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I had a clear view of them from my seat. They were all loud and boastful. Muscular in all of the not-so-attractive places. None of them had the slenderness that Drake had.
A waitress—a blonde with a pink skirt that obviously loved their attention—swung her hair over her shoulder as she started their way. A notepad was in her hand, a glittery pen behind her ear, and when the bell above the door chimed again, she glanced back, spotting Drake.
She grinned way too hard as she saw him coming in her direction, tilting her head, going all googly-eyed.
Her hand pressed on his chest when he came closer, and she giggled while saying something.
Drake kept a straight face, removing her hand and walking right by her, going for the last empty booth.
Another car door slammed, I turned to look, and the twins came marching in. They walked into the restaurant, Otto smirking at the blonde waitress.
She looked disgusted with him. Shocking… not.
As they walked by, Kylie came down the hallway fiddling with the buttons on her dress. She wasn’t paying much attention, her head down, brows pulled together with frustration, and due to her lack of observing her surroundings she ran right into Oscar’s chest.
She gasped, lifting her head, eyes going wide, and Oscar caught her by the upper arms, keeping her steady before she could stumble and fall.
He looked down at her, and I watched as his face softened. It seemed he’d wanted to see her, too. I could tell by the smooth, sweet smile that spread across his lips.
Unlike Drake, he wasn’t afraid to talk to her. Hug her. Even chat with her. Kylie glanced at me, winking.
It’d happened just the way she wanted it to. I knew she wasn’t going to come back to the table for a while.
Otto stopped harassing the waitress and went to Drake’s booth. My eyes followed him until they dropped and met a sharp green gaze.
To my surprise, he was already looking at me. Only, unlike Oscar, he wasn’t smiling. He was glaring.
His arms were folded on top of the table, body hunched over, a shadow above his eyes that made him appear even darker.
He always looked so mean. It was really starting to become intimidating.
I fidgeted in my chair, dropping my gaze. I knew he hadn’t looked away. I could feel his glare on me, searing right through my skin, causing heat to travel up to my throat.
I grabbed my shake and took a quick sip, wishing Kylie would stop flirting with Oscar and come back to keep me company.
The fighters had ordered their food and roughhoused as they waited. Otto had joined them, leaning over the back of his booth and making smart-ass remarks, shoving his victories in their faces.
It was obvious that not many took Otto seriously outside of the ring. I’d never seen him fight, but it was clear he won…a lot. He got on their nerves, but they had to respect him because he was no wimp.
Ten minutes had passed, and I knew for sure Kylie wasn’t coming back. She and Oscar were now sitting at their own two-top table—her with a strawberry shake, and him with a burger, fries, and a large soda.
I sighed, pulling out my cellphone and jumping on whatever social network would make me seem the busiest.
Facebook involved a lot of scrolling, liking, and commenting. It would work for now.
A picture of Greta Wheeler and her new boyfriend ran across my screen. That wasn’t going to last for more than three days. Skank.
Sad, I was still only friends with her because she gave Kylie and me something to gossip about. Plus, we liked to keep a record of her longest and shortest relationships.
There was a picture of Trace, Kylie’s ex. He was with his best friend, sporting a shiner around his left eye that I’m sure he was lying about to cover his actions.
I snickered.
It was hideous.
Then I un-friended him. I didn’t need to keep seeing him on my timeline. What Kylie and he had was definitely over, after the way he behaved at the party.
I continued scrolling, but that’s when I came across the poster Kylie was talking about... the one with Drake on it.
Someone had shared it and had obviously attended the fight tonight, too.
She told me he was on it, but she didn’t tell me how freaking hot he looked. It was an older picture; his hair was longer and curlier, his face clear of the stubble he had now.
He still looked mean, though.
Locked jaw, upper lip peeled back, nostrils flared, and inked arms crossed tightly over his chest. He was shirtless… and eerily delicious. The way he looked on the poster, that usual shadow cloaking the top half of his face, that tight jaw, that brutal, sexy look.
His green eyes made the image spark, his fighter name big and bold on the poster.
