‘My exploding bladder was definitely anactualemergency.’ Fallon called, her rising frustration making me oddly cheerful. I could see the speckles of red flaring on her neck. If she didn’t have makeup on, I would bet anything that the flush would be staining her cheeks beautifully.
‘Can I help you guys with anything?’ The bartender came over, casting a wary eye between Fallon and me.
‘Yes. Four shots, please.’ Rosie slapped a hand on the counter.
‘Oh no. We’re leaving.’ Fallon wrapped her arms through her friends, attempting to tug her off the stool.
‘Uh uh.’ The blonde shook her head. ‘We’ve made friends, and the only way to treat new friends is with shots.’
‘Yeah, I know all about your morally ambiguous thoughts on strange men in bars,’ Fallon quipped.
If she was upset by the comment, it didn’t show on her face. In fact, blondie's smile grew wider.
She held up four fingers to the bartender, who observed her with barely suppressed laughter.
‘Four shots, please, darling.’
He dipped his head and tapped the bar. ‘Coming right up.’
7
FALLON
God—I decided after two shots of tequila—hated me.
That was the only explanation I had as I watched myex-best friend lean over a pool table and sink a ball with minimal effort as two men watched on with growing intrigue. One of the most embarrassing moments of my life had popped up, and was now playing pool with us. When Rosie suggested we all play a game, George—Oliver’s brother, as it turned out—had jumped off the stool and declared it an excellent idea. I didn’t miss the daggers Oliver shot at him. But he followed them anyway, gesturing for me to follow them with a stupid smirk on his face.
The smirk was the stupid part. His face was obnoxiously symmetrical. Why couldn’t this particular dickhead have the decency to be horrible to look at. His cheekbones were jutting out at such a sharp angle you could cut glass with them; his hair had the casual vibe that running his fingers through it would sculpt it to perfection, and the absolute worst part was how he smelled. Every time Oliver walked past me to lean over the table I would get a whiff ofsomething woodsy and clean, and it took every ounce of my self-control not to yank him towards me and bury my nose in his shirt. That was the only reason I was putting up with this game of pool.
Well, that, and George was really nice and had taken a shine to Rosie. He was dressed like a lumberjack and had a scruffy beard and thick hair that could make a woman get on her knees just for the chance to feel that scruff between her thighs. Rosie wasn’t immune to his particular brand of masculinity because every time she passed me around the table, her back to the boys, she rolled her eyes into the back of her head and bit her bottom lip. It was difficult to deny their attractiveness; I wasn’t blind.
However, all I had to do was look at Oliver’s face, and I was hit with a harsh dose of reality.
Hot footballer, embroiled in a scandal if Rosie’s quick debrief in the bathroom was anything to go by; plus an attitude that could make Mother Teresa question whether slapping someone was a sin.
And, let us not forget, HE’D SEEN ME NEARLY FUCKING WET MYSELF.
That last one was enough to pour ice water on my libido.
‘I’m beginning to think your face is stuck that way.’
I jumped. So lost in my thoughts, I had been oblivious to Oliver sidling up to me, pool cue in hand.
My frown deepened. ‘Excuse me?’
Oliver leaned back against the small counter where our drinks sat, resting the cue between his thighs.
‘Did you get the job?’
It took me a few seconds for my brain to catch up.
I’d told him my destination when I’d bumped into him. The interview. The explosive dumpster fire of an interview, to be exact.
I picked up my drink from behind me and turned to faceRosie, who was down to the eight ball. I watched with quiet joy as she pocketed the ball with little effort.
Rosie had been known to hustle grown men out of hundreds of pounds—always so shocked that a tiny blonde woman with doe eyes could possibly outplay them. My eyes travelled over to George to see how he’d react. To my ever-increasing surprise, he set his cue on the table and applauded her with a warm smile. Rosie tucked an arm around her waist and gave a deep bow.
‘She’s good.’ Oliver stated, watching them as well.
