It’s similar to the glimmer of hope that ignites every time I look over at the gorgeous redhead sitting side-on to me.
I’m going to make my move. I am. As soon as I find my balls. She’s just sitting, not talking to anyone, except occasionally the pink-haired woman chatting with Ares. She seems very…wholesome for his tastes. Could the hotshot goaltender be ready to settle down?
Almost laughable, but anything is possible.
Red is sitting next to Athena, Ares’s sister. They aren’treally engaging in conversation as much as they’re staring at Ares and the pink-haired woman.
Okay. I’m going to do it. I take the final slug of my beer and set my bottle on the table before rubbing my cold, damp palm on the side of my dress pants.
Something compels me to talk to this woman, and sooner’s better than later.
I gently touch her elbow to pry her attention away from Ares. Hopefully she doesn’t have a crush on him or isn’t in some love triangle with the pixie and the goalie. Wouldn’t that be a cool book to read at Get Lit?
Speaking of, I need to catch up on this month’s read. Dammit.
Cold, hard jade eyes meet mine, as a single eyebrow arches.
I’m about to die.
“Hi.” My tongue is coated in peanut butter, and my brain no longer remembers basic communication. Which would be funny if it wasn’t a potential outcome from taking too many hits to the skull.
She tilts her head to the side, remaining quiet.
This chick is about to rip my head off and feed it to a pack of wild dogs. “I’m Raffi.”
More silence.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
She purses her already flat lips, flaring her nostrils. I wouldn’t be surprised if flames burst from her mouth when she opens it. There’s a rage brewing between us that is going to explode any second, and I fear I might be on the receiving end of it if I don’t haul ass out of her space.
Resting bitch face is one thing, but this…this is just next level loathing. She could simply be in a bad mood in general, but it feels more like she hates men. And right now all her rage is focused right on me.
She picks up a full glass of dark liquid, maybe Coke? And moves it over my head.
There’s no way.
Except when the first drop of liquid hits my head she proves me wrong. There’s absolutely a way.
She dumps the whole glass of liquid on my head, drops the glass—which I’m not fast enough to catch before it hits the ground at my feet and splinters into a million pieces—and grabs her shit and starts to leave.
When I make a move to rise, to follow her, to ask her if she has the right person, she holds her hand up like a stop sign. “If you follow me, I’ll call the cops.” She spins on her heel in a blur of curves and fury. The urge to go after her is strong, but last thing I need is to be arrested for harassment.
A hand appears in front of me with a stack of napkins. “What the fuck did you say?” Tate asks with a wide smirk.
The sticky liquid trickles down the back of my neck, all over my face, and onto my lap from my nose and chin. “I asked if I could buy her a drink.”
“Guess she had one of her own.”
“Guess so.”
Who is that woman, and what the fuck just happened?
CHAPTER 12
Victoria
If I stand here for just a couple minutes longer, I’m going to be late for my appointment with Phil. That’s the name of the owner guy the moms from Wyatt’s daycare recommended I go to for personal training sessions.
