I laugh too loudly. The moment my brother’s head swings my way, I inwardly cuss myself out.
“What’s so funny?” he asks, sliding up to Roman with Beck on his other side. “Rome doesn’t have a funny bone in his body.”
Roman doesn’t look away from me as he answers him. “That’s untrue.”
“It’s okay not to be funny. Some people just can’t pull off a sense of humour. I’m sure you haveotherattributes,” I state sweetly, smiling wide.
The older man tightens his dark gaze on me and shifts on his feet. I glance down at the expensive, glossy black shoes he’s wearing and roll my eyes.
Yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking. A guy as uptight as Roman Shore wouldn’t have a clue what to do with me, and that would have been undoubtedly worse than what’s happening right now.
With a casual shrug, I bypass him entirely and focus on Beck. The team’s playboy doesn’t miss a beat before sending me the same wink I’ve been on the receiving end of a thousand times. Unfortunately, it has the same effect now as all the others.
He may be hot as fuck with the whole bad-boy thing going on, but he’s not my type. I’m outgoing enough for a group of people. I don’t need my future boyfriend to meet me stride for stride in that department. That sounds like more of a punishment than a reward.
Then there’s the matter of my jealousy.
I’m self-assured, sure, but I’ve also battled a potentially damning habit of getting a tad too possessive in the past. There’s just something about being so obsessed with a partner who seems to blind me from remembering they’re mine when I witness them offering too much of their attention to someone else. I don’t care if I’m judged for it. It’s a part of who I am. Sue me.
Being with someone like Beck, who’s had more girlfriends than I bet even he remembers, sounds like my worst nightmare.
“What are you drinking?” I ask him, dipping my eyes to his glass.
“Beer. Want one?”
I crinkle my nose. “Absolutely not. But I won’t say no to a glass of champagne.”
“You got it,” he drawls, reaching for one of the tall bottles sunken into the ice bucket.
As he wipes the dewy neck dry with the bottom of his shirt, I get a flash of tanned, muscled stomach and a thick treasure trail. My blood heats before I rip my eyes away, forcing them to the ceiling.Absolutely not, Brielle.
I need dick tonight. One that doesn’t belong to anyone with a Havoc jersey in their closet.
“You haven’t really gotten a chance to talk to my sister much, hey? I don’t remember the last time we were all in the same place together,” Wes says.
Chomping down on my tongue, I swing around and glare at him. He ignores my annoyance and continues blabbing.
“She’s at a lot of the games and is actually a huge baseball fan. I’d bet she knows more than you do.”
Kill me now.
“Is that right?” Roman asks blandly.
I straighten, finally looking at him again. He holds my gaze, not wiggling beneath the rage burning within it.
“Yes, actually. Does it surprise you that alittle girlcould know more about baseball than you?”
Wes clears his throat, following it up with an awkward laugh. “I don’t think that’s what he meant, Elle.”
“Well, was it?” I push, crossing my arms.
Roman’s dark chocolate eyes sweep low for a brief second before they’re back on mine. “No.”
“What an explanation,” I mutter.
“Alright!” Wes claps his hands and takes a step to the side. He grabs the glass of champagne from Beck and all but shoves it at me. I take it before he can slosh it all over my outfit, knuckles white from my tight grip. “How about we switch gears. Someone tell me who the hell the opener is tonight.”
Beck jumps in, supplying a long-winded explanation that I ignore. My head is elsewhere, my stare lingering across the suite. Roman’s already turned away from the three of us and has started down the stairs leading to the seating for the show.Good riddance, is my initial thought.
