Page 63 of Hard to Handle

“Good. I’ll have a Bombay and tonic. And uh, glad to know you know how to do your job properly,” Hunter says, and I see Finch’s wife wince at the comment.

“At least someone does,” I say, and he grabs my arm as I start to walk past him.

“Hey,” Finch says and stands to reinforce his warning. He glares at his teammate.

“It’s fine,” I say and shrug out of Hunter’s reach before anything can escalate. Getting in a fight with a random person is one thing, but fighting his own teammate is even worse.

The bar is crowded and it takes a few minutes before I can belly up to it. “Another?” the bartender asks.

“No. A gin and tonic. Bombay. And a lot more tonic than gin,” I say with a wink.

He nods, understanding what I’m saying. “Got it.”

Right when I go to turn around and check on Hunter, he slides into the spot beside me and leans his elbows on the bar top. Our eyes meet and the million questions I want to ask him surface and die right along with my want to tell him about the conversation I overheard tonight.

“Let me guess, you’re watering down my drink,” he says, his lips beside my ear.

“Should I worry about what kind of trouble you got in tonight before finding yourself here?”

Something flashes through the blue of his eyes, but it’s gone before I can decipher it. “I’m not your problem to worry about. Just looking after some fans. Surely you know what that is.” He looks at me with such an unexpected bitterness as if to test me. “How much do you want to bet I could walk away from this place tonight with five different phone numbers?”

“If your goal is to be a phone book, then by all means.” I roll my shoulders and refuse to give him what he wants. Another fight.

“What is it with you, Kincade?” he murmurs just above the music. “All of a sudden you’re here, there . . . fucking everywhere. In my face.”

“Not what I’m here for. But I’m sure any of those numbers you collect would be willing to be whatever you need for the night.” The bartender slides the drink in front of me, and I thank him as I push it toward Hunter.

“You’re right. They would.” He turns around so he’s still beside me, but so his back is against the bar. He makes a show of giving a hum of appreciation when he spots a woman who catches his eye.

I can’t figure out if he’s being serious or just trying to get a reaction out of me.

“Have at them, Hunter.” I choke over my own words. “You sure seem like you’re at peak performance tonight.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” My buzz is gone, and there’s no point saying another word.

His chuckle is a low rumble that I can feel more than hear as he turns to face me, but I keep looking straight ahead at the mirrored wall behind the bar. “Why are you here, Dekker?”

“Same reason you are. To have a drink. To unwind after a long day. To have a little downtime.”

“To get laid.”

“Yep, that’s me.” I shake my head in frustration. “My every waking goal is how I’m going to end up on my back with my legs spread.”

“It used to be.”

A million things run through my mind—fuck you, being the one that rings the loudest and only with you running a close second—but I know Hunter Maddox. He wants to stay angry.

But his words still sting. They still ignite my temper. They still hurt, when I shouldn’t care.

Hunter seems determined to ruin or sabotage every part of his life. Why bother being his agent? Then I’ll be the one being warned by McAvoy. And why do I want that? Surely my dad doesn’t want that.

“That’s a class-act thing to say, Hunter. Be a dick to me.” I don’t deserve that from him, and I hate that his drunkenness has disconnected his filter and allows him to be so scathing.

“Not being a dick, just trying to figure out why the hell you’re following the team around like a puppy dog waiting to get a scrap of bone.”

I take a sip of my drink, let the alcohol swish around on my tongue before I swallow it, and turn to face him. He remains looking ahead, his profile strong with pride and marred with a disdain I can’t figure out. “Let’s get one thing straight, Maddox. I chase after no one. I’m a damn good agent who’s simply doing my job. If I choose to go out for a drink with one of my clients after a game, that’s my own business, not yours.”