"It's not a joke!" I grab his arm before he can slide past me. "I need you, Sidney. Otherwise, my life is over."
He glances down at my hand on his arm and then up at my face. "Let me see your cup."
I immediately hold it out to him.
He takes it, lifting it to his lips. My clit absolutely doesnottwitch when he places his lips in the exact spot where my lipstick stains the cup, taking a sip.
After a second, he grunts, lowering the cup. "Vodka," he growls, his eyes coming back to me.
"Oh. Is that what that is?"
"How many of these have you had, Hattie?"
"Just one."
"Uh-huh. Try again."
"Fine, two."
"You're drunk."
I hold my thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart because, yeah, I probably am. I don't ever drink, and I feel braver than usual right now. But that doesn't change the facts. "I'm serious, Sidney. I need you to date me or my life is over."
He stares at me for so long, I begin to think that maybe he's drunk too. Or maybe he just tuned me out. And then he gives his head a sharp shake, sighing so loud I'm sure the angels in heaven hear it.
"Come on," he growls, sliding one arm around my waist. "Let's go."
"Go? Where are we going?"
"I'm taking you home, baby. Before you ask some other asshole to date you and they're stupid enough to agree."
Oh. Ouch. Would dating me really be that terrible?
Judging by the look on his face…yes, yes, it would.
"Maybe I'll just stay here," I say, trying to slip free of his grip.
"No." He hauls me closer, his expression stony. "I'm getting you out of here. Your brother will flip the fuck out if he sees you like this. He's got enough on his plate right now."
"Then he shouldn't have given me alcohol," I grumble, still trying to wriggle free, but it's no use. Honestly. Why can't football players be normal-sized?
"Tye gave you the vodka?"
"Yep."
Sidney's dark look turns pitch-black, his gaze flitting toward my brother, who is holding court in the middle of the living room, his arms around Vanessa. They both look so damn happy.
It's because they aren't being hustled out by a cranky giant who thinks dating her would be stupid.
"You know what? Fine," I mutter, deflating. "Take me home. I didn't even want to come here anyway."
"That makes two of us," he says, guiding me toward the door.
Chapter Two
Sidney
Hattie curls up in the passenger seat of my truck like a cozy little rabbit, staring out at the city. I try like hell to keep my eyes on the road. Fuck, do I ever. ButHattie Ward—the woman I've been fantasizing about since I saw her reading in the stands during practice a few months ago—is in my truck beside me.
