“Snookums, there you are!”
The flash of blond hair has me gritting my teeth and gripping my glass so tight it may break. When it creaks, I realize it’s plastic, so I loosen up, not wanting to waste the precious liquid inside.
Austen’s wife, Savannah, comes up behind him, sliding her arm around his stomach and leaning up to kiss his cheek.
“Hey, honey,” he answers with a smile.
My smile.
Her gaze trails over to me, and her eyes light with recognition.
“Oh my God, Cameron?” she practically screeches, causing heads to turn this way. She never was subtle. Always had to soak up the attention. I hated it. Thought he hated it too, but I was wrong, I guess. So fucking wrong. About him, about us, about her… about all of it.
I get to my feet, making sure my drink is tightly in my hand. “Nice to see you, Savannah,” I say before emptying my glass. “Uh, you too, Austen.”
Savannah is smiling brightly, but there’s something there in her eyes. Something like ahaha, he’s mine.
I force a smile and turn, but when I do, my gaze catches on Austen’s wrist. Or more specifically, the watch on it. Frowning and without consciously thinking, my gaze darts to his. I know without a doubt there is awhat the fuck?look on my face, but he isn’t looking at me to notice. His eyes are only for his wife. His perfect, beautiful, outgoing, blondfemalewife. So I turn andwalk away, swearing I hear Austen call my name, but I don’t stop. I go right to the bar and put my cup down.
“Another?” the bartender asks with a raised brow.
I slap my card on the table. “Make it a double, and keep them coming.”
My first mistake tonight was coming here. My second was walking toward the bar and not toward the door. My third… Well, it hasn’t happened yet, but I’m pretty sure it’ll involve too much alcohol and this bartender in my hotel room.
Part One
Then…
Chapter One
Austen
“Oh, come on! He was wide open!” I shout at the TV as the anchor cuts away from tonight’s game to announce the Barracudas beat out our alma mater for the third year in a row. The crowd inside the bar boos and hollers in unison, sharing their mutual disdain.
“Don’t they teach these freaking kids how to defend anymore, Christ,” I huff out in annoyance as Cameron chuckles.
“If you’re so offended by the lack of talent, maybe you should coach football instead of whatever it is you do at Brighton Falls.”
I shoot him a glare, noticing the smirk on his face. Of course, he’s being sarcastic.
Camhatesfootball.
Well, he hates most sports. Has since we were kids.
But that never stopped him from showing up to every game of mine all throughout high school, or obsessing over The Mighty Ducks, which for some reason, is his favorite movie even though he knows nothing about hockey and swears he hates it.
I swear he was at more of my games in high school than Savannah, and she was the head cheerleader.
“This coming from the man who chose Fine Arts as an area of concentration just so he could pose nude and have a hundred paintings of his dick.”
Cam shrugs, taking a long drink from his beer. “It’s a masterpiece and deserves the attention.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Until it’s hanging in the Met, it’s not a masterpiece.”
Cam steals a nacho from my plate, and I smack his hand lightly. He still gets the cheesiest one because he’s too fucking fast.
“Tell that to Marcel Du Champ,” he says as the anchorwoman switches gears and discusses the upcoming Oktoberfest festival.
