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Chapter Four
Brewer
I’m in much better spirits after tonight’s win—and we’ve got a three-day break—that I’m hoping like hell to spend with her. All of it; seventy-two hours, not a second of it wasted. I’ve got a real good feeling about this one, a rush like never before; things seeming to fall into place by themselves.
Such as…
“I don’t give two shits if you’re ‘in the mood’ or not. We’re taking our asses out to celebrate, probably tomorrow night too, and your ass is gonna smile the whole goddamn time.” Lance’s feeling salty… playing right into my hand.
“Okay,” I pour it on thick, “guess I do owe you one.”
“Damn right you do.”
“Not arguing, dipshit,” I laugh. “Let’s go already; I’ll drive.”
He follows me to my truck, talking a mile-a-minute, rattling off suggestions of clubs to hit. I don’t bother to set him straight, inserting a few hmms of fake interest every so often, driving as fast as the law allows to my already determined destination.
“What’re we doing here? Wait, where the hell even is here?” he asks when I park my truck.
“You’ll see. Come on.” I climb out, grinning to myself. “You can thank me later.”
He keeps grilling me as we walk to the door, still running at the mouth while we wait after I knock; but I say nothing, letting him stew. A very pretty woman with long, jet-black hair opens the door, andI hold in my laugh while she glances from me to Lance, her jaw dropping and eyes bulging as she does it one more time, as if making sure.
“Hi, you must be Nichole,” I help her out, smiling.
She nods, cheeks now scarlet, and finally manages to pull her eyes off Lance long enough to meet mine. “I-, wh-, yes”—she pauses to gather herself— “I’m Nichole.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Brewer Hayes.” I shake her trembling hand. “Sorry about the mix-up before; I just assumed they were her seats. And I hope you don’t mind, but Lance here tagged along.” I laugh lightly, positive thatshe doesn’t mind a damn bit. “Lance, this is Nichole Everett. She’s a Freeze fan, season ticketholder, and, rumor has it, is under the delusion that you’re quite the player. Nichole, Lance Fox, worst player on the team; best at being a pain in my ass,” I introduce them, Lance’s punch to my arm deserved, I suppose.
“Well hellooo, Nichole. Very nice to meet you,” Lance schmoozes, lifting her hand to his mouth and kissing it like some sort of a gentleman, the insinuation in his voice just having told her he’s anything but. What a jackass.
I’m about to apologize for him, but stop short when I realize… his bullshit actuallyworked. She blushes from neck to forehead and giggles, while moving closer to him. I shake my head and smother a scoff— yeah, they’re gonna get along just fine.
“Is-”
Nichole somehow hears me amidst her Lance Fox Fog and cuts me off by holding up a single, stiff finger, motioning for us to come inside as she smiles sweetly. Then, further proves, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that she’s a pistol, absolutely perfect for Lance. She calmly closes the door, turns her head and screeches, “Gracelyn Christine Bolton, get your ass out here!”
Gracelyn. Beautiful. Very fitting. But she’d signed as ‘Gracie.’ Can’t wait to ask her myself which she prefers.
And then I see her… poking her sweet, stunning face out from around the corner of a room down the hall. Her wide-eyes find mine and I mouth, ‘Hey.’
‘Hey yourself,’ she silently replies, her smile one of delicate, classic beauty. Reminding me—hands-down the most random, and yes, a bit cheesy for my male pride, thought I’ve ever had—of the vintage bombshells in the black-and-white movies my parents used to watch. Those women who were authentically beautiful, no color or special effects to hide or enhance things.
Unlike her hellcat friend, I ask her to come out nicely, with the crook of my finger and a warm grin. And I watch—each fleeting, subtle shift in her expression, the soft sway of every single part of her body, the deepening hue on her cheeks—as she slowly approaches.
Then jolt, just like her, when Nichole launches in again. “Well, look who finally decided to join us: MissFull of Surprises! Can you believe it, G? Lance Fox, of all people, standing in my living room! Yeah, I know; shocking, right? So why is it you don’t look the least bit shocked? And, how nice would it have been if I’d have known; could’ve gotten ready too?”
I’ve known this chick for a minute, so I can’t tell if she’s kidding or genuinely furious. And I’m not willing to chance it, so I step up, praying it works, or it’s the former, and the night isn’t ruined. “Um, Nichole, hate to interrupt, or butt in your business… but I’m gonna have to interrupt and butt in your business.” She looks to me, her eyes narrowed and lips pursed, so I turn up my smile and charm. “You look beautiful—like you spent hours getting ready. And, blame me, not Gracelyn, please. Lance and I always go out to celebrate a win together, and since no one else can stand his ass, I risked it and brought him along. Like I said before— my idea, totally my fault.”
“Could you be more full of shit?” she calls me right the fuck out, no hesitation whatsoever. “Isn’t he?” She now turns her glare and temper on Gracelyn.
But my little lady has some oomph of her own, which comes out kicking… and my dick swells with a whole new hunger. “Just say thank you, Nichole Elaina Everett, then shut it. Yep, I went there; full-named ya right back!”
“Okay, what’d I miss?” Lance asks— anyone, everyone— and I bust out laughing; can’t be helped. “Oh, and my middle name’s Christopher. Just throwing that out there; seems like a requirement to play… whatever the hell game this is.”
“Nice to meet you, Lance Christopher,” she snickers, “I’m Gracie Bolton.” She steps forward with her hand extended, which he wisely only shakes… knowing I’ll rip his lips right off his fucking face if they dare touch her hand. “You’ve obviously met my best friend Nichole, or Nikki— what she goes by. This is her place, her season tickets, and your biggest fan. Please ignore her bitchy, over-the-top reaction. She’s never been good at surprises, but is thrilled you’re here, I assure you.”
“I’ve” —she moves so she’s standing in good view of us all, holding her phone up and out— “called and texted my mother all pertinent information on both of you guys. And it’s only fair to also let you know, my mom’s that lady; the nosy neighbor who peers around her curtains, chomping at the bit to scope out any suspicious activity that she feels is her duty to immediately report to the police.”
