Damn, I wish I was over there with them.
April is bouncing up and down in her seat, gesturing wildly as she tells a story, and Heather is smiling—a real smile this time, the kind that makes her whole face light up. That’s the smile I want directed at me. Not the tight, tense, polite version I’ve been getting all week.
Owen waves a hand in front of my face. “Parker, are you even listening?”
“What?” I sit back in my chair, not fully trusting his depth perception now that he’s had a few beers. “Easy there. We’re gonna have a problem if you hit me.”
He waves me off. “I said, that save in the second period when you went full splits, how the hell did you even see it coming?”
“I was just reading the play.” I’m tempted to glance across the room again, but I force my attention back to the conversation at hand. “Morris telegraphs his shots. He always looks exactly where he’s going to aim.”
The conversation moves on, and at some point I notice that Margo has pulled out some kind of card game and is playing it with April. Noah is on his phone, probably checking game stats or scrolling through social media. And Heather isn’t there.
I scan the room and spot her at the back of the bar, standing alone while she waits for another drink.
Or shewasalone. Now there’s a guy next to her. He’s decent-looking, I guess, with his expensive watch and a smile that’s way too fucking confident as he leans in to say something to her.
She takes a small step back, shaking her head at whatever he just said, but he moves even closer.
And now I’m on my feet. “I’ll be right back,” I say to the guys even though I’m already halfway to the bar.
The guy is still talking when I make it over there, and now he’s resting a hand on the bar beside Heather in a move that’s clearly meant to box her in. She looks uncomfortable but polite, like she’s trying to work her way out of the conversation without being rude enough to provoke this guy.
Fuck that.
“Time for you to go.” I stop right next to him, making him turn to look at me.
He seems annoyed at first, but his expression immediately changes when he realizes who I am and how much bigger I am.
“We were just talking, man.”
“And now you’re leaving.” I take a step closer, nudging his arm with my side and using every inch of my height to make my point clear.
His eyes dart between me and Heather, clearly trying to decide if whatever he was hoping to get out of this conversation is worth the confrontation. He correctly decides it isn’t.
“Alright. Okay.” He holds up his hands and backs away. “No need to get aggressive.”
I don’t move or take my eyes off him until he’s completely disappeared into the crowd. Then I turn to Heather.
She’s holding her wine glass with both hands and still looking as uncomfortable as she was when the guy was standing where I am now. “What was that about?”
“I didn’t like you talking to him.”
The words come out of my mouth unfiltered and possessive in a way that should probably embarrass me, but it doesn’t.
“You were talking to another woman. I didn’t storm over there and throw her out.”
“You wouldn’t have had to storm over, because I turned her down. I told her I wasn’t interested and didn’t take her number when she tried to give it to me.”
She looks down at her wine, then back up at me. “Oh. I—I didn’t know that.”
“Were you interested in him?” I nod toward where the guy disappeared. “In that guy?”
She shakes her head, then shrugs. I can’t tell if she really isn’t sure or if she’s just flustered. “I don’t think so. I mean, no. Not really. It’s just nice to be seen as something more than a thirty-something mess.”
That hot, possessive feeling comes rushing back full force. I want to do things I’ve never wanted before. I want to kiss her right here in front of the entire bar, in front of my teammates and the strangers and everyone else.
I want to make it crystal fucking clear that she’s not available.
