Did she want to hook up with McKinley or was she just wasted? And how was he supposed to politely get away from Lola and make his asshole teammates back off?
He ordered more wine at the bar. Maybe there was a fire alarm he could pull somewhere…
“Psycho.” Logan Cloak, who he’d last seen staring point blank at Cheryl’s ass, clapped him on the shoulder. “How’s the MILF going?”
Patrick glared at him. “Stay away from Cheryl.”
“Who?” Logan asked innocently.
“Don’t fuck around. Cheryl, my…” He stopped himself from saying ‘woman’ with difficulty. “… friend. Quit creeping on her and Eden and tell the other boys to do the same.”
Logan raised his hands. “It’s nothing disrespectful.”
“So, you’re not trying to hook up with her?”
“Maybe a bit. But can you blame me? She’s a dime.”
“She’s also my mate.”
“Yeah, i.e. not your girlfriend.” Logan jerked his head in Lola’s direction. “You’re trying to go swimming in Old Gold. Can’t have it both ways, Normal.”
He walked off before Patrick could tell him what a prick he was.
The bartender handed over two wines. “Just heads up, we’re calling last drinks soon.”
“Great,” Patrick said. No bar meant no party, which meant his teammates shouldn’t have enough time to win Cheryl over.
Lola looked up from her phone as he returned.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realise how late it was. I need to leave.”
Patrick fought back a smile. Finally, some luck. “No problem. Can I walk you off the yacht?”
“No, I’ve monopolised you long enough. Go have fun with your friends.”
A little patronising, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Will do. Get home safe.”
“You, too.” Lola held up her phone. “Could I have your number?”
Patrick hesitated. Beth’s plan hadn’t gone further than him talking to Lola, but then Beth’s plan hadn’t worked. He glanced sideways and saw Cheryl being spun in a circle by Bodie Price.
“Sure. Why not?”
As Lola typed in his number, Patrick continued to watch Cheryl. The crowd parted and they locked eyes for the first time in hours. Time stood still as they stared at one another. Cheryl’s expression was strange. Her eyes were wide and full of something close to panic.
‘Why?’ she seemed to be asking. ‘Why, Patrick?’
But why what? Why was he talking to Lola? Why wasn’t he on the dance floor? Why had he brought her to this party? Or did she just want his blessing to fuck one of his teammates? The thought of that happening—of having to hear McKinley or Cloak or one of the other assholes bragging about nailing her in the change room after practice—was like a tarantula crawling down his spine.
A woman crossed the hall, blocking Cheryl from view.
“Done.” Lola slid her phone into her bag. “Goodnight, Patrick.”
“Bye. It was nice to meet you.”
“And you.” To his surprise, Lola stood on the lower rung of her barstool and kissed his cheek. “I’ll call you.”
Patrick touched his cheek, wishing that the kiss had felt the way it should have. Lola was pretty. Pretty and interested. Why couldn’t he be interested back?
