Page 102 of Faking the Goal

I grab my whiskey and throw the whole thing back, barely feeling the burn before I set the glass down harder than I intend.

The sharp crack against the bar finally gets Taylor's attention. Her head whips toward me, surprise flashing across her face before her whole expression immediately brightens.

"Oh! Hey there, Sunshine." She comes toward me with that big, slightly tipsy smile, eyes practically sparkling. "I didn't know you were here tonight."

I look past her and see Manning following a few steps behind, wearing the kind of easy grin that only makes my mood blacken further.

"Am I not allowed to be?"

Taylor lets out a soft laugh. "What? No. You just hardly ever go out. I think I've seen you at a club, like, twice."

"Hey, Azuma."

Manning gives me a small nod.

I glance at him without turning my head completely, managing something between acknowledgment and a glare before looking away.

I'm too fucking pissed to bother pretending otherwise.

At him. At my father. At the two months of medical bills I paid this afternoon. At the fact that the money I spent three years saving suddenly feels like a ticking clock. At Manning for standing behind Taylor looking entirely too pleased with himself. At Taylor for apparently considering going back to his hotel tonight.

I don't even know where one anger ends and the next begins anymore. It's all mixed together into one ugly fucking mess sitting hot beneath my skin, and somehow the sight of Manning hovering behind her is making it worse.

Taylor, either too drunk or too cheerful to notice, keeps talking.

"Oh, and I meant to tell you, thank you again for this morning. Seriously. I went through everything after I left, and you gave me so much good material for the feature." Her smile widens. "And tell your mom breakfast was amazing."

Manning's gaze moves from her to me.

Then back to her.

His eyebrows lift.

"Wait." A teasing grin spreads across his face. "You two a thing?"

Taylor blinks. "What?"

"You had breakfast with his mom?" He laughs, looking at her with open amusement. "Shit, T. Is that why you've been shutting me down all night?"

"There's nothing going on between us."

My voice comes out colder than I intend, but I'm too wound up to pull it back.

Taylor looks at me, her smile fading slightly.

"I know. I was just—"

"Trust me, Manning, Taylor's not my type. I like women who are modest. Classy. The kind who doesn't need to show off every inch of their body to get attention."

Taylor's face falls.

Completely.

The bright, tipsy smile she walked over here wearing is gone, and for a second she just stares at me like she isn't sure she heard me right.

Then her eyes drop to herself. Her hand comes up to tug at the sheer fabric covering her chest, pulling it together as though she can somehow make it cover more of her.

Manning's brows lift, but I'm already too fucking angry to stop. I get off the stool, my eyes dragging over her before meeting hers again, and the words come out uglier than anything she deserves.