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“I—” After the texting incident, I didn’t love discussing this with my teammates. I wanted more time with Billie, more time to continue building us.
But…it wasn’t like my feelings weren’t obvious.
Which was why I just lifted my brows, shrugged. “Yeah. What about it?”
Ryan lifted his hands in surrender. “Don’t get pissed at the single man. I’m just pointing out the truth.”
“That I like, Billie Rose?”
Ryan nodded.
“Congrats, Sherlock,” I muttered.
Laughter in his words. “In fairness, I’ve also deduced that Billie likes you back.” A pause. “Despite your lack of text game.”
I’d been lifting my beer to take a sip, but that dry insult had me inhaling sharply, nearly snorting up my beer. “Asshole,” I grumbled.
He laughed.
But I didn’t dump my beer in his lap, or over his head—mostly because that would be a waste of perfectly good beer, but also because the waitress came over right then, another glass of the hoppy stuff in her hand.
She plunked it on the table, smiled proudly. “For the mayor.”
Billie had looked up at the sound of the glass on the table, and I watched her smile change when her gaze hit the glass of beer.
Turnmayor-like.
Her mask slipped back into place.
“Thanks, Becky,” she said. “How’s Solomon?”
And just like that, we were all listening to River’s Bend’s mayor talking to her compatriots, hearing a complaint about the city’s preschool, brainstorming a solution to that issue, and making a promise to sort it.
I knew it wasn’t an empty one.
Because I knew Billie Rose.
Just like Becky knew her well enough to understand that same fact. Billie Rose would take care of the problem at the preschool. And that was why Becky immediately relaxed and walked away with a smile on her face.
Andleft the beer.
Fox slid it closer to her. “Your spoils, lady mayor,” he said, all gallant idiot.
Right up there withkismet.
Billie nodded her thanks but didn’t pick up the beer. “Tell me more about thisperfect kismet,” she said instead.
“Well then, your man and I were inperfect kismetbecause we both closed in on that fucker and took him right down—”
I really didn’t need to hear Fox relive the hit we’d dished out last night.
It was a good one, and the fucker on the other team deserved it—namely because he’d been trying to fuck with our goalie. But I’d heard this retelling in the locker room and on the bus and the hit got more grandiose with each iteration. I didn’t need to hear it again.
I nudged Ryan. “Let me out, yeah?”
Ryan’s brows snapped together, but he wasn’t a man of many words (when he wasn’t giving me shit, anyway), so he slid out of the booth.
I went to the bar.
