I should follow him, is my second.
And fuck my life, because as badly as I hated everything about how easy it was for him to turn me down, I don’t think I’ve ever been so hard up for someone.
That’s a problem I need to fix.
Soon.
My brother was officially hammered by the time Aubrey and Finn finally arrived.
The new couple has been attached at the hip since I let her go back to him after getting the rundown on their date. In all honesty, tonight has sucked. Other than getting a front-row seat to how happy my best friend is, everything else has put me in a terrible mood.
Not only am I still angry and horny, but I’m embarrassed by the drunken admissions Wes made earlier about my love life for everyone to hear. Roman included. It’s not news to anyone who knows me that my past boyfriends have sucked. Most of themhave used me for access to Wes or his friends, and that’s made it hard to open up to new people. It’s part of the reason why I prefer to hook up with guys who don’t know me as anything but a random girl at a club.
It’s mortifying to have my dirty laundry wafted around for everyone to hear.
Even now, I can still feel the effects of Roman’s clear judgment after Wes blurted out that my love life and the shitty men that fill it are a problem because I’m too blind to know better.
“Don’t be an asshole, Wes!” I shout, embarrassment flooding through me.
“I’m not! I’m trying to look out for you. What was that other guy’s name? Rob?” Wes makes a gagging noise with his finger in his mouth. “He showed up at my house and tried to get me to autograph a box of jerseys! I mean, I love you, Elle, but come on. You should be able to see the signs by now.”
Aubrey pulls me into her body, ever my dutiful protector, as I hiss, “So, he was a fan. Sue me for not being able to realize quickly enough when I’m being used. You’d think I’d be a professional at it by now. My apologies, King Wes.”
Roman cuts in before Wes can answer me. He suggests ordering pizza, and I choke on my laugh, immediately drawing into myself. Even though he’s glaring at my brother, I know he’s thinking a thousand insults that he wants to shoot my way.
We’re out with the team, and there are responsibilities that come with that. You have to act civil with everyone, smile at the fans while pretending you don’t care that they’re interrupting whatever it is you’re out doing. There are things you don’t do. Having a blowout with your brother in the middle of a semi-public suite where anyone across the arena could be recording us is one of those things.
Despite all the alcohol he’s consumed, Wes straightens, blinking rapidly at the glaring team manager. The opening act comes to an end, and the arena lights lift, flooding the suite as clapping erupts. My brother slips off his bar stool and walks to the top of the stairs with his head slightly lowered.
I consider laughing before Roman’s laying his attention on me instead. His gaze reeks of annoyance, and I speak without thinking.
“Don’t look at me like that. This was my brother’s fault. And you’re the one who chose to come. If it’s past your bedtime, maybe you should go home and sleep.”
Aubrey sucks in a breath beside me. There’s a groan that fills the suite, flowing from Wes’ chest, and then silence. It’s the worst kind of quiet.
“I’m looking at everyone the same. There are eyes on this team, regardless of where we are. Do you think there aren’t other attendees’ cameras pointed up at this very moment, all of whom are looking for something to post about later? If Wesley wants to drink himself silly tonight, then by all means. You can be the one to catch his vomit, Brielle.”
My nostrils flare with the strength of my inhale. Stepping forward half a step, I snap, “Thanks for the tips, Dad. I’ve grown up with a professional athlete as a brother, so I’m well versed in appearances. But?—”
“Anyway!” Aubrey cuts me off, grabbing my hand. “Who wants to pop one of these bottles of champagne?”
I stop listening to her. Roman’s eyes burn into mine, neither of us wanting to back off. My fingers twitch at my sides, the sparkles on my hip rubbing against my thumb. The warm drip of desire becomes a flood when his pupils expand, swelling wide enough to betray his arousal.
When he speaks next, it’s to declare what food we’re shoving down Wes’ throat. I’m too focused on the way his voice rumblesacross the space between us and curls around my middle to contribute to the decision.
The last thing I’m hungry for is pizza.
The rock music swells around me, reminding me that I’m no longer back in the suite. I’m standing against the railing down in the seats instead. It’s hot and sticky so close to the crowds flanking our suite and dancing below us, reminding me of all the times I’ve been someone squished between strangers in the public seating. This is a completely different experience.
Our rows of secluded chairs are empty behind me.
All but one.
I sway my hips to the unfamiliar song, letting the heavy drumbeat vibrate up my legs. The ballplayers gathered around me and Aubrey are completely tuned in to the performance, and I can’t help but smile to myself, happy that I get to be a part of this tonight.
Wes is at the front of the line of bodies with his arms in the air and his voice carrying the sloppy lyrics the loudest. Even from way up ahead, he’s easy to hear over the other guys and Noah Hutton himself. Aubrey left with Finn a couple of songs ago. As jealous as I am that she’s got someone who loves her the way Finn does while I’m very single and alone, I’m so happy for her.
She deserves this.
