13: Nathan
We opt for The Salty Dog—a quiet bar. The last place we need to be is somewhere where we’ll get recognised and stormed for autographs and photographs.
The stereo in the corner plays some cringe-worthy pop song, unrecognisable to my ears, and the small groups of patrons here natter amongst themselves, appearing too old to care about sports and who we are.
The faint smell of tobacco wafts up my nose, and I wonder if somebody’s smoking in here or if the scent is so embedded into the furniture that the place continuously smells this way.
I take a sip of my water, eyeing up Riley as he sits at the table with my sister and Mae. His stupidly perfect teeth are on full display as he laughs, voice boisterous and egotistical.
I’ve always thought Riley Donovan deserves a good throat punch to bring him down a few pegs, but I’ve never felt so passionate about it until now.
Bennett pulls his cap further down as a group of younger people enter the bar, angling himself so they can’t see his face. “Your dad didn’t come to the game today.”
“He was working.”
“I don’t see why you don’t just tell him to stay the hell away from you.”
“Tried that,” I respond, tilting my glass towards him. “Didn’t go down too well. Besides, he’ll take to the media if I try that again, and God only knows what kinds of stories he’ll sell on me to try and ruin my name if I try that again.”
Bennett’s face falls. He sighs, shaking his head slightly. “Shit. Is it really worth putting up with him, though? I mean, no offence, but your dad’s an ass.”
I shrug, shifting my eyes over to Riley and the others. I pretend to be absorbed in the atmosphere. The chattering of people. The feel of the uncomfortable barstool beneath me. The smell of old wood and dust.
But the way Riley speaks with fluidity and charm and how Mae laughs at whatever he’s just said is where my attention really lies.
I hope she’s laughingathim.
I can sense my eyes tightening, a spark of disapproval flickering inside my chest. Mae doesn’t need a guy like Riley. He’s non-committal. He loves the chase, but once he’s captured his prey, he loses interest and moves on to the next shiny toy.
He hides it well from the media, but football community members talk.
“Man, are you okay? You look like you’re ready to throw hands.” A chuckle seeps from Bennett. He follows my eyeline and mutters a quiet, “Oh, I see.”
“What?” I mutter, snapping my eyes away and jostling my glass, the ice hitting the sides, creating an aggravatingclinknoise.
“Might want to be a little more subtle about that.” My best friend is grinning from ear to ear. I swear, I’ve never seen the guy in a bad mood. Even when we lose a game, he’s oddly positive.
“Subtle about what? I’m just looking at them.”
He chuckles, winking at me over the brim of his tall glass of soda. “Them? Orher?”
My eyes round. The fact that Bennett is even bringing that up is ridiculous. There is no possibility that Mae and I will ever be anything more than professional.
“Shut up, Quinn.”
“Denial is a river in Egypt,” is his response.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all, my friend.” He’s laughing, and I see Mae’s head turn to take a quick look at us at the sound of Bennett’s loud bellow.
She’s fresh-faced, having had a shower after cheering. She doesn't do much on the sidelines, but I can’t lie and say that her in that red and white uniform—they finally managed to get one tailored to her—doesn’t steal my attention away when I should be focusing on the game.
She’s a distraction.
A big fucking distraction.
Poppy is engaged in a conversation with one of Riley’s teammates. It looks friendly enough, and I know that the guy has a wife and a kid on the way. He’s trustworthy, so I’m not that worried.
