Rock Kiss 02 Rock Hard(52)

“Do I really only call to ask you to come in to work?” he said now, his voice slicing through the darkness of her memories to make her heart skip another beat. “Today I’m calling to ask if you want to go to a game.”

“A game?”

“Danny’s playing tonight. The entire clan will turn up to support him.”

That meant she’d be meeting his family. Her face went hot, then cold before she realized it wasn’t likely that big of a deal. No doubt Gabriel’s idea of a date often included a rugby game. And at the moment, he still thought he wanted her. He hadn’t yet figured out how messed up she truly was.

“Okay,” she said, unable to resist the invitation despite knowing it was inevitable she’d disappoint him.

“Kickoff’s at six. I’ll pick you up at four—we’ll park at my parents’ place in Mount Eden and walk the rest of the way in to avoid the game traffic.”




FOUR HOURS LATER, WITH another two hours to go before Gabriel picked her up, Charlotte was having a mini panic attack—over clothing. “Molly, help me!” she cried out to her friend, whose face was currently on the laptop Charlotte had put up on the dresser so she could show Molly her choices.

While she’d made friends in the cooking class she’d joined, only Molly could she trust with her neurotic behavior.

“Charlie”—Molly grinned—“it’s a rugby game. Jeans, a tee, a sweatshirt, and a windbreaker or a coat because it’ll get cold by the time the game ends, and you’ll be set.”

Charlotte knew that. But— “I want to look nice.”

Wicked amusement in Molly’s brown eyes. “From what you’ve told me, I don’t think T-Rex cares about your clothes. He wants you naked.”

Glaring at her best friend, who laughed in unrepentant glee, Charlotte sat down on the bed with her chin in her hands. “What about makeup?” she asked, feeling like a teenager about to go on her first date. “Do I wear makeup to a rugby game?”

“Hmm.” Molly pursed her lips. “I think a touch won’t hurt if it makes you feel good. Let down your hair too—it’s so pretty.”

Charlotte didn’t often wear her hair down, and for the first time, she realized she’d never told Molly why. Strange, when she’d shared so much with her friend, but that one thing had never come up. Even now, when she parted her lips to speak, she couldn’t. How did she explain that the fear of having her hair pulled was strong enough for her to avoid risking it?

She knew logically that her short ponytail could as easily be used to savagely wrench back her head, but Richard had done it with her hair loose and so that was her secret terror. The idea of feeling the painful tug on her scalp was enough to pebble her skin, chill her blood.

Maybe because it was one of the first things Richard had done that nightmare weekend, a harbinger of the horror, humiliation, and agonizing pain to come.

The one thing of which she was deeply proud was that she hadn’t shorn off her hair altogether. Richard had threatened to do that. Charlotte refused to give him the satisfaction of finishing what he’d begun. Because her soft blond hair that curled if let loose? It was the only thing about which she’d ever been vain—she’d used to think it was her one good feature.

Richard would not take that from her.

“Hey, Charlie?” Molly’s eyes darkened, expression sobering. “I know that look. Something I said triggered a flashback.”

Releasing a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding, Charlotte locked gazes with her friend. “I miss you, Moll.” They still talked or messaged every day, but she missed meeting her best friend for lunch, missed laughing with her as they threw together an impromptu dinner, missed her warm, strong presence.

“I miss you too.” Molly’s voice sounded thick, her eyes growing wet. “Soon as the tour wraps up, I’m flying over and kidnapping you. T-Rex can just deal.”

“Don’t worry,” Charlotte said on a shaky laugh. “I’ll sneak my vacation into his calendar and forge his signature on the approval.”

“I see your boss has been a good influence.” Molly grinned. “Next they’ll be calling you ‘the Baird.’”

Charlotte stuck out her tongue at her friend and picked up a black sweatshirt that featured the iconic silver fern emblem of the national team on one side. “I guess I’ll wear this.” It had been her eighteenth-birthday gift from her parents; she rarely wore it, not wanting it to fade, but they’d have loved the idea of her wearing it to a game at Eden Park, the Bishop by her side.