“Nope. I think we have a deal, Patty-Bear.”
God, he liked her calling him that. Stupidly pleased with how things had turned out, he clinked his Heineken against hers.
Their eyes met and they held each other’s gaze for a beat too long. He opened his mouth, to say what, he didn’t know, then Cheryl stood. “Now that’s settled, I’ll get a ride home. Thanks for a fun night, Patty-Bear.”
* * *
Present Day
The yacht had docked in Port Melbourne harbour, but the party was raging on. Most parents and old people had left, and behaviour was getting sloppier by the second. The dance floor was heaving, the bar staff were handing out free shots of Fireball, and unlike any land-based nightclub, it was apparently fine to go without shoes, shirts, or pretty much any clothes at all.
And in the middle of the chaos, Patrick was trying to complete Beth’s mission by talking to Lola Vazquez about her job as Chief Financial Officer for some importing business. The woman Beth had picked out for him was nice and genuinely funny, a Brazilian expat with a big smile and a hot accent. But he was giving her twenty percent of his attention at best. He’d love to blame seeing three of his teammates’ wives making out at the same time or former Rams captain Michael Ray puking into an ice bucket, but the truth was whenever Cheryl was around, he found it hard to concentrate on anything but her.
As Lola walked him through a day in her office, he made active listening faces as he subtly scanned the crowd for his best friend. He couldn’t see her anywhere. For all he knew she’d gotten off the yacht with the old guy and he was giving himself eye strain for nothing.
Lola sighed, touching a finger to his wine glass. “Ah, I’m going on and on. You’re too good at listening.”
I’m really not. “Thanks. So… are you planning on going back to Brazil for Christmas?”
Lola beamed at him. She was shorter than Cheryl, her hair was darker, and her breasts, as she leaned across the table, were smaller. He felt like a dick for noticing, but for years all he’d done was compare every woman in the world to Cheryl and it was hard to stop. He leaned in, determined to focus on her answer, when a flash of scarlet caught his eye. Cheryl had swayed into the cabin, arm-in-arm with Eden.
Men turned to stare as they giggled their way onto the dance floor. Eden looked good, but Cheryl was so beautiful it stung. She and Eden started dancing to ‘Party in the USA’ and her movements were languid, almost liquid. She was glowing. She was also pissed. Cheryl hardly ever got pissed.
“Patrick?” Lola asked. “Is something wrong?”
“Sorry,” he said automatically. “I just saw my friend.”
“The girl in the red dress?”
“Yeah. We came here together.”
Lola raised her eyebrows, but he didn’t elaborate. He’d talked about Cheryl to enough women to know it wasn’t a good idea.
“She’s very pretty,” Lola said lightly. “I like her shoes.”
The statement gave Patrick an excuse to look at Cheryl again. She and Eden had their arms wound around each other. They looked like a hot girl version of a yin-yang symbol—Eden, blonde and in blue; Cheryl, brunette and in red. Patrick could see his teammates drawing closer and gritted his teeth. Usually, he could count on Willow to wade in and cockblock everyone, but he’d already left with Jupiter.
“How do you know this girl?” Lola asked.
“Our good friends are married.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet. My best friend at university was my brother’s girlfriend…”
The DJ put on Megan Thee Stallion and Eden and Cheryl drew closer, pressing their tits together as they danced. His mouth went dry. Sharks players were circling en masse, exchanging nudges or outright gaping. His teammates knew better than to hit on Eden, but Cheryl…
Logan Cloak and Damien Mills were eyeing her up like she was a free trip to Thailand and Nick McKinley was already approaching with a handful of shots. Patrick’s gut lurched. The boys knew Cheryl wasn’t his girlfriend, but they’d always stayed away out of respect—only he was now publicly hitting on someone else. Beth’s plan had a fatal flaw. Now he didn’t just have to worry about Cheryl banging one old guy, he had to worry about a dozen horny, professional athletes having a free pass to hit on the hot chick who wasn’t actually Psycho’s girlfriend. He might as well have sent the Sharks a group text. ‘She’s fair game, boys.’
Eden and Cheryl accepted a shot from McKinley and tossed it back. Panic blurred Patrick’s brain and he forced himself to refocus on Lola, who was still talking about her college best friend. He waited for her to draw breath and asked, “Would you like another drink?”
Lola smiled at her mostly empty glass. “Are you trying to get me tipsy?”
He froze, still mentally trying to figure out how to put ten guys into a collective chokehold. “I—Uh, not if you don’t want to get tipsy?”
She laughed, but not like she thought he was being funny. Like she wanted to kiss him. “You’re adorable. I’d love another wine.”
Ducking his head, Patrick made his way to the bar. Cheryl and Eden were still dancing, surrounded by a solar system of dudes. He watched Phil Green muscle his way between Cheryl and Eden and instead of telling him to fuck off, Cheryl smiled like he was her favourite person. He bent to say something in her ear, and she tossed her hair and laughed the same showy laugh she’d done for the old guy.
What the fuck was going on? Cheryl wasn’t into footy players. For one thing, they weren’t a million years old. For another, she said all football players refused to eat pussy and pretended it was a lifestyle choice instead of just admitting they were bad at it. Something he’d always been too self-conscious to contradict.
