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In a constructive way so that he understands I’m just trying to impart a dash of experience. That’s one of the reasons Callum wanted me here, to bring some seasoning to the team.
I open my mouth to say just such a thing but something catches my attention behind him over near the bathrooms. My jaw drops to see Simone coming out of the ladies’ restroom along with Baden’s fiancée, Sophie, and Stone’s girlfriend, Harlow. The three of them are laughing and even more shocking than seeing Simone here is the fact that she’s wearing a Titans jersey with my name on it.
Christ, I can’t even begin to process the emotions slamming around inside me. The first and ever-present is intense longing for the woman, not just because she’s beautiful and sexy but because no one has ever loved me the way she has. I’m also perplexed that there’s an animalistic pride in seeing her wear my jersey and I immediately banish that from my thoughts. She is not part of Team Van. She’s not even supposed to be in Pittsburgh and I’m pissed as hell that she’s here celebrating with my team because all that does is blur the lines for me.
She’s not playing fair and I’m going to put a stop to it.
“Excuse me,” I mutter and step across the ropes, heading toward Simone. It’s Sophie who sees me first and nudges my wife to get her attention and then nods my way.
I plaster on a smile, lifting my chin to greet Sophie and Harlow before my attention cuts to Simone. I keep my tone pleasant, but to those who know me—my brat of a spouse, for instance—you can hear that I’m irritated. “Mind if I speak with you a moment?”
Sophie and Harlow exchange a look with Simone and I can see all I need to know about these women. They know Simone’s side of the story and they know I’m not happy.
Harlow squeezes Simone’s shoulder. “We’ll meet you back at our table.”
“Okay,” Simone chirps with a smile. She watches them both melt into the crowd before turning to me. Her smile is pleasant, eyes sparkling as she hitches her purse higher on her shoulder, holding on to the strap with both hands. “You played a great game tonight.”
I don’t bother with niceties. “What are you doing here?”
Her look of confusion is overly exaggerated. “Why wouldn’t I be here? My husband plays for the Titans. All the other wives and girlfriends are here.”
Rubbing at my temple, which is now aching, I speak in low tones. “We’re separated.”
“We’re living together,” she points out.
“I’ve asked for a divorce and as such, you’re not welcome at these events.”
The smug look on Simone’s face has me bracing for a slapdown. Her gaze cuts across the room and she waves at someone. I twist my neck to look over my shoulder and see Brienne and Drake standing there. Brienne blows a kiss back at Simone.
My wife turns her attention to me, eyes glittering with challenge. “I think Brienne would disagree with you on whether I’m welcome.”
“Christ, you’re a piece of work,” I mutter angrily.
“Can I buy you a celebratory beer?” She looks so hopeful and I fucking hate to hurt her, yet again. But she’s going to accept this and ignoring her is the best weapon I have.
“Pass,” I say and turn on my heel. Not going to give her a minute of attention.
I can’t even hope that by ignoring her she’ll get frustrated and leave because she now has friends here. She’ll hang out with her new cronies and have no incentive to leave. But at least she won’t have my notice.
Before I reach the velvet ropes, a woman steps in my path. I’m brought up short, so lost in my thoughts I almost barrel over her.
It would be impossible not to notice she’s beautiful but that thought only briefly crosses my mind. I’m more on guard wondering if she’ll ask me about Arco.
“Van… hi… I’m sorry to stop you like this, but I wanted to tell you I’m a huge fan. I lived in Raleigh when you played for the Cold Fury and even had your jersey. My job recently transferred me here to Pittsburgh and I flipped out when I saw you joined the team. I just wanted to know if I could get a picture… I don’t have anything to sign or else I’d be begging for an autograph too.”
Some of the tension eases. “Yeah… sure.”
She beams and flips the screen on her camera. She’s got a beer in one hand and holds her phone out with the other for us to take a selfie. Her arm’s not quite long enough to get us both in, so I take it from her. “Here… let me.”
The woman scrunches in close but not inappropriately so. She smiles, I follow suit and snap a few photos.
As I’m handing her phone back, the waitress arrives with my beer. I start to fish out my wallet, but the woman says, “Oh, please… let me buy that for you.”
She’s got a twenty in her hand and the waitress makes change.
“Cheers,” she says as she holds her bottle out and I tap the neck of mine against hers.
“Thanks.” And now I feel obligated to talk to her.
