“So proud of you,” Dad says as I step up to him. Before I know what’s happening, he’s engulfing me in a man hug and hammering his closed fists against my back.
“I didn’t really do anything,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.
All I ever want is to make him proud. For him to think I’m good enough. Failing and disappointing a parent who did everything they could to ensure you succeed is the worst feeling in the world.
I should know; I’ve been there time and time again.
“You did,” he assures me. “You deserve this just as much as everyone else.”
I force myself to smile as we part. One look in my eyes and he knows I don’t believe a word he just said, but as Mom embraces me, he lets it go.
He knows what a stubborn motherfucker I am. Him telling me the same thing again won’t help.
Parker joins us not long later. Unsurprisingly, she has Linc in tow. Mom and Dad congratulate him as if he’s a member of the family—at this point, he pretty much is. Their relationship might be fairly new, but I don’t doubt that he’s going to put a ring on it, too, and make my little sister a Storm.
I shake my head at the thought.
“What’s that look for?” Parker asks, her brows pinched.
“Nothing,” I mutter, earning myself a scowl before she’s distracted by her boyfriend.
I stand around making small talk, when really, all I want to do is get out of here and get the real party started. While I might not agree with celebrating my own success this season, I don’t have a problem joining in with everyone else.
Finally, people’s families begin making a move, signaling that our time making small talk is over. With Killer taking the lead, we follow him out and down to the parking garage, where we have cars waiting.
I don’t care where we go next. As long as there’s a bar, alcohol, and women, I’m good.
As usual, we start at the Fractured Compass. It’s the team’s go-to after a game—a dive bar where we can kick back without getting constantly hounded for photos and autographs. Or at least it used to be. As the season has gone on and the team’s success has grown, so have the fans and bunnies in this place.
The second we walk in, the atmosphere changes. All eyes turn our way as a cheer goes up.
“Fuck, yeah,” Killer bellows, more than ready to party, as almost the entire team and their girls spill into the bar.
I pause in the entrance, causing someone to walk straight into me.
“Oh shit. I’m so sorry,” a familiar voice says, but I don’t care about Monroe right now; I’m too busy scanning the bar for the dark-haired woman from earlier.
She was at a game with friends, from what I could figure out. All of them were wearing jerseys, and one of them had a crown on her head. Birthday girl, maybe? If she’d chosen to go to a game for her big day, then surely, they’ll be out partying, maybe even trying to snag a player to spend the night with.
But after two sweeps of the place, I'm left disappointed—although it doesn’t last long. As I finally move toward our usual booth, a blonde I think I might recognize sidles up to me and grips my arm, pressing her tits against me.
“You were incredible tonight.” She flutters her long lashes at me.
She’s hot, sure. But something niggles in my head that she wasn’t worthy of a repeat.
“Thanks,” I mutter. “I’m going to grab a drink. Maybe meet you on the dance floor later?”
“I’ll save all my dances for you,” she breathes. I think it’s meant to be sexy, but it falls a little short of the mark.
“Whoa, did Rett Donnelly just turn down a bunny?” Killer teases as I join him and the guys in our booth.
I shrug one shoulder. “The night is still young. I don’t need to settle for the first one who rubs her tits against my arm.”
“Said like a true fuckboy,” my sister teases before she steals my beer and sits on my boy’s lap, squirming about in a way I never, ever want to witness again.
3
BEATRICE
