The ballroom lighting is low enough for comfort, but because it’s Christmas themed, twinkling lights illuminate the faces brightly enough that I can see Liesel and the people she’s talking to.
And they’re all dudes. Young dudes who are probably attractive to women, but I wouldn’t know, because I think they all have dumb, smarmy faces.
Including my own friend, Braden.
Who the heck chats up the girl his friend was clearly staking a claim on? I know I can’treallystake a claim on her, because she’s not mine and we low key “hate” each other (which is a cover, because it’s obvious we actually love fighting with each other). If I didn’t care so much about my job, I’d go over and give him a knuckle punch in the thigh just hard enough to make sure he gets it.
But no, Liesel and Braden are laughing, and she’s playing with that earring and occasionally touching the skin behind her earlobe, and I wonder what it feels like. Her shoulders were soft and supple when I grabbed them in her suite. Her hands were velvety smooth when I took her lipstick and phone.
She gave me her lipstick and phone.
That’s such a date move. It’s a sign ofhugetrust, whether she knows it or not. Do you know why?
She has a wallet case phone. I could look at her driver’s license and get her address, not that I would because I’m not atotal creep. Her key card is in this, not that I need it, because the front desk clerk had no problem letting me upstairs.
But still.
For whatever reason, she’s not afraid of what I could do. She’s not worried I’ll use the knowledge I could get here to toilet paper her place or rack up a bunch of room service charges. She trusts me. Or she’s starting to, at least.
I try to make my way closer to her, weaving through the crowds, but Marty stops me. I swallow my frustration.
“I hate mixers,” Marty says, taking a long drink from his glass. A server walks by, and Marty puts his glass down and grabs another. “Too many people.”
I look past him to see Liesel grinning at something Braden says, but her gleaming eyes find mine.
And she plays with that earring again.
I’m hungrier than ever.Famished.
“Mind if I join you two?” a woman says.
Marty looks at me, holding my gaze for a beat too long. I try to beg him with my eyes to stay soIcan go. But he says, “Sorry, I was just on my way … over there.” And he walks off.
Thanks a lot, Marty.
“Sure thing.” I look at Liesel before turning to the woman.
“Your girlfriend is lovely,” she says.
“She wouldn’t like you calling her that, but I agree.”
“Lovely or your girlfriend?”
“The latter. The compliment is true, regardless.”
The woman smiles. She’s in her early 30s and very pretty. If I hadn’t just been looking at Liesel, I’d probably flirt with her, but as it is, nothing else will satisfy my appetite.
“I’m Kayla,” the woman says, holding a champagne flute in one hand and shaking my hand with the other. “I’m the new owner of the …” she pauses, “Mullet Ridge Mudflaps.”
The Mullet Ridge Mudflaps are famous for a few reasons: one, their name. It’s like calling them the Mullet Ridge Mullets. Two, the billionaire Carville family just bought them. And three, the team has been the worst in the minor leagues for the last ten years. I wouldn’t be surprised if the previous ownerpaidthe Carvilles to take it from him.
“You’re Kayla Carville?” I say. “I don’t mean this in a rude way, but the Mudflaps aren’t a Firebirds affiliate. What are you doing here?”
“A few friends and I are here for a spa retreat. It’s my bachelorette party.” My eyes drop to the huge rock on her left hand.
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you. When I heard there was a baseball meeting in town, I thought I’d try my luck at recruiting help.”
