Player (A Secret Baby Sports Romance)(245)
I don't know why I say it, especially because it's not the “coldness” I was going for, it's just plain accusatory and mean.
And wrong.
Because the truth is, everything that happened the previous night I did because I wanted it on a level that scares me. I wasn't drunk. I was tipsy perhaps, but certainly nowhere near drunk where I didn't know exactly what I was doing. Javier certainly didn't take advantage of any situation in any way, but for some reason, that’s the vitriol I go with.
He frowns, his eyes narrowing at me; “Are you serious?”
I look away, hoping to move past my own awful words to the point where I can just be clear that this was a one-time thing; “Look, I'm just say-”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” His voice is bolder now as he wakes more. His eyes search mine, furious and full of rage as he slowly shakes his head at me; “You're fucking unbelievable, you know that, Archer?”
The horrible feeling in my gut grows bigger, and stronger, and I feel awful. But I need an excuse; I need someone to blame for the passion of last night besides myself.
Like, him, for instance.
He's up now, pulling his clothes on and muttering to himself in Spanish. He's not looking at me at all.
I take a breath to steady myself and take a step towards him; “Look, I'm sorry.”
“Forget it,” He growls, yanking his shirt down over his head and pulling it down his gorgeous torso. The same torso that I clutched to last night in the throws of having the most incredible sex of my life; the torso I cried out against when I came screaming his name.
“Javier, I-”
“Probably just the tequila, right?” He smiles thinly at me; so thin that it’s just a single hard line across his lips; “Yeah well, you know, that’s my thing; getting poor little rich American girls drunk so I can take advantage of them.” He shakes his head at me before he turns and spits into the sand.
“Javier, I’m sorry I said-”
“No sweat, princess; it’s nothing and it was nothing.”
Ouch.
His look is hard as he turns back and meets my eyes, and I can feel the last of that comfortable feeling just shattering around me, breaking like glass.
“Yeah, it- it's nothing.” I mumble.
“Well, just don’t go telling anyone about this, ok? Can't have people knowing I slept with the law.”
“Oh, like I want people to know I slept with a criminal.”
“Fine.” He shrugs and starts walking down the beach.
“Fine.” I snarl as I begin to follow him at a distance.
Great.
19
Chelsea
“So, how’s Tulum?”
I wince, closing my eyes and biting my lip. I hate this part of the job. Secrets are one thing; I mean I get that when it comes to the nature of who I work for and what I do, they’re part of the job. But it’s when I have to outright and bold-face lie to the people I love about my life that it all feels worse.
“It’s, uh-”
My sister Reagan sighs into the phone; “I cannot believe the Economic Development Conference picked a place in freaking paradise to have their conference, you lucky bitch.”
“Ray, it’s not that nice, I mean we’re inside all day for the lecture ser-”
“Oh, don’t even!” She says, laughing into the phone; “I saw your Facebook pictures; don’t try and downplay it, Chels.”
Right, the Facebook page run by a group of first year interns at Langley, who probably also run a dozen other fake social media accounts for agents. I lean my forehead against the side of the payphone, looking out at the ocean across the street that’s somehow lost a bit of it’s luster today. I wonder what sort of wild vacation in Mexico I’m currently having on someone else’s media feed.
“It’s OK, I guess.” I shake my head, trying to clear it, and quickly change the subject; “So how’s my favorite niece?” Reagan immediately starts baby-talking - literally, nonsensical baby-talking - on the phone; “Uh, Ray?”
“It’s your Auntie Chelsea! Yes it is! Yes it is, Chrissy!”
I grin, feeling, well, not shitty for the first time all day. But there’s a pang, hearing her across the world with her daughter, surrounded by love in a life free of drama, and men with guns, and complications with complicated Spaniards.
“She says hello, Chels. And she wants you to FaceTime us next time,” She pauses; “Are you calling me on a payphone, by the way?”
Routed through a call-center in Eastern Mexico? Yep.
“Uh, yeah, my cell service is nonexistent down here.”
“But the conference is good?”
“Yeah, it-” I look up from the phone booth and see Javier across the street, leaning against a tree and staring out over the ocean, and I frown, thinking about the things I said to him earlier when we woke up. I wrinkle my nose at the thought of it, knowing I was way out of line.