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That’s the only explanation I have for her not answering my calls.
Like a naive fool, I followed Rex’s advice.
In that alley, I made it clear that she’d always be mine no matter who she went out with.
I was the idiot that told her to go out with the asshole, and now?
Now I’m sitting here, all alone at the bar, with my back to the crowd, drinking my sorrows away.
“Nichols! Long time no see!” I hear someone call, patting their hand on my back, like some old lost friend, before sliding beside me.
I throw him a bored glower before turning my attention back to my drink.
“Do I know you?”
“I… um…” he stammers, embarrassed that I didn’t fix his face to memory.
But I did.
I never forget a face.
But the idea of seeing one of Piper’s nemesis squirming gives me a sick kind of satisfaction.
“It’s me. Ethan Flynn. We chatted last summer,” he quickly explains. “Remember?”
“Can’t say that I do.”
“I work for ProStar. I represent Henri ‘The Wall’ Girard,” he adds, his voice losing its bravado with each second that I refuse to acknowledge him. “We were supposed to have lunch to talk about him leaving the Ontario Blizzard so he could join the Guardians.”
“I have no recollection of that. Besides, why would I want Henri to play for me when I already have one of the best defense players in the league?”
Even under his beard, I can see Ethan’s face turning beet red.
“I would have thought that the bad publicity he recently got would have changed your mind,” he retorts, trying to keep his smile intact but unable to hide the venom in his eyes.
“A man is allowed to make mistakes, is he not? Especially if he learns from said mistakes.”
“Some mistakes are too unforgivable to ignore. Wilder is an anchor on the Guardians’ ankle. He will only pull you under.”
This fucker.
But just as I’m about to lay it on him, I see Nathan Wilder walk into the large room with Piper’s best friend, Charlotte Moore, on his arm.
“Is that a fact?” I smile.
“It is,” Ethan proclaims with conviction. “Having such a player on the team will only cause more harm than good to the Guardians’ public image.”
“Tell me, Ethan? Does that look like someone who is a stain to the Boston Guardians’ white and green jersey?” I say, pointing at a clean-cut Wilder who looks like a true gentleman with a queen at his side.
Ethan’s jaw falls to the floor at the sight of the couple.
“I don’t understand,” he mumbles to himself.
“What don’t you understand? How could my player have been invited to one of the most illustrious events of the season? Maybe it’s because he earned it the hard way. With blood, sweat, and tears. What about you, Ethan? How did you manage to secure an invite?” I ask point-blank, fully aware that a sneaky weasel such as himself has likely finagled his way in rather than receiving a legitimate invitation.
“Not that it matters, but I’m here with my father.”
“Wait? Flynn… as in Benjamin Flynn, the founder and owner of ProStar?” I ask, realizing that Ethan Flynn is not only a weasel but also a nepo baby. No wonder Piper loathes him. She had to work her butt off to get where she is now while this motherfucker had it hand-delivered to him.
