Page 5 of Hateful Liar
“Because I gave you the shirt off my back? That makes me an asshole?” I laugh, noting her eyes dropping to my stomach. And I can’t help but flex the six-pack I’ve spent plenty of time earning.
“No, you’re not an asshole,” Coach says. “That’s nice of you to offer her something to cover up.” It’s the first time he’s acknowledged the fact that his daughter is standing here with her ass out on display. But he still doesn’t seem concerned in the least. “But I need you here. We’re off to a shaky start going in with a new QB, but if we focus on what matters most, we’ll be able to capture that ultimate victory.” He reaches up, slapping his palm against my bicep as he looks to his daughter. “Morgan, just ride home with your mother and Ryder. I’ll get Paul to drop me off when we’re done.”
In that moment, I see her hatred pointed at her father, and it overrides the loathing she’s aimed at me. I mean, she’s given me some harsh death stares on a good day, but the disgust she has aimed at her dad almost makes me feel sorry for her. Almost. Because I know nothing down in her evil core truly feels bad for anyone but herself.
She stoops down and grabs my shirt off the pavement. “On second thought, I’d appreciate that ride home, Cade.” She pulls the shirt on and wastes no time walking around to the passenger side of my truck. Pulling the door open, she climbs into the cab before slamming it closed.
“Guess I’m leaving now.” There’s a bit of amusement festering in me as I eye the headstrong spitfire in my vehicle. There’s definitely a part of me that’s relieved about leaving, even if it means a holy terror will be riding shotgun when I escape this place.
“That’s a great idea,” Coach takes a few steps backwards, clapping his hands together. “Head to my house, and I’ll meet you there instead.”
Shit. Not what I wanted to do at all. And definitely not a great idea. But Coach and Dustin hurry away as I focus back on the raging vixen sitting in my truck. This day really just got way too fuckin’ complicated.
3
MORGAN
And I thought sitting in the god-awful heat with my thighs glued to golf cart’s seat would be the most miserable part of my day. Nope. Now my bare ass is stuck to the raggedy seat of Cade’s truck. My eyes stay focused out the windshield. But all I can hear is Dad’s voice in my head. He all but got on his knees in the damn parking lot. How does he care so intensely who throws around an air-filled pigskin? Like, more than anything, or anyone, else? It’s incomprehensible to me that he’d do just about anything for his ball players but discounts his own children.
“You good over there?” Cade’s teasing, playful mood scrapes my nerves. I look over to see a smug expression covering his face. He’s enjoying this shit show too much.
“I’d be much better if your raggedy seat wasn’t scratching my ass.”
“Ah. Used to some fancier ass pampering.” He shifts in his seat, casually reclining with his left hand on the wheel, his other resting on the console between us. “Next time, ask one of those pompous country club boys to give you a ride home instead then.”
“Will do.” Not that there will be a next time, because I won’t ever make the mistake of riding with my family—lesson learned. Always have my car. Check.
“No you won’t. Because it wouldn’t piss off Daddy as much.”
Slowly, I look over to him to see that stupid smug smile still effortlessly situated on his face. He knows I only accepted his offer when I realized how much my dad didn’t want him to leave Crescent Fleur. I don’t care that he knows. Him being able to read me so well is what truly infuriates me. “You were nothing but a convenient tool. For once.”
“My pleasure, princess.”
Ugh. Nothing is going to make me feel better than getting the hell out of this truck and out of this goddamn T-shirt that smells too damn good. Why can’t it reek? Why can’t I be utterly repulsed? “Just shut up and get me home sometime today.”
“Sure. Where do you live again?”
Too fucking far away. It’s only twenty minutes or so without traffic in actual time back to Uptown New Orleans from Crescent Fleur, but a million minutes in the time warp that is this damn day. I know he’s once again trying to yank on my nerves, and it’s working. He knows exactly where I live because his stupid ass spent as much time at my house as I did when we were kids.
“Call your mom. She’ll tell you how to get there.” It’s a bitch move. I know. But I don’t regret it because, as was my intention, a furious expression appears on his face. Good. I’m tired of being the only miserable one on this trek across the city. Thank fuck he keeps his mouth shut until we pull into the driveway, and he parks in front of my house.
I bail out of his stupid truck as soon as he pulls to a stop. Surprisingly quick, he gets out and follows me up the porch. Affronted, I say, “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
He doesn’t have a chance to respond before I see Dad’s car steer into the drive with Cade’s brother following behind in his truck. Cade glances over his shoulder then looks back to me. “I’m going to chat with your dad about what really matters to him.” He leans forward, his mouth near my ear as he adds, “And I’d say it’s a safe bet that your name won’t come up.”
His words sink in as he quickly turns and hurries down the few stairs, heading to where Dad parked. And of course, my father steps out of his car with the brightest smile on his face. Much like pure joy, something I haven’t witnessed in a very long time. Cade might be a bastard who needs his ass put in check. But he’s absolutely correct when it comes to my dad. The earth could open up and swallow me whole, and Dad wouldn’t notice unless it happened on the football field and interfered with his game.
Little does he know, the universe might not impede on his perfect season, but I sure as fuck plan to. And throwing off his precious new QB will be more than thrilling. It will be satisfying to finally put Cade Crawford in his place. On his knees, begging to be put out of his misery.
Dad walks Cade through the open garage bay as I make my way off the porch and follow them inside the house. By the time they reach the kitchen, Dad is already solely focused on the game. Cade tries to not acknowledge me, but I see the tightness in his stance and the strain of him struggling to not look my way. Moving in front of him, I lift his T-shirt off and drape it over his shoulder, leaning against him as I say. “You’re nothing but a convenient tool for him too. You won’t matter once he gets what he needs from you.Ifyou can even perform.”
Cade’s muscle tense under my hand as it glides down his side, my nails trailing down his muscles as I step back. He’s no longer able to pretend I don’t exist or put my words out of his head as his sight fixates on me. And I know I’m already getting to him.
Football is as much a mental game as it is a physical one. I should know. I’ve heard nothing but the philosophy of the game discussed at the dinner table my entire life. And Cade will soon realize, as well as Dad, I’m more prepared than either of them. Because unlike them, I have nothing to lose. Including myself.
4
CADE