Free Kicked by Celia Aaron Page A

and took a long draw. When he set it down, I noticed his hand shook the slightest bit.
    I placed the uneaten half of the cheese stick on my plate. “What?”
    “It’s just.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been waiting a while to tell you this.”
    I leaned back, a shock of cold flowing through my veins. “What?”
    He squared his shoulders, as if waiting for someone to land a blow. “I think I’m ready to tell you what happened two years ago.”
    For just a moment, it seemed like maybe we could pretend two years ago never happened. We could have a pizza and a few drinks without giving a thought to that night. But from the shake in his hands and the anxiety in his voice, I could tell he’d intended to clear the air all along.
    He reached across the table again and took my hand. All the noise of the restaurant faded into the background, and it was just the two of us.
    His eyes softened as he stared at me, remorse crinkling the skin next to his eyes. “I made a mis—”
    “Cordy!” Landon rushed up, his hair hanging in wet ropes and the rest of him soaked from head to toe. His gaze went to where my hand was encased by Trent’s.
    “Lan—”
    Before I could say a word, he reared back and clocked Trent hard on the jaw.
     

      
     
    CHAPTER TWELVE
     
    T RENT
     
     
    Two years earlier
     
    I SMOOTHED MY HANDS down my dress shirt for the third time since we’d gotten out of the car and into La Café Blanc.
    Cordy smiled as the server unfolded her napkin and laid it across her lap for her. “I can say, without a doubt, I’ve never been somewhere this fancy in my life.”
    I stared at her, because I couldn’t seem to see anything else. Her hair cascaded over her shoulder in a chestnut wave. The lavender dress she wore cut just under her collar bones, and the rest of the material clung to the curve of her waist. Her amber eyes glimmered in the low light of the restaurant.
    “Trent?” She smiled, and my heart took off at a gallop.
    “Yes, fancy.” Good one, you moron.
    She laughed, a small, delicate sound that I wanted to put on repeat. “Have you been here before?” Her eyes roved the fine linens, black tie servers, and the expansive chandeliers and candelabras that gave the restaurant its swanky reputation.
    “A few times. Whenever my parents are in town.”
    “How often do they visit?” She smiled up at the server as he poured her water. “Thank you.”
    “Not too often, thank God. My dad’s okay, but my mom can be a holy terror.” I was putting it mildly.
    My mother was hell bent on controlling every move I made and every detail of my future, including who I would marry, what career I would choose, all the way down to what pattern of china would be on display in my home. As the heir to the Carrington family fortune, I had been groomed since birth to carry on the family investment business and maintain a lifestyle befitting my station. What I wanted didn’t matter, at least not to my mother. She believed my football aspirations were beneath me, and she made a point to bring her opinions to my attention every chance she got.
    “She probably just wants what’s best for you.” Cordy glanced to the menu. “What’s good here?”
    “I always get the filet. But if you wanted something else, the game hen is pretty good, too.”
    She nibbled her lip. I rubbed my sweaty palms down my pants. That move of hers had gotten to me over the past few months. Whenever she was considering something, she would run her teeth along her bottom lip.
    “I think I’ll try the filet if that’s what you like.” She laid the menu down and gave me the full-on view of her glittering eyes again.
    The server approached. I placed our orders as he deposited a small bread plate.
    I passed the butter plate to her. “So, what about your parents? You’ve mentioned your dad a couple times, but I don’t know much else.”
    She shifted in her seat and looked up at the closest chandelier. “He’s back in West