If Love Had A Price
: Chapter 21

Kris regretted her decision to attend Skylar’s game the second she stepped foot in the stadium Wednesday evening. The area buzzed with activity—the players warming up on the field, the friends and family laughing and shouting encouragement to their sisters and daughters and friends, the soccer camp employees huddled on the sidelines.

Despite the crowd, her eyes zeroed in on the glint of golden-brown hair in the bleachers. She didn’t have to look for him—her body was so attuned to his she could pinpoint his presence within seconds with missile accuracy.

Nate sat on the fifth row of bleachers on the far side of the stadium, devastating in a white T-shirt, olive green camouflage jacket, and jeans. His skin stretched taut over his cheekbones, and even at a distance, Kris spotted shadows beneath his eyes that indicated he hadn’t been sleeping well. His bronzed skin appeared wan beneath the field’s fluorescent lights.

Despite all that, he remained the most heartbreakingly beautiful man she’d ever seen.

One. Two. Three. Kris tracked the painful thuds slamming against her ribcage with curious detachment.

“You okay?” Teague asked. Being the good friend he was, he’d agreed to accompany her tonight even though he must have better things to do than attend a high school soccer game.

“Yes.” Kris straightened and squared her shoulders. She could do this. It was just a game. She didn’t have to speak to or look at Nate if she didn’t want to.

She had, however, come prepared for battle. Her blowout this morning left her hair a sleek, shining waterfall of multi-toned brown down her back, while her expertly applied makeup enhanced her huge dark eyes and full lips. She wore a loose pale blue silk blouse tucked into faded, hip-hugging jeans and unbuttoned enough to reveal the white lace bralette corset underneath. A pair of strappy neutral wedges completed the perfect, casual-but-sexy outfit.

The eyes of more than a few more interested males followed Kris as she and Teague edged their way toward one of the few empty spots in the bleachers. The seats also happened to be directly below and to the left of where Nate sat with his father.

Kris hadn’t realized the elder Reynolds was here—Nate’s body had blocked Michael from her earlier vantage point—but there was no mistaking the olive skin and strong jaw. He was the spitting image of his son, only older and more beaten down by life.

Interesting. He and Nate had come together. She wondered if they’d patched things up? Michael still looked like he was in withdrawal—the shakes were a dead giveaway—but his color had improved since Saturday.

It’s none of your business. You’re not Nate’s girlfriend anymore.

Kris purposefully avoided looking in father and son’s direction when she took her seat.

“I’m going to grab a hot dog before the game starts,” Teague said. “You want anything?”

Kris’s stomach growled at the promise of food. She’d been too anxious to eat anything except a small salad and smoothie all day.

“A hot dog and water would be great.”

“You got it.”

Teague left his jacket on his seat, and Kris had to place her hand on it to prevent it from sliding onto the floor after the person behind them kicked at the bleacher like he was trying out for a college soccer team himself.

She turned to give the baseball-cap-wearing frat boy a piece of her mind, but her gaze caught and locked onto Nate’s instead.

Nate’s green eyes bore into hers, dark and simmering with barely veiled fury. His handsome face appeared carved from granite.

What the hell did he have to be mad about? He was the one who broke up with her! Kris should be the pissed-off one.

Another crack split her insides open, but she lifted her chin and returned his glare, refusing to be cowed. Let him stare. Let him see what he’d lost.

All the while, she bled inside. Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ FɪndNovᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Thankfully, Teague returned before the stadium exploded from the intensity of Kris and Nate’s silent stare down.

When she tore her gaze away from her ex-boyfriend to focus on her friend, oxygen returned to her lungs, and it took all she had not to gulp in lungfuls of fresh air.

“If looks could kill, you’d both be eating dirt right now.” A faint glimmer of amusement threaded Teague’s words.

There was no need to clarify who he meant when he said “both.”

“Good thing they don’t. I imagine dirt tastes like shit.” Kris smiled when she saw Teague had dressed her hot dog just the way she liked it—ketchup, no mustard, and a sprinkling of relish. “You remembered.”

“I’ve been on the receiving end of too many drunk, hangry Kris tantrums not to remember.”

That elicited a genuine laugh. Poor Teague. He was right—God help whoever was around Kris when she was drunk, hungry/angry, and craving random foods.

She glimpsed the hard set of Nate’s jaw over Teague’s shoulder. He was still staring at her like she’d killed his (nonexistent) dog.

Acting on pure instinct, she leaned over and kissed Teague on the cheek.

The position gave her an unobstructed view of Nate, who ignored whatever his father was saying to him in favor of upping the intensity of his glare. Displeasure rolled off him in waves, so thick and potent she could almost touch it.

“I’m going to assume that kiss wasn’t for my benefit,” Teague said wryly when Kris pulled back. “Did it work?”

On the field, the game started.

“It doesn’t matter.” Kris bit into her hot dog and watched the players’ smooth, coordinated movements. Skylar took possession of the ball and passed it to Lacey, who dribbled it further down the right sideline before kicking it to another teammate. “It’s pure testosterone on his part. Not jealousy.”

It was nice to see she could still rile him up, though.

Teague stretched, a deceptively casual move that allowed him to glance over his shoulder without making his intent obvious.

“I don’t know. He looks jealous to me.” Teague finished his stretch by draping an arm over Kris’s shoulder. The amusement in his voice deepened. “I’d bet my new surfboard that he would tear my head off if he got the chance.”

Kris smiled grimly. “You’re sweet, but let’s not talk about him tonight.”

Nate already took up too much space in her head, her heart, her life. Even though they were no longer together, memories of him lingered in her consciousness like a bad pop song that wouldn’t go away—only worse, because no amount of Spotify replays would solve the problem.

She could only rely on time and distraction.

Kris focused on the game and tried to ignore the green eyes burning a hole in her skin. She didn’t look behind her again, but she felt him. His presence obliterated everything else around her.

Still, she tried.

The purpose of the camp’s exhibition game wasn’t to crown a winner. After all, the players had all attended the same summer camp and trained under the same coach. No, the game was an opportunity for them to show off their skills to the best college coaches in the country—the ones in charge of recruitment and deciding which up-and-coming talents were worth full-ride scholarships that could make some lucky girls’ academic and athletic dreams come true.

Nevertheless, the audience cheered as if they were watching the World Cup finals. Kris hated sports—the idea of running around on a field in the same clothes as everyone else, sweating and passing a ball around, was her version of hell—but toward the end of the night, even she got caught up in the excitement and thrill of it all.

“Go, Skylar!” she yelled, jumping in excitement when the blonde scored a goal that put her team one point ahead with two minutes to spare.

A male voice echoed her sentiment.

Kris made the mistake of looking to her right. Her gaze snagged on Nate’s, and they connected for one breathless, torturous eternity before she broke the bond and retook her seat. Her heart jumped all over the place—from excitement over Skylar’s goal or the brief sizzle of eye contact, she didn’t know.

“So much for not liking soccer,” Teague teased. He was on his fifth hot dog. The boy could eat like a horse.

“Shut up.”

The buzzer signaling the end of the game sounded, and the audience erupted into a mixture of cheers and disappointed groans.

Skylar’s team won, 4-3. Skylar had scored the winning goal.

Sure, the game wasn’t about winners and losers, but pride bloomed in Kris’s chest nonetheless. She and Teague joined the crowd pushing their way onto the field, and he placed a hand on the small of her back to guide her through the crush of people. It was the comforting gesture of a friend, not the possessive one of a lover.

Kris swore she heard a growl behind her.

“You’re blocking my way.” The smoke-and-whiskey voice contained noticeable tendrils of irritation.

She stiffened and glared over her shoulder at Nate.

Gone was the stoic but apologetic man from Saturday night. In its place was a crackling pillar of pent-up possession and fury. Nate’s expression made a thundercloud look cheerful by comparison.

“Who died and made you king? In case you can’t tell, there are people blocking us, too.” Her cool tone belied the warning bells raising their alarms throughout her body. Danger! Danger!

Nate was too close. Kris could smell his coffee-and-leather scent and see the gold flecks in his eyes. She wanted to step back out of the danger zone, but that would be admitting weakness.

Instead, she reached for Teague, her fingers curling around his arm for support.

Nate tracked the movement with the intensity of a predator. Something akin to pain raked across his face before it disappeared as quickly as it came.

“Is everything okay?” Michael came up beside his son and examined Kris with mild surprise. “Hi, Kris.”

“Hello, Mr. Reynolds.”

Awkward silence punctuated the air.

“I’m Teague.” The blond held out his hand; the other remained on Kris’s waist. “Kris’s friend.”

Nate’s eye twitched.

“Right.” Michael grasped Teague’s hand, seeming grateful for a normal interaction. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too.”

More awkward silence.

“I’m going to congratulate Sky before we head out.” Kris last saw her mentee in deep conversation with a woman whom, based on the familiarity with which Skylar spoke to her, she assumed was the camp coach. “She did a great job today.”

Michael’s head bobbed up and down. “That she did.”

Nate remained silent. He hadn’t said a word since his dickish proclamation that Kris and Teague were blocking his way.

He did, however, follow Kris, Teague, and Michael as they elbowed their way through the thinning crowd. A majority of players and parents had dispersed, and it didn’t take them long to reach Skylar, who was still talking on the sidelines with her coach. An older man with thinning blond hair and a black tracksuit had joined them.

The coach caught sight of the foursome and said something to the man. She shook his hand, a motion Skylar repeated before the mystery man walked away.

“You came!” Skylar’s face lit up when she saw her father. She tackled him in a huge hug, which he returned with a laugh.

First the MentHer gala, now the big game. Two in one week. Not bad for a man who’d been MIA on the fatherly duties front for half a decade.

Kris caught the grim set of Nate’s mouth out of the corner of her eye, but he appeared less suspicious than when he learned Michael had shown up to the gala.

Skylar hugged Nate next, and the sight of the siblings’ arms wrapped tight around each other, pride shining in Nate’s eyes while his sister burrowed her face in his chest, tugged at Kris’s heartstrings.

I really am going soft.

“Hey, Kris.” Skylar broke away from Nate and approached Kris, stopping a few inches short. “Oops, I’m all sweaty.”

Kris looked at her expensive outfit, then at Skylar’s sweat-dampened jersey, and heaved a huge sigh. She opened her arms.

Skylar grinned, closing the distance between them and hugging her with the same ferocity she had her family. She was the biggest hugger Kris had ever met. “You look hot,” she whispered. “I bet Nate is eating his heart out.”

A smirk tugged at Kris’s lips. She’d taught the girl well.

It was a good thing Skylar was fundamentally sweet, or the male Reynoldses would have major trouble on their hands.

“Thanks for coming. You look different with your shirt on,” Skylar chirped in her greeting to Teague.

Color rose on his cheeks, and Kris’s smirk widened.

Who was she kidding? Skylar was already trouble.

Michael and Nate choked at the same time.

“Excuse me?” Nate’s voice was all gravel and growl. “When the f—” He glanced at Skylar’s coach, who was too busy scribbling on her clipboard to pay attention to the mini-drama unfolding in front of her. “When did you see him with his shirt off?”

“At the beach on Monday,” Skylar said, all big eyes and innocence. “That was when I ran into him and Kris and invited them to the game.”

“I see.” Nate’s jaw flexed like he was mulling over whether to say something else, but the coach finally looked up and introduced herself.

“I’m Coach Karsten,” she said in a brisk, efficient tone. Kris appreciated her no-nonsense attitude, though the coach would look much better with a shorter haircut and a pop of lipstick. That scraggly shoulder-length thing she had going on did her no favors.

Coach Karsten ran through Skylar’s performance during the game and in the camp overall. Kris was about to excuse herself—the discussion seemed more relevant to the Reynolds family than outsiders, and she didn’t want to keep Teague here longer than necessary, considering he’d already given up his night for her—when the woman said something that stopped her in her tracks.

“The man we were speaking to earlier is the women’s soccer coach at Stanford.” No noticeable change in Coach Karsten’s expression, but Kris detected a glimmer of pride beneath the words. “Skylar made a big impression on him tonight. There’s a good chance he’ll offer her a full cost-of-attendance sports scholarship if she plays her cards right.”

Silence fell.

Skylar was bouncing with excitement, but Michael and Nate resembled statues. Kris’s pulse kicked up a notch, and even Teague looked impressed.

“Holy shit!” Nate finally burst out. He swept his sister into a hug again and flashed Coach Karsten an apologetic glance. “Sorry about the language.”

A hint of a smile. “I’m a soccer coach. I’ve heard worse.”

That broke the ice. Soon everyone was laughing and hugging and jumping. Kris’s heart was in her throat. She’d worked closely with Skylar on her college applications over the summer and knew how much Stanford meant to the younger girl. It wasn’t just about her future; it was about her mother’s legacy. Joanna Reynolds had been a Stanford alumna who’d chosen to use her English degree to mold young minds instead of chasing Pulitzers and writing the next great American novel. Education had been important to her, and Skylar wanted to follow in her footsteps—but as a science, not English, major, because “Shakespeare is so boring.”

The Reynoldses wouldn’t be able to afford the top-tier school on their own, but a cost-of-attendance scholarship covered everything—tuition and fees, room and board, travel, even personal expenses.

“It’s not set in stone yet,” Coach Karsten warned. “He’ll be monitoring how Skylar does during her school’s regular soccer season, and the competition for full cost-of-attendance scholarships is tough. Stanford has already recruited most of its incoming players, and there are only one or two spots left. She has to be at the top of her game. No slacking off.”

“I won’t,” Skylar interjected. “I won’t slack off. I’m going to get that scholarship.” Determination turned her words to steel.

The coach’s mouth softened into a proud smile.

There was more discussion about soccer and nutrition and training tips.

Kris stifled a yawn. She was excited for Skylar, but she was also exhausted. It’d been a long day and talk of macronutrients didn’t exactly fire her up.

“I’m heading out,” she said during a lull. “Congratulations again, Sky. I’ll see you at the workshop tomorrow?”

“Yep.” Skylar glowed. “Good night. Thanks again for coming.”

Kris and Teague walked off the field, with Kris making it a point not to look in Nate’s direction. They were halfway to the parking lot when the hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

“Kris, wait.”

She stopped, her heart thundering in her ears. “Go ahead,” she said when Teague shot her a questioning glance. “I’ll meet you at the car.”

Caution lined his handsome features. “You sure?”

She nodded.

“Okay. Call me if you need anything.” Her friend cast another glance over his shoulder before he disappeared into the darkness of the night.

Kris readjusted her icy mask and turned.

Nate stood a few feet away, looking like a god beneath the bright stadium lights. His hair gleamed like a halo, and the shadows sharpened the lines of his already-knife-like jaw and cheekbones. His expression was inscrutable.

“What do you want?” Cool. Crisp. Clear. No hint of the painful inferno raging inside her.

“I wanted to…” He paused, a muscle working in his throat. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for Skylar.”

“‘Thank you’ accepted.”

A hint of amusement flared in his eyes. “Most people would’ve said ‘you’re welcome.’”

“I’m not most people.”

“I know.” Nate’s voice lowered. Became more intimate. “Trust me. I know.”

The words flowed through Kris’s veins like honey until she remembered the last conversation they’d had.

I can’t do this.

This has always been a short-term thing for me.

She ignored the sudden, painful clench in her chest. “Was that all? Teague is waiting for me.”

Turned out the other man’s name was a trigger because all traces of amusement disappeared from Nate’s face and a growl rumbled from his chest. “Are you two together?”

Kris couldn’t believe he had the nerve to ask her that. They broke up less than a week ago. Did he think she had backup boyfriends on speed dial? Even if she did… “That’s none of your damn business.”

“You’re Skylar’s mentor, which means what you do affects her, and what affects her affects me.”

That was a leap, jump, and stretch, and they both knew it.

“Fine. Maybe I am dating him,” Kris snapped. “I took your advice and found someone ‘more like me.’ We come from the same social circle. We eat in the same restaurants and vacation in the same places. And…” Time for the knockout blow. “He’s the best kisser I’ve ever had.” Total lie, and a contradiction of what she told him the day Teague took them flying. But Nate apparently believed her, because shock and dismay rippled across his features.

Nothing dented a male’s pride like having his physical prowess undermined.

The sight should’ve elicited satisfaction, but Kris felt no pleasure. Only sadness. When had they become so cruel and vindictive toward each other? Nate had been her haven, her anchor. The one who’d understood her better than anyone else…until he tossed her aside like a pair of old shoes because they weren’t “the right fit.” Whatever the hell that meant.

“I should’ve been with him this entire time,” Kris managed past the lump in her throat. “You’re right. People like you and me? We’d never work. I’m meant to be with someone like Teague. So really, I should thank you for doing me a favor when you broke up with me.”

Every line of Nate’s body radiated tension. His emerald eyes had turned dark, almost black, and they blazed with emotion before he snuffed it.

“Good.” Kris barely recognized his voice, it was so guttural and raw. “I’m glad.”

Pain slashed its claws across her insides, and she knew she had five minutes tops before she lost it.

She turned and left without another word or a backward glance.

When she arrived at the car, Teague took one look at her face and backed out of the parking space with haste. Thankfully, he didn’t try to talk to her; he just turned the radio on to an easy listening station and low volume to mask the sounds of Kris’s soft sniffles.

She hated crying in front of other people. She hated crying, period. Yet here she was, crying over a man she’d known for, what, two months?

Pathetic.

Thankfully, by the time they reached her house, Kris had composed herself, though her nose remained red and her mascara smudged.

“Sorry tonight turned out to be such a mess.” She unsnapped her seatbelt and stared at the blazing lights of her house. It didn’t look welcoming at all.

“What are you talking about? I had a great time.” Teague ticked off the reasons on his fingers. “Soccer. Hot dogs. Hot date. Could be worse.” His teasing tone indicated he meant “date” in the loosest sense of the word.

Kris snorted. “You need to up your ‘date’ standards.”

“Nah. Life is easier without high expectations.” Teague brushed a knuckle over Kris’s cheek. “Don’t let the jerk get you down.”

“I won’t,” she lied.

She kissed Teague on the cheek good night and slipped out of the car. Exhaustion settled into her bones, exacerbated by all the energy she’d spent caging her emotions in front of Nate.

Her plans to pass out in her bed ground to a screeching halt when she entered the house and found her father and Gloria waiting for her in the living room.

Weird. It was late, and her father had never been the wait-for-my-daughter-to-get-home-safely-before-I-go-to-sleep type. Most of the time, he wasn’t home, period.

“What’s going on?” Kris rolled her eyes at the smugness stamped all over Gloria’s face, but a pinprick of dread needled at her.

Something was wrong.

“Kris Carrera.” Roger unfurled himself to his full five feet, eleven inches. Shit. He never called her by her full name, not even when she’d crashed her brand-new Porsche two days after her sixteenth birthday. “Would you care to explain what this is?”

He held up a sheet of paper.

How would she know? She didn’t do documents, except—

Her blood chilled.

Her feet carried her across the room, and when she got close enough to read the black print, the chill turned to pure ice.

Roger was holding the contract she’d signed with Nate at the beginning of the summer—the one in which she described, in no uncertain terms, that she was hiring Nate to seduce Gloria in exchange for $15,000.

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