“Did I do okay?” I ask nervously of my post-game press.
“You did awesome, bud,” he assures me, and I grip his extended hand, allowing him to pull me into an awkward bro-hug as a beer is shoved in my face by Dallas.
“Thanks, man.” I take a sip of beer, scanning the space filled with the familiar faces of my teammates and their significant others. But, like a record scratching, I’m stopped suddenly, doing a double take when I spot Hannah perched at a high-top table with Millie and Logan, the three of them in deep conversation with some tattooed frat-looking fucker I’ve never seen before. I might be wrong, but it looks like some sort of double-date, and I don’t miss the way my stomach knots.
“Who’s that?” I jut my chin in the guy’s direction, taking another sip of my beer despite my roiling gut’s objection.
Dallas glances over his shoulder, following my line of sight before looking at me like I’ve lost my damn mind, blinking once.
Robbie looks back at the table before gawking at me, his eyes incredulously wide. “Are… are you serious?”
I look between the two of them, completely lost.
“My guy, that’s Brookes Devereaux.” Robbie laughs.
“The world’s number one golfer,” Dallas says like I’m an idiot.
Of. Fucking. Course. I heave a sigh, studying the guy from across the way. Tall, broad, arms covered in tattoos, dressed in a polo shirt and a ball cap; he sure as shit doesn’t look like what I envision the typical golfer to look like. I force another sip of beer, suddenly wishing I’d just gone straight home after leaving the arena.
As if she can sense my gaze on her, Hannah looks up, peering over Millie’s bright red hair, her blue eyes meeting mine. I haven’t seen her since the gym yesterday morning, and I know she’s pissed at me for peacing out on her the other night while we were literally mid-fuck. But there’s so much she doesn’t know. So much no one knows.
Hannah doesn’t react at all, her eyes completely void of anyand all emotion as she just stares at me for a few long beats. When Millie says something that makes Loges and Brookes laugh, it snaps Hannah out of her daze, her lips curling up into a slightly forced smile.
Finishing my beer, I hold my empty glass up, indicating the bar. “Another drink?”
“Always, brother.” Dallas grins, holding up his can of Pabst.
“You good?” I look at Robbie, at the bottle of water in his hand. He doesn’t drink.
“I’m okay, man.” Robbie nods, turning to join Fran, who looks to be in the middle of a very typicalFran Kellerconversation with Emily and a couple of the other WAGs, her hands flailing animatedly in the air.
I turn to the bar, to the regular bartender, Lou, ordering another round for everyone which is when I feel a warmth press up next to me, the scent of vanilla and bubblegum invading my senses.
Hannah glances up at me from where she stands at the counter beside me. “I thought you had a one-drink limit during the season…”
“I do.” I nod once, my jaw tight. And I don’t know what the fuck is with my attitude, but I don’t like it. As if to prove something to myself, I flash her a smile I know doesn’t meet my eyes. “Thought I’d buy a round and then dip.”
“Good game tonight.”
I allow my gaze to drop down to her mouth. Big mistake. Now all I keep thinking is how her lips feel wrapped around my dick, but then I imagine them wrapped around Brookes Devereaux’s dick tonight instead of mine, and I grit my teeth so hard, my jaw cracks.
“Thanks,” I say tightly, clearing my throat and turning away from her to watch Lou place the drinks onto a tray.
“Fuck yeah. Jerky!” a deep voice cheers from behind me.
I glance over my shoulder to see Brookes approach, sidling up next to Hannah and checking out the selection of packetedjerky hanging on the display rack. He plucks a bag and opens it, stuffing a handful of dehydrated beef into his mouth, glancing sideways and offering me a grin while he chews.
“Brookes Devereaux,” he says with his mouth full, holding out his jerky hand.
I look from him to Hannah, who is gaping up at the guy with a look of disgust, and I shake his greasy hand, nodding once. “Happy Slater.”
Brookes grins, glancing casually between me and Hannah, oblivious to the tension that has so obviously settled between us. “You scored the winning goal. Congrats, bro.”
My brows arch higher in surprise. “You… watched the game?”
“Yeah, man, I was there,” he answers with a chuckle before snaking his ropey arm around Hannah’s shoulders in a move that makes it feel as if there’s a vise squeezing the life out of my lungs. “Hannah Banana let me tag along.” He smiles down at her.
“Letyou?” Hannah scoffs, ducking out from under his arm. “I forced you to come because I can’t trust you to be on your own and not wind up in some drunken brawl in the Four Seasons hotel bar.”
