes crawl up her body make me want to launch my fist into his face.

“Hey, babe,” he says to Maddie, which doesn’t seem to bother the two girls draped over him. “You’re looking as hot as ever.”

Maddie shakes her head, closes her eyes for a moment and then points across the room. “Jacob, you’re with Nicole. And do me a favor.” She waits for him to lean forward. “Don’t talk to me. In fact, you can pretend we've never met.”

The arctic air blowing off her is enough to give me chills. He starts to open his mouth, but Nicole trots over to usher him to the other side of the room.

“You know that guy?” I whisper to her when he’s out of earshot.

Maddie taps the mic that’s clipped to her dress and asks, “Now what gave you that impression?”

Even though she’s clearly brimming with tension, as soon as we’re taping, she’s all charm and smiles as she beams confidence into the camera. I love her focus. She can block out that drama and get her shit done like a pro.

Pride fills me for my girl.

Whoa.

No, Daren.
My friend. My fuck buddy. But definitely not
my girl
. Don’t forget that.

Surprisingly, though, our interview is strangely awkward. I can’t totally pinpoint why. Was it the conversation with that fighter guy or is she pissed the cheerleaders are grabbing onto me? But damn. That’s all at the direction of her boss. Spencer tells the girls to sit on my lap and wrap their arms around me.

I guess I can’t be surprised Maddie’s all business, getting the segment done before she’s off interviewing the other guys.

But that’s not what bothers me. That’s not what has me second-guessing our arrangement.

I can’t lie. Slipping like that, thinking of Maddie as mine, scares me a little. Okay, it scares me a whole helluva lot.

I’ve done monogamous sex before without getting attached. In retrospect, that basically describes my entire relationship with Veronica. Because now that I’ve had some space, I realize I didn’t love her. And she sure as hell didn’t love me.

I tell myself I won’t fly into asshole mode and ignore Maddie when she calls, but that’s a moot point because she doesn’t call like she said she would. Our Tuesday night plans come and go with radio silence.

By the time Thursday morning rolls around and I head out to the field for our weekly
Football 101
interview, I’m feeling like a dick for not at least texting her yesterday to ask if she was okay after the run-in with that MMA fighter.

Turns out he’s her ex. Guess I’m not the first jock she’s dated.

But we’re not dating, so scratch that.

She’s cordial during my interview, and I can’t decide if her nonchalance is a relief or irritating as hell. Getting distance from her should be a good thing. If we’re just fucking around, then none of this should bother me.

But it does.

I’m hoping to get a moment to talk to her afterward—to say what, I’m not sure—but Jeanine is hovering like a starved vulture and ushers me over to a group of sorority girls on the sidelines to shoot more hype footage for the bachelor contest. I don’t know why I’ve turned into her pet project, but it’s taxing.

On my drive home, I’m in a foul mood, so when my cell rings, I press the Bluetooth button on the steering wheel and grunt hello.

“Son, now what kind of greeting is that? You sound like a constipated bear.”

I chuckle. “Hi, Mom.”

“How’s my favorite son?”

“I’m your only son, Mom. If I’m not at the top of your list, I’m doing something wrong.”

“Guess who I saw the other day?”

This can’t be good. “No idea.”

“Clementine.”
Here we go.
Mom’s never gotten over my breakup from my high school sweetheart. But this is not the shit I want to talk about today. Or ever. “Have you talked to her lately?”

My mom is digging around for something. “We talked a couple of days ago. Why?”

“I was wondering if you’ve read her new book. My friend says it’s fantastic!” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “But I heard it has sex, so I’m reading it on my Kindle where I keep my
Fifty Shades
.”

That is… something I don’t need to know. “You really called to tell me this?”

Mental note, avoid Clem’s new book and my mother’s e-reader.

“No, I called to find out if you’ve ever considered asking her out again. The two of you grew up together. You were inseparable. That girl always had her heart set on you.”

“Mom, that ship has sailed. She’s got a boyfriend. They’re practically married. Honestly, I don’t have those kind of feelings for her anymore. Never mind that if I messed up her new relationship, Jax would choke me with his bare hands.”

My best friend Jax, Clem’s twin brother, almost broke my face when he found out what I’d done in high school. And I let him. Because I fully deserved it.

“But you two were so good together.”

I shake my head. “No, we weren’t. I was a dick.” And if I’m being totally honest with myself, she never looked at me the way she looks at Gavin. The asshole.

“But have you apologized for what happened with Veronica?”

My hands grip the steering wheel. “Of course I apologized. I’m tempted to ask what you know, but that might be awkward.”

“Son, I’ve known all along what happened in high school, how you broke Clementine’s heart”—she lowers her voice again—“by sleeping with Veronica.” She clears her throat. “But I knew you were going through so much then, and I didn’t want to add to your situation.”

Fuck. This never gets easier.

Yes, I was the cocksucker who cheated on the girl I’d been crazy about since I was in diapers with a woman who would make me miserable. That’s some karmic shit right there. Reason number one why I should never be in a serious relationship again.

“Did you call me to crack open my chest and dig around with a pitchfork?”

Her little laugh rings through the phone. “Good heavens, no. I just want you to find a good woman, someone to anchor you. Someone to tell you the truth when you don’t want to hear it. A nice girl who will take care of you, maybe even when you don’t deserve it.”