“If you don’t want me to start the season on the IR list due to a broken hand, you’re going to have to loosen up some, darling,” I whisper it close to her ear, smiling, because no way am I letting anyone in this home see this might all be a ruse.
But I’m starting to think I might have the wrong idea about Jillian and our friendship-only status.
There’s no fucking way she can kiss me like she just did, whimper into my mouth at the first taste of my tongue, and not have at least some feelings for me outside a friend.
Which means I’m already winning one battle. And Roman? The man I saw peering through the sheer curtains as she ducked her head and carefully stepped up the drive? He’s nothing more than a bug I’ll squash the moment I have a chance. Especially since I didn’t miss the lustful way he leered at her.
Asshole.
So yeah… I kissed her to remind Roman he’ll never have her again, even if he wants it, but I’m almost glad he interrupted us.
I don’t want to meet Jillian’s parents while I’m mauling her in the gladiola shrubs outside, and I was about five seconds away from not caring.
“Oh shit.”
She instantly releases my hand and apologizes, massaging my hand while cringing at the moon-shaped divots she’s created.
“It’s fine. I was joking. Sort of. You’re hella strong, honey.”
The honey is for who might be overhearing us. I definitely prefer Jilly-Bean.
“Honey?” she mouths, blue eyes sparkling and not a hint of worry in sight.
Let’s hope it’s the kiss that took that away.
“I doubt your mom would approve of Jilly-Bean.”
“No. Probably not. Speaking of, we should find them.”
As if we’ve summoned them, Claire and Stetson Stearns make their appearance at the top of the curved and elaborate wood staircase, Claire’s heels clicking on the wood, giving them away before they announce themselves.
And if Stetson Stearns isn’t the name for a guy who should be wielding a cowboy hat and leather lasso on the Texas range, I don’t know what is. Too bad the guy at the top of the stairs is dressed in a full black suit, probably not going to work, but unable to dress down in anything else, especially when there’s family visiting and points of his wealth to make.
“Jillian,” her mom says, face tight, smile pressed together. “How lovely for you to finally be able to make it home.”
At my side, I reach for Jillian’s hand. Screw the pain. If she needs to make me bleed to be able to handle this weekend, I’ll get stitched up later.
“And with a visitor.” The disdain in her father’s voice travels from twenty-two perfectly polished stairs away. Her father despises me.
I’ve met him once, when they came up to Charlotte to see Jillian. I’d happened to drive her home after a promo event because her Camry’s alternator took a quick trip to the alternator graveyard. I arranged the tow truck and insisted on getting her home so she didn’t have to lug the unsigned gear home in an Uber.
Her parents were at her house for a weekend visit, unbeknownst to Jillian, when we pulled up.
She introduced me, her father sniffed and curled his lip, replying, “Oh yes. You’re one of those athletes.” It sounded like he meant “Oh yes, you’re one of those drug dealers who peddle your heroin to innocent little children at elementary school playgrounds.”
He’s marginally nicer than her mother.
How Jillian even came out of this family halfway normal is a testament to the strength of her own character and morals, and possibly her nana.
“Father, you remember Klaus Newman, right? You’ve met him once.”
“I remember.”
“Mr. Stearns, nice to see you again. Your home is as lovely as Jillian described.”
“Did she now?” Disdain and doubt rings loud and clear in his voice.
I try not to drink too much in pre-season while I’m working on getting in tip-top shape. This weekend and any moment spent with this man might set me back weeks of hard work.
They descend their five-foot-wide staircase as elegantly as I imagine my native homeland king and queen do. Her mother releases the banister as if she’s recently had her fingernails painted and the polish is still wet.
I have to hand it to the Stearns. They are some damn good-looking people. Her mother, trim and lithe and at least five-seven, is almost my height in her four-inch heels. Her well-highlighted blonde hair doesn’t show a single gray hair, and although I know she’s inching close to sixty, she could easily pass for forty. Other than her eyes, the same sparkling blue of Jillian’s, they have nothing in common—from looks to personality, thank goodness.
Stetson, on the other hand? From his dark coloring and sharp features, Jillian is him in feminine form with softened edges.
I’m pretty sure that’s why her mother hates her. From what I’ve gleaned, Claire Stearns believes everyone should be exactly like her and anyone who isn’t—is nothing.
Reaching us, Claire gives Jillian an appraising look, the similar blue eyes colder than Jillian’s but no less intelligent. Her pink painted lips lift into a curt smile as she must find whatever Jillian is wearing acceptable.
“Did you have a safe trip?” she asks, pressing Jillian into a hug akin to something stranger-like and air-kissing her daughter’s cheeks.
“Yes, Mother. It wasn’t long at all. You look well.”
“Of course,” Claire murmurs, brushing down the wrap dress that flows at her hips.
I notice she doesn’t say the same to Jillian before she glances at me and nods. “Klaus. Welcome. I hope you enjoy your weekend. I wasn’t aware Jillian was seeing anyone, or bringing a date.”
“Oh?” Jillian asks. She leans into me in a show of affection. “My response must have gotten lost in the mail. I swear I mailed it in weeks ago.”
“Hm. No bother. We’ll simply let Melinda know and redo your bedroom appropriately.”
“We don’t mean to make extra work. We’re happy to look into Hotel Bennett.”
As I say this, Jillian grins up at me. I figured we should have a back-up plan in place so I looked into nearby hotels.
“Nonsense.” Claire flips her hand in the air. “Of course you’ll stay here. Everyone will expect it.”
“It could be easier. They have a workout room which I need for pre-training. I’d hate to wake anyone up on such an important weekend.”
Thankfully, I’m not talking out of my ass. Hotel Bennett might be old and quaint, but they’re one of the closest hotels—within walking distance—and they have the best workout room of any hotel around. Plus a pool where I can swim laps if it’s too hot to run.
“It’s not a bother. And I insist you staying here. We should have everything you need and if we don’t, Roman moved in his exercise equipment.”
Jillian’s spine goes ramrod straight and those nails of hers dig into my hand again.
“You’re still playing the sports, then?” Stetson asks with his nose so high in the air it’s a wonder he can even see us. He still hasn’t even bothered to greet his daughter.
“Yes, sir.” Dick.
Stetson huffs and then clasps his hands together in a gentle manner, eyeing me. Pretty sure he might be planning my death. “Well, we all must do what we must sometimes.”