Page 68 of Line Change

“What are you having?” I ask.

She points at a pink drink in somebody else’s hand. “Whatever that is.”

I get the bartender’s attention and order it. Nadia takes the first sip, makes a face, then drinks again.

“Bad?”

“Terrible.” She hooks one finger into my sleeve. “Come dance with me.”

I let her pull me away from the bar.

She can dance, and after a minute she stops leaving any space between us. Her hands settle on my shoulders while mine find her waist, where the curve of her hip fits easily under my palm. Her perfume smells good. I move with her through the next song, waiting for any of it to push Pope out of my head.

Pope ditched us for a night with his old team, and I’m wasting mine thinking about him. I draw Nadia closer and try again.

Someone is watching me.

I look past her shoulder and find Pope across the room.

He’s standing between Matty and Diaz near the far end of the bar, with one of them talking on either side of him. Pope holds his glass near his mouth without drinking or reacting to either man. His eyes stay on me.

His gaze drops to my hand at Nadia’s waist. I spread my fingers over her hip without meaning to, and Pope lowers the glass.

Nadia turns against me, sliding one hand from my shoulder to the back of my neck. Pope’s eyes follow it. When he looks at me again, I stop moving.

People cross between us, breaking the view for a second. When the lights sweep back, he’s still there, and neither of us looks away.

Nadia says something I don’t hear. When I bend closer, she tips her face toward mine and gives me every opportunity to kiss her.

For one ugly second, I almost do it because Pope is watching and I want to see what happens to his face. I’m losing my fucking mind.

I straighten before our mouths touch. Nadia studies me, then follows my stare across the room. Matty has leaned in to say something to Pope, but Pope’s eyes are still on us.

“You know him?” she asks.

“We play together.”

Her eyes move between us again. “Right.”

I can’t tell whether she’s amused or annoyed, and asking would make this worse.

The crowd shifts as another group pushes toward the bar. Diaz steps out of the way, Matty turns with him, and I lose sight of Pope.

Nadia tries for another song. I manage half of it before she touches my jaw and makes me look at her.

“Your head’s somewhere else,” she says.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Thanks for the awful drink.”

She smiles when she says it, taps two fingers against my chest, and disappears toward a group of women dancing near the wall.

I stand there feeling like an asshole.

Bobby and Sindre are nowhere I can see. I finish what’s left of my beer and start toward the edge of the dance floor.

Fingers brush the small of my back.