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Gah.
Gonna need a solid brain-bleaching after this.
Or just my favorite, most effective distraction.
Last I saw, Lara was being swept along in a tide of WAGs headed to the Five Hole. She was laughing with them, looking like she fit in the same way she always does.
The woman makes friends as easily as breathing, but I want to make sure she’s doing good. Having fun. That my mother didn’t corner her and try to get her to marry me or something.
Least I can do after pressuring her to come along, right?
So maybe my strides eat up the sidewalk a bit faster than usual. So what. Better than hanging back while Bowie and Piper score a public indecency arrest.
The walk to the bar is quick, and the place is hopping. Not so much the front, which doesn’t get that busy on non-game nights. But the back rooms we rented out are packed.
And holy shit, they’ve even opened upstairs. I clap the hired muscle at the ropes dividing the two areas on his beefy arm and step into the fray.
My heart is hammering as I scan the crowd for Lara. Muscle memory. That’s all.
And then I catch her. She’s standing over by the bar, head thrown back laughing. Fuck, the sexy length of her neck makes resisting non-platonic thoughts a challenge. But I rise to that shit. Also, what else is new.
I’m already heading her way when my laser focus expands enough to see who’s got her laughing. I grind to a stop, brows crashing down.
Static comes up in my peripheral. “Jesus, man. Gulls takes your place on the team last season, and you have no issue with him. But he spends five minutes talking with Lara, and you look like you’re about to take his head off.”
“Nah.” I want to mean it. But then Trevor fucking Gulbrandsen touches her, and shit starts to short-circuit in my head.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Static laughs, sticking his arm out, clothesline-style. “Chill out, man, it was a high five.”
I try to unlock my jaw before my molars turn to dust, maybe to tell him I’m fine. But all I can manage is a grunt.
“Yeah, I hear you.” He nods beside me but then squints. “But I’m like ninety-nine percent sure he’s not into your girl there.”
“Wrong.” I don’t buy it. She’s fucking gorgeous. Smart. Funny. And when she looks into your eyes— I shake my head, feeling that achy pull in my chest.
Static holds up his free hand. “Sorry, not your girl. I meant to say the girl you know in a biblical sense from back in the day, currently live with, and can’t keep your eyes off anytime you’re in the same room… but who most definitely isn’t yours. Cut the kid some slack. For real, he’s not into her.”
I wasn’t saying she isn’t mine… even though she isn’t. But, “What makes you think he’s not into her?”
“You didn’t see him over at the arena?”
I saw him with a few people I didn’t know, but truth? Between Lara and the impending proposal, most of my bandwidth was taken up. I didn’t get around to saying hi. Figured I’d catch up with him when camp starts Monday.
But that was before this bullshit. Because Lara’s laughing again. And whatever just came out of his mouth makes me want to put my fist in it.
Which isn’t me.
It isn’t.
I’m a lover, not a fighter.
And Lara?
Not. My. Girl.
I don’t even want her to be. But motherfucker, no fucking way can I watch her become one of my teammates’ either.
Static says something else, but I’m not listening. I push Piper’s jacket into his chest and start walking.
