Page 41 of Hard to Score

“All work and no play makes for a boring life,” Hanover says. “You need to help her with that, Bowman.”

“Me?” I cough. “How exactly should I do that?” I ask but I already have plenty of ideas.

“You’re a smart boy, you’ll figure it out.” He winks and then shouts down the hallway. “C’mon, assholes, time’s a wasting.”

The two of us watch him walk away and when I turn back to face her, that smile is back on her lips. “What?” I ask.

“You’re a smart boy, Drew, you’ll figure it out.” And as she walks away giving me a gorgeous view of her backside, her laugh echoes off the concrete around us.

Fuck, yes. I will.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

DREW

“HAVE ANOTHER DRINK, BOWMAN.”

“Nah, I’ve got somewhere I need to be,” I say and glance at my phone. It’s almost midnight. I’ve been sitting here all night laughing with my friends and teammates but my mind has been somewhere else completely different.

It’s been on Brexton and that little challenge she laid down for me to figure it out. It’s been on the curves of her body as she walked away from me. And it’s been wondering how in the hell I’ve let a woman own my thoughts when I’ve never let one interfere like this before.

“Somewhere you need to be? Seriously?” Hanover asks. “It better be some good-ass pussy if you’re leaving us for it.”

All I give is a smile and a chuckle.

Let them sit on that.

“Later, guys.” I throw a peace sign up as they groan and throw their balled-up napkins my way. Then the names follow that have me shaking my head and laughing as I set my golf club down.

“Seriously, Bowman? You’re going to leave just like that?” Laughlin slurs.

“You know I love you, brother.” I bump my fist against his. “But I’ve gotta go.”

Another round of protests sound off, but I keep walking. I’m just about out of the door when I hear, “Hey, Drewski?”

I don’t hide my sigh or the fact that I don’t really want to talk to Justin right now. In fact, other than talking to him on the field when I have to, I haven’t said shit to him since he ran his mouth at me after the game the other day.

“I’m not in the mood, Hobbs.” I want to leave, to keep walking out the door, but I stand there and wait for him to start some shit. Clearly, he needs to reassert his precious fucking ego.

“Look”—he holds his hands out in front of him in surrender—“I come in peace.” He laughs nervously before glancing over his shoulder where the suite suddenly gets awfully quiet, as the guys all stand and watch whatever is about to happen.

“And?”

“And I apologize, okay? I already did to the rest of the team, but you weren’t there so I wanted to say it to you as well.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I’m sorry.”

I nod as I chew the inside of my cheek and contemplate if any of the guys put him up to this. It’s been chillier than the polar ice cap in the locker room the past few days, but deservedly so. Hobbs needs to grow the fuck up and if they’re not going to put him in his place for acting like a prima donna, then I will.

“So, apology accepted?” he asks.

“Step up and lead the team, Hobbs.”

He nods and then lowers his voice. “It’s my family, man. They’re on the West Coast and I’m here and fuck, man, it’s not easy.”

It’s in moments like this I’m reminded of how young he really is. Twenty-three years old and still figuring his shit out.

“Everything okay with them?” I ask, wondering where this sudden homesickness is coming from and when he grimaces, it’s slight but there, I know the answer before he speaks.

“My mom’s sick, and it doesn’t matter if I have all the money in the world because I’m still here and she’s still there.”