“What the hell?” I snipe as I approach her with speed. I had my phone on the charger while I went outside to say hi to a few guys since this is my neighbor’s place, and a soft drink before sunset sounded somewhat relaxing.
The bleach-blonde woman instantly pouts her plump lips that are in no way natural. Amber has been the headache that never goes away. Borderline crazy if I’m being honest, maybe even stalkerish. She is also friends with my neighbor’s girlfriend, which makes her sometimes inescapable. I wouldn’t have come had I known she would be here.
“Baby, I was just checking that your battery was full so I could bring you your cell, of course.” She purses her lips then perks out her tits that I have zero interest in.
I snap my phone out of her hand with fake white-tipped nails. “What did you do?”
“Nothing.” She plays innocent, but I can sense a lie.
One mistake from six months ago, a drunken mistake, not even a full-on performance. More like in a haze of tequila, apparently, I kissed her, and here I am with her claws never letting go.
I examine my phone. “How did you unlock my phone? Do you know my password? Did someone call me?” I ask, because the call log is open, although I don’t see anything new. She seems like someone who would erase the evidence.
“Of course not, silly.” She touches my arm and flutters her lashes with an overdone giggle that I’m not buying. I’m pretty sure she is a replica of the doll that my teammate’s daughter plays with.
“Then why is my screen open?” I grit out.
She squeezes my arm right before I rip away from her touch. “Oh, that. Wrong number, a cold call of someone trying to sell you hurricane shutters for next season.” She’s avoiding the total breach of privacy.
Shaking my head, I’m not going with this. “Really?” I cast my doubt. “My number is unlisted.” My eyes narrow in on her for an answer. “Besides, my phone doesn’t show any new calls. Did you delete it?”
“Did I?” She begins to twirl hair around her finger, playing innocent.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, beyond frustrated. “I don’t know what clue to give you that I’m not interested, nor ever will I ever be interested.”
She steps closer to reach for my hands, but I step back. “Come on, baby, we can go for drinks, relax. I’ll give you a massage, maybe a little bit more.” She bounces her shoulders in pride, as if she just gave me the best offer.
In another world it would be enticing… if it was from another woman. Isla, to be exact.
“I swear to God, I’m losing a brain cell right now.” I was speaking to myself, but her puffed-out cheeks indicates she heard me and is no longer happy.
Luckily, a hand lands on my shoulder; it’s my buddy Scott. “Didn’t realize my girlfriend invited crazy, sorry about that,” he mutters to me. Then he throws on an overdone smile. “Hey, Amber, how about you go find my girlfriend in the kitchen and stay there. This guy is probably on a plane tomorrow for his next game and just needs… well, not you.”
Amber seems pissed off and sharply pivots to storm off to the kitchen, flicking her hair in the process. I turn to Scott and sigh an exhausted breath.
He winces at me. “Sorry, I didn’t realize she was stopping by. I wish Nicole would warn me about these things, or even better, ditch Amber altogether. But you know Nicole, has to be kind to everyone, and Amber was in her sorority.”
I laugh without humor. “She’s batshit crazy.”
Scott grins to himself. “That and I think you still have your mind on someone… anonymous hurricane girl.”
My mouth stretches slightly at the memory of Isla. I haven’t told anyone about who she is exactly, just briefly mentioned my fling during a hurricane.
“You know I’m focusing on the season.” Partly a lie, since I think of Isla every single time I need a release with my hand.
“Doesn’t mean she can’t occupy your thoughts. Have you texted her?”
I slide my phone, now fully charged, albeit touched by Satan, into my jeans pocket.
“Nah, we had a blast but agreed to keep it at that,” I reiterate what I’ve mentioned before.
Scott drinks from his beer before he tips it at me. “Should I head into the kitchen to get you a drink so you can stand clear of psycho?”
I wave a hand. “Not feeling it, and besides, I think Amber killed the mood for any casual hangouts. I’m going to head back home. Could use the extra sleep,” I explain.
He gives me a comforting nod. “Okay, have a good game up in Memphis.”
“Thanks.” I scratch my cheek. “Kind of full-on during December, on the road most of the time.”
