Roman’s not looking at me. He doesn’t need to be. Not when he chose the spot beside me instead of the open space next to Kellan. My pulse thrashes in my throat as I settle into my seat and stare at the lights on the ceiling, ignoring the twitch at the corner of my mouth.
It’s like I said.
This night just got dangerous.
21
ROMAN
In the last twenty years,I’ve been to a club twice.
During both of those trips, I’ve been accompanied by my catcher’s younger sister. I don’t know how to begin trying to make sense of that.
Sitting on a cold, firm leather couch a full level above the rest of the club, I’m surrounded by a handful of my players. Finn and his girlfriend, Aubrey, then Jett, Kellan, Asher, Beck, Wesley, and lastly . . . Brielle. I’m stiff and completely sober as I watch them shoot back shots and dance to unfamiliar music that does little but make it more obvious how much older I am than them.
I don’t feel the desire to dance, nor do I reach for the bottles of top-shelf alcohol that don’t appear to stop being brought to our section. There are tall, bulky men standing at each entrance, unmoving as the crowds below us spare glances every few moments.
It was Beck who was recognized first. I knew it would be. From the moment we were escorted through the doors and to this blocked-off, seemingly protected area, there have been eyes on us. Too many for how uncomfortable I already am.
Still, joining them was the right decision.
I did it for the team.
It’s as simple as that. The woman dressed in pink had little to do with it.
My prickled feelings after having spent over five hours watching her and Beck on the flight here were a mere inconvenience. It was misplaced aggression that I buried the moment I made it to my hotel room. The cold shower was refreshing, not punishment.
I glare at the liquored-down table in front of me as it flashes pink and blue. I’m a fucking liar, and there’s no denying it. Not anymore.
Brielle’s still dancing in front of me. Her hands are gripping the railing as she twirls her hips and grins down at the crowds below like they’re little more than her own personal audience. Tangled blonde curls sway across her back, so beautifully messy that they don’t make sense with how put together she is. I can still smell her perfume and feel the addicting press of her arm against mine from the party bus. Those several minutes felt like a goddamn lifetime, knowing that I couldn’t take her soft hand in mine and tug her right onto my lap so Beck would finally realize she isn’t available to him.
She should be. I know that; weallknow that. But she isn’t.
I want her so fucking badly that I’m struggling to breathe, knowing that at any given moment, she might decide to leave this isolated section we’re in and slip away. I’d have to watch her slide between hot, sweaty bodies as they move without a care for whether or not she gets shoved around or touched in a way that has me unravelling.
Brielle is a force of nature that no man alive is strong enough to weather, but I think I want to be the one to try.
Wesley’s voice is obvious over the music. It should be enough to change my mind, yet as Kellan drops onto the couch beside me and hammers me with his shoulder, I’ve already decided my next move.
Standing, I brush my hands down my shirt. Kellan’s reaching for the bottle of tequila when I round the table and pass Jett. He’s too concerned with whatever is on his phone to notice me, and beside him, Finn’s explaining something to Beck that I ignore. Out of the entire group, it’s Finn and, surprisingly, Beck who have remained sober.
It’s a mess of lively bodies, shouting, and flashing lights. The overstimulation is almost enough to guide me to the exit rather than the railing I’ve set my mind on. A tight, pink, shimmering dress yanks me back on track.
Brielle’s holding her hair off her neck when I approach. She’s rubbing against Aubrey’s side as they dance together, singing so loudly that I can make out the words over the bass. I gulp and slow my steps. My hands sink into the pockets of my slacks and curl in the inner fabric.
I settle against the railing a few feet from them, close enough to know she’s still nearby without interrupting her fun. A deep shadow covers the area, bathing it in dark. The metal is cold against my palms when I take hold of it and lean forward, sucking in a long inhale of hot club air.
My senses are overrun. I can’t help but sweep my eyes across the space between us, willing her to feel my presence and look my way. The minutes crawl by without acknowledgment. I rock forward, tightening my jaw. The club has grown busier, but I’m hidden in the shadows, only illuminated by brief flashes of colour.
I should go.
This is pathetic. My breath saws out of me as my confidence begins to fray. One minute soon turns into five.
I lock up when I feel the air change. It’s slow at first, a slow, creeping twinge of energy sparking. Then, it’s an eruption.
My blood floods with need when Brielle sidles up beside me. She’s not close enough to touch me, but it doesn’t matter. I’m ruined regardless.
Leaning closer to me, she raises her voice over the music. “Why did you come tonight? I want the real reason. Not whatever you’ve been rehearsing.”
