The familiar pink atmosphere of Pretty Little Pour keeps me grounded as I set the empty glass on the bar and order another one. Unlike most nights, we opted out of espresso martinis and chose some fruity thing off the new extended menu instead. I nursed my first drink for as long as I could before Beck ordered another round. That was twenty minutes ago now, and my glass is still full on the table.
I’m not the type to turn down drinks when I’m out with my friends, especially when I’m not the one picking up the tab, but for some reason, I want to be sober tonight. Roman’s not going to show up here, of all places, but I guess I’m hoping that I’ll see him somewhere else.
This isn’t his scene. He’s not the type of guy to want to go out drinking with his players. There isn’t even a shard of hope inside of me that I’ll be able to change that about him. And even if by some miracle I could, I wouldn’t want to. If this thing between us goes where I’m wanting it to, I’m prepared to accept him the way he is.
Twirling my gold bracelet around my wrist, I look back at the table. The people sitting there are the ones who mean the most to me. They’re an extended family that I wasn’t expecting to find when Wes first joined the team. It wasn’t like this in high school or college. There weren’t women connected to those players whoI wanted to be friends with so instantaneously or men who were actually genuine and respectful to the point that I was able to overlook their flirty comments and sometimes, even arrogance.
Roman’s kept himself from becoming a more integrated member of this group, and while I wish he would allow himself to jump headfirst into this dynamic, I understand why he can’t. His job is to manage this team, and I can imagine being best friends with the players could complicate that.
My being so involved with them is already troubling enough.
I chew on my bottom lip for a beat before pulling my phone free and opening our last text conversation.
Roman Shore is a terrible texter, point-blank.
Most of the time, I don’t notice our age difference. The fifteen years should be intimidating, yet I hardly think about them. Especially when we’re together. His age might be higher, but his lived experiences are completely different than mine. When I learn something from him, he learns something from me in return. There’s this steadiness between us that makes what could be a power imbalance a stable foundation instead.
With that said, his texting is lacklustre and makes him seem like an eighty-year-old.
There are too many periods and not enough exclamation points for my liking. Half the time, I wonder if he’s mad at me when there’s no plausible reason for him to be. With how little we actually text, you’d think the few messages we do exchange would make me flutter or consider sending a sext.Nope. The only flutters I get are the nervous type.
Luckily for him, tonight, I’m feeling too needy to care about a lack of emoji or how professional his replies may be.
I open my camera and snap a photo of myself pursing my lips before sending it to him. The pink glow on my cheeks and reflecting in my eyes should make it obvious where I am, butin case he misses the obvious hints, I risk coming off like an obsessive creep and share my location with him.
Four letters spell the wordReadimmediately.
My pulse goes full speed ahead as I watch the typing bubbles appear. Then disappear and appear again.
Rome
Beautiful.
I slam my phone face down on the bar and swallow a squeal before my lips part with a wide grin. Even with no emoji and that damn period making another appearance, it’s the perfect response.
Aubrey’s refill is suddenly sliding toward me. I take it, unable to stop smiling. The single-word reply doesn’t leave my mind the entire walk back to the table.
Finn’s giving my brother the middle finger while holding Beck’s hand in a death grip when I return. Intrigue distracts me for a moment.
“I’m desperately waiting for the day one of you finds girlfriends to keep you busy.” Finn drops Beck’s hand.
I set the new drink in front of Aubrey and drop myself into the conversation. “Or boyfriends.”
“Yes, or boyfriends. As long as I get the chance to make fun of one of you for being in love sometime during the next decade, I’ll be happy,” Finn says.
“And what about you, Brielle? Doesn’t she count, too?” Beck asks.
That gets my brother’s attention. He reaches across the table and punches Beck in the chest. “Don’t ask my sister about her relationship status. What, are you into her or something?”
“Jesus Christ, Wes.” I opt for the empty seat next to Aubrey this time. “You’re so annoying.”
“Annoying? I’m just looking out for you.”
“By scaring off potential suitors?” Aubrey asks slyly.
Wes points a finger at her, then looks to his best friend for help. Finn does nothing for him because he’s too busy sniffing Aubrey’s neck. I hide my laugh behind a cough.
“Fine. But when Mr. Fucks A Lot breaks your heart, don’t come crying to me. I’ll change my locks so you can’t get into my house to cry in my arms,” Wes mutters grumpily.
