Page 29 of Hard to Score

She’s like a Juliet whose family led to the demise of mine.

Yet I’m still looking, still watching . . . still trying to rationalize how I could be with a woman like her when all is said and done.

And if my parents were to find out? The fight we had a few years back would pale in comparison to what this one would be. Am I willing to risk that?

But how can I say I’m not to blame for the sins of my father when I’m blaming her for hers?

“Fuck,” I mutter with a shake of my head.

There are other stunning women here tonight. In fact, there are plenty of them. Some I’ve spoken to. Some whose eyes I’ve met across the room and politely smiled back at.

But not a single one has held my attention like Brexton has.

I grit my teeth as a man moves onto the dance floor and begins dancing with the group of women. But he has his sights on her. Anybody can see that.

Or maybe I’m the only one who’s watching.

When he steps in front of her and they both laugh before moving to the beat, I tilt back the remainder of my old-fashioned.

It’s time for me to go.

Or I’ll do something I might regret.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

BREXTON

I SWAY TO THE MUSIC still playing in the open courtyard behind me as I make my way through the gardens, onto the patio, and toward the lobby.

My feet are sore, my buzz is still strong, and there’s a smile plastered to my face because that was fun. I can’t remember the last time I danced the night away without caring who I was dancing with or who was watching.

It was just what I needed.

A little release from a stressful few weeks. A lot of hope that true love really does exist. A lot of happiness seeing old friends again.

And yes, I’m just plain ignoring whatever the hell was going on with Drew. At the end of the day, he doesn’t get to steal my sunshine because he chose to be a thunderstorm.

I have a bounce to my step as I head out the entrance, uncertain if I want to head home yet or just have a breather. Regardless, I startle when I see Drew there.

His ass is resting against a brick retaining wall that lines the path, the neck of a beer bottle is between his fingers, and his head is angled to the side as he takes me in where I’ve stopped a few feet in front of him.

It’s funny how you spend years and years not seeing someone and then in a span of a week you see that person several times. Almost as if once your body is aware of him, it just gravitates toward him.

And believe me, mine is aware of him—even when I don’t want it to be.

“You’re still here,” I say.

“Yep. That I am,” he says with a laugh. “I’ve been standing here for way too long, trying to decide if I should stay or leave.”

“Good for you.” I nod.

“Seeing as we’re friends and all.” His eyes narrow as our eyes meet.

“Yep. Friends.” I offer a tight smile and cringe at the word.

“We should make that a drinking game. Every time that word is said, we take a drink. Like this. Friends.” He lifts the bottle of beer to his lips and takes a long swig. “Friends.” And another. “Being friends is so much fun,” he shouts with his arms out to the side. It’s then I realize that his smile is a little lopsided. He’s just as buzzed as I am. “Do you like being friends, Bratty Brex?”

“So now you’re going to make fun of me?” I take a step forward, uncertain if I want more attention from him or if I’m mad at him. None of this friend shit is making any sense. “We’re not teenagers anymore, Drew. I have no problem standing up for myself now.”