Page 46 of Dream On, Liar

It didn't matter that it was my second season, and I’d been the best player the country had ever seen.

Didn’t matter how after Oliver’s injury, the media had been focused on me, and until now there hadn’t been a single mess behind me.

Didn't matter that I still spent every spare minute training because ‘rest was for the weak.’

To him, one mistake outweighed everything else.

It always seemed to.

That's why I'd called Matt.

When we’d realise that we had overlapping matches in the same city, he’d invited me to hang out with his crew, but out of respect for mine—I’d declined him. Win or lose, we’d always done that together. Even after Durham; when the team had performed on a historically new low.

But tonight, I didn’t need to be the cricketer everyone expected.

Tonight, I didn’t need to be a cricketer at all.

For once, all I wanted was to be just another bloke in a crowded night club, trying to find a distraction worth his time.

Reaching the polished counter, I let my gaze run around as I waited for the bartender.

Over the years, I’d had plenty of one night stands. It wasn’t like it was a regular thing—No. Just because relationships simply weren't my thing, it didn’t meant I was out looking for a hookup each night. Even when touring around the country—let alone the world—gave me plenty of opportunities to do that. It’s because I simply needed there to be a spark, some kind of chemistry to get me to escalate things further. Realistically, relationship would be easier, but truthfully, I had never seen the appeal of promises that outlasted the moment, not with the example I had and I wasn't embarrassed to admit I'd never had a real relationship. Not even a proper fling. Well... unless anyone wanted to count the awkward, short-lived crushes back at boarding school. They never did, and neither had I.

The women I'd met had always known the score. No false promises. No lingering expectations. A great night if they’re lucky, a silent understanding of leaving without the awkward and polite goodbyes, and everyone walked away with exactly what they'd signed up for. It was uncomplicated, and that was precisely how I liked it.

Or at least, that was what I had always told myself.

My attention caught on two women a little farther down the counter, their heads bent together in what looked like an animated conversation. The brunette, her hair cropped short, listened with a soft, easy smile, while the blonde laughed, bright and unrestrained. From where I stood, I could only see the back of the blonde’s head, a few hair strands gathered with a small burgundy bow, yet somehow she held all of my attention.

I couldn’t explain why my eyes settled on her instead of wandering elsewhere. I couldn't even see her face. Still, her laughter once again carried effortlessly at whatever her friend had replied, over the low thrum of conversation and the steady pulse of bass, tugging at something inside me. My heart gave an unexpected jolt, as though an invisible thread had hooked itself around my ribs and was drawing me toward her before I had the chance to resist.

The feeling was such a stranger to me that its unfamiliar rhythm threatened to unsteady my footing, even as something quieter settled deep within me. I found myself wanting to know who she was before I wondered what her name sounded like on my tongue. For the first time in a long while, curiosity reached me before desire, and I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that.

Before I realised what I was doing, my feet were already carrying me in her direction. Every sensible thought that should have stopped me never even dared to arrive. I simply wanted to know the woman behind the burgundy bow and, as if the universe had decided to indulge me for once, her friend glanced at her phone, said something that drew a nod from the blonde, and slipped away through the crowd.

A quiet, almost ridiculous sense of relief unfurled in my chest.

As if sensing my presence, her head turned in my direction, and the moment our eyes met, it felt as though magnets had snapped into place, drawing us together with effortless certainty.

For a moment, everything else blurred at the edges of the room. The noise, the crowd, even the steady pulse of music faded into something distant and unimportant. I was caught—completely, stupidly caught—on the way she held my gaze like she wasn’t the least bit surprised I was there, only a stark of curiosity in her eyes that only pulled me closer.

“Your friend has impeccable timing,” I said, resting a forearm against the bar. “Should I thank her for leaving, or would that be terrible of me?”

Something sparked in her eye, and I could see that curiosity dimming in her eye. “Not if that’s the best you’ve got.”

A grin tugged at the corner of my lips at her bluntness, one brow lifting in quiet amusement. My heart thudded against my ribs at the sound of her voice, and in that moment, every part of me wondered what my name would sound like on her lips, just once.

“Fair enough,” I conceded. “Let's try this again. What's your drink of choice?”

Her eyes followed my trace, noticing the bartender nearing us. “Spicy Margarita.”

“Tequila girl.” I echoed like she’d confirmed a suspicion, a grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. When her eyes flickered with that earlier curiosity again, I raked my mind for something worthwhile. Enough to tell her that I’d rather feed it, than try to chat her up with some rehearsed lines. “Random fact. True tequila can only be made from blue Weber agave, which must be produced in specific regions of Mexico. It's basically protected the same way champagne is.”

She blinked, tilting her head as amusement took over her expressions. “Is that actually true, or are you taking the piss?”

“Look it up,” I shrugged, holding back the laugh that threatened to burst as she pulled out her phone to do just that. Leaning forward, I ordered her drink, Spicy Margarita, taking a shot as I asked for an extra spicy one while getting a rum and coke for myself. I’d planned on getting a Bourbon when I’d first found my way to the bar, but there was a part of me that no longer wanted to drown myself in alcohol.

“So, what’s the verdict?” I asked, leaning sideways as I watched her rummage through her screen, her gaze laser focused on the contents.