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He’d sat in the parking lot of Holly’s apartment for over two hours after she’d went inside, trying to figure out what the hell to do next. Then he’d gone home and tossed and turned for the rest of the night. He’d gotten up for practice, where he’d gone through the motions until he could escape and come here to have a beer and think.
Then one beer had turned into six or seven.
“I wanted to be alone and drink. I wanted to chill and think about some shit.” He glanced at Brandon and West. “I didn’t know I needed your permission to do that.”
“You don’t. Jake called us because he was concerned, Eli. This isn’t exactly normal behavior for you,” Brandon pointed out.
“Does this have anything to do with Holly?” West asked, leaning back in his chair.
Eli struggled to keep his expression neutral. “Why would you think that?”
“He thinks he’s deflecting shit like a boss,” Brandon said to West, hooking a thumb at Eli. “You’ve got the shittiest poker face on the planet, Donnelley. That’s why we don’t let you go to the tables at the casino. Give it up.”
“Penn told me that while we were downstairs playing pool, she and Holly were upstairs, chatting. Holly apparently told Penn the story of how you guys first met.” West shrugged. “My girl didn’t give me details, but I think spilling all that ancient history wound Wilkes up pretty good.”
Eli rubbed his eyes, then sighed. Yeah, that would definitely be enough to stir up a lot of old anger and resentment. Not to mention her car breaking down and all the other shit.
Fuck.
“Winner, winner, chicken dinner,” Brandon said, triumphantly. “Kellz, you hit the nail on the head.”
“What happened last night, D?” West asked him, leaning forward. “Nothing good if you’re sitting here drunk off your ass at four in the afternoon. This isn’t exactly how you should prepare for playing a Western Conference series against San Jose in the next week. Something’s going on.”
“I’m not drunk off my ass,” he muttered.
“Dude, your eyes are red as fuck,” Brandon told him, shaking his head. “You’re wasted.”
“Okay, here’s what's gonna happen,” West told Eli. “I reserved a block of rooms here at the hotel. Me, Brandon, and Ryder are going to treat our ladies to an evening away from the regular grind before this series gets underway. I got a room for you, too, and you’re going to go upstairs and take a long ass nap, shower, and change into the clean clothes I swiped from your penthouse.”
“You went to my place?” Eli asked, dumbfounded. “Why?”
“You gave me a key for emergencies, dumbass. I figured this was kind of an emergency.”
“Christ,” Eli muttered. “You guys are unbelievable.”
“Then tonight, we’re going to go to the dance club here at the hotel, hang out in the VIP section, eat, and watch the ladies dance,” West informed him. “And you’re going to tell us what the fuck happened with Holly. Or we’re going to drag it out of you. Understand?”
“Do I have a choice in the matter?” he asked, glaring at his friends.
“No,” they chorused.
He shrugged. “Well, I guess that’s that, then.”
“Good man,” West said, clapping him on the back. “Now let’s go.”
* * *
“I don’t understand why we just didn’t go to the restaurant,” Eli complained as he and his teammates filed into one of the VIP areas above the Palisades Hotel & Casino’s nightclub dance floor. “It’s a hell of a lot quieter than the club.”
“Don’t blame us if you have a wicked hangover, dude,” Ryder told him. “You did that to yourself. Did you take some Advil when you woke up?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving a hand.
“You look a hell of a lot better,” Brandon told him. “Not so rough around the edges, anyway.”
Ryder ordered a round of beers and a bottle of water for Eli, then a sampler of every appetizer on the menu.
“Water? Seriously?” Eli asked, raising an eyebrow. “I think I can handle a beer.”
