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My mind must be playing tricks on me, because I could swear I heard my name being called. Then again, between the drinks Bryce insisted we have before we left her place and what I’ve had since we got here, I’m slightly tipsy.
I felt out of place the minute the bouncers allowed us entry and I found out the tight dress Bryce forced me to change into—because apparently my dress pants and silk tank top wouldn’t cut it for Noveau, the newest and hottest nightclub in San Francisco—was apparently the appropriate uniform for this place.
When I hear my name a second time, I look over my shoulder and find Brady Banks leaning over the railing from one of the VIP sections, waving us over to him.
Shit. I swore the players were bound to some curfew, so I never thought we’d run into any of them here. Great second impression. I’m drunk and wearing a dress that could be used as Saran Wrap.
Then the question dings in my mind. Who is he here with? I remember Lee asking Brady to go out while I was working on Brady and Brady saying he’d hook them up.
I motion for Bryce to follow me and push my way through the few people separating us from the VIP section. Brady’s million-dollar smile doesn’t distract me from looking over his shoulder at Lee, Miles, and Chase on the couches.
Quadruple shit.
I like Brady. This entire week, he’s seemed like a nice guy who lives for his son. And he’s new to the team, so I can’t hold the company he keeps against him.
We say polite hellos and chat for a minute, but his attention turns to Bryce, who is dancing in place. I understand why. First off, Bryce is single, available, and gorgeous. Second, she’s got that outgoing personality that garners attention everywhere she goes. Third, she doesn’t work for the Kingsmen.
I dutifully ignore the men behind Brady, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling the searing sensation of Lee’s gaze. He’s making this whole situation so much worse. Eventually we’ll have to talk and be cordial, otherwise it’ll be a very long year—or longer, if he doesn’t change teams.
I breathe a sigh of relief when Brady walks away—we can go back onto the dance floor and disappear into the crowd now. But they must have come to an agreement, because Brady talks to a bouncer and Bryce slides her arm through mine, leading me over to the roped-off area. Please say it isn’t so.
Bryce smiles at me as though we’re so lucky, unaware of the history between Lee and myself. “Brady invited us to join him. Come on.”
She tightens her arm in mine and drags me toward the bouncer, whose job is to keep girls like us from boys like them unless they say it’s okay.
“I probably shouldn’t,” I shout, hoping she can hear me. “I mean… I work with them.”
She doesn’t change course or stop until we’re in front of the bouncer. When she faces me, I half wonder if she sees how pale I probably am from the nauseous feeling in my stomach that has nothing to do with the alcohol we’ve drunk.
“You can still hang out with them. You just can’t go home with any of them.” She laughs at what a preposterous idea she thinks that is, and I pretend to find enjoyment in it as well.
“Um…”
She sticks out her bottom lip like a pouty child. “Come on. Brady seems really nice.”
She smiles like a girl who sees a glimmer of hope for her romantic future, whether just tonight or forever, and my stomach sinks because I’m not going to say no to her. I get the appeal. I was her once.
Plus, Bryce has taken me under her wing and befriended me in a new town where I know no one. And I like her and see where a friendship could blossom between us. What is one night, a few hours? I can handle that. Plus, Miles was always easy to talk to.
As the bouncer’s hand moves to the metal clasp to unhook the rope that blocks off the set of stairs leading up to Lee, my stomach spins and my heart hammers. The bouncer motions us forward and I can barely put one foot in front of the other, thinking of an excuse to flee that Bryce would believe.
“Hey,” I say, putting my hand on Bryce’s, but I’m too late.
Brady greets us at the top stair with that crazy gorgeous smile that has earned him plenty of women in his bed.
“Shayna.” He wraps his arms around me as though we’re long-lost childhood friends. “This is a different look for you.” He’s not looking at me as though he wants to throw me over his shoulder and run out of the club, which is good.
I pretend to be confident in a dress that would never hang in my closet—especially if I thought I’d run into the guys I work with and only want to view me as a professional. Not a party girl with her tits on display. So I’m thankful Brady doesn’t give the same vibe most guys on the dance floor were.
“I didn’t think leggings and a T-shirt would work tonight,” I say.
He laughs. “Definitely a better option.” His eyes travel down Bryce and back up, the two sharing a look that causes me to imagine the two of them in a situation I don’t want to. “And you look gorgeous.”
Bryce’s smile could light up the entire San Francisco skyline.
“Come on over to our table.” He circles around and makes his way past the other tables, and men and women gawk and point and whisper as he passes. It says something about you when the VIPs are admiring the fellow VIPs.
The other three sit on two couches, all eyes on us.
