Pass Rush (Out Of Bounds #4)

Prologue

FIVE YEARS AGO

“God, you look good.” My eyes sweep over my date standing next to me.

She’s a tiny thing, maybe five foot three if I had to guess, and I tower over her as we stand on this red carpet waiting to go inside.

She smiles up at me, tucking her purse under her arm. Her light brown eyes sparkle, and I notice the bright pink shade on her cheeks. I honestly can’t tell if it’s makeup or if she’s blushing. But I don’t care, she’s keeping me company for this charity event.

“Thank you,” she says. “You clean up nicely too.” Her eyelashes flutter my way.

I follow behind her—unabashedly distracted by the sway of her hips as she walks into the downtown hall.

When I asked Lacy to come with me tonight, I knew it would be a yes. She’s fun company on nights I just don’t feel like being alone.

This charity event is packed to the brim with athletes from around the city. It’s always really cool to see how everyone rallies behind a good cause.

There’s soft music coming from a band in the back corner, and I can spot the basketball players right away—giant motherfuckers they are.

Tampa’s team recently signed a new power forward and it’s been the talk of the town since it happened, considering how awful they are.

Well, it was the talk of the town until two days ago when the Knights officially named me the starting quarterback going forward. And the spotlight shifted to that.

Funny how fast news moves and how quickly the next best thing pops up.

“This is our table,” Lacy says, reaching for my hand and gently tugging me to the right.

I pull out her chair, and she sits before I take my own seat, leaving the table with four other open chairs.

I recognize Connor Hughes’s name right away—he plays for Tampa’s baseball team.

One other name is that of a hockey player, the other two chairs are on the opposite side—too far for me to read the names.

“What’s up, man?” Connor palms my shoulders from behind, and I tilt my chin up at him with a smile.

“Hell yeah, good to see you.”

“You too,” he says, taking a seat to my left. “Congratulations on becoming the starter, don’t fuck it up.” He quickly tips his head as he laughs.

“I’ll do my best,” I answer, just as I feel Lacy’s hand on my thigh. Her delicate fingers create circles over my black suit pants, and I knock my head back just the slightest, the physical touch feels good.

From across the room, I notice a crowd gathering around a few people, one sticking out amongst the rest.

Connor’s chin tilts up. “That’s Brandon Nells, new power forward for the Wildcats. That’s who they’re hoping can turn the franchise around.”

“He’s fucking massive.”

“Six foot eight.” Connor scoffs, shaking his head just before taking a sip of his drink.

A small crowd of people begin making their way toward our table, and I’m starting to think one of the name tags on the opposite side says Brandon Nells.

“Hey,” Connor says, and both of us stand.

Maybe with both of us standing upright we’ll each appear taller—two guys around six foot two should balance out one at six foot eight, right?

“Hey, man, welcome to Tampa.” I extend my hand.

“You’re Evans,” he says. His voice is fucking deep, and I don’t know if he’s making it deeper on purpose or if he actually sounds like Thor in real life.

“I am,” I say with a grin. “Liam Evans. Nice to meet you.”

Connor introduces himself, and I watch as the people behind Brandon fan out. A few of the planned speeches are about to begin—I know a quiet down gesture when I see one as the lights lower.

“Brandon,” he says as he takes a seat at the table. I give Connor a quick side-eye as we both notice how much fucking space he takes up.

The Wildcats are expecting big things from him—and honestly, they should.

I take a sip of my drink, feeling the burn as it coats my throat, and turn my head toward the bar to see if I can make it there and back for another before anyone starts talking. But there’s commotion on the other side of the table and I quickly glance that way.

“Sorry, I was trying to network a little with my new boss,” a woman whispers to Brandon.

Well, it’s not exactly a whisper, I can hear her pretty clearly, but I think she thinks she’s whispering.

Whoever this woman is, Brandon doesn’t give her the time of day as he simply nods and continues to do whatever the hell he’s doing on his phone.

I watch as she pulls out her own chair and takes a seat with a glass of vodka in her hand. Unless it’s water? You’ve got to be pretty fucking brave to drink a tall glass of vodka on the rocks, so maybe it’s water. I feel far too invested in her beverage.

She brushes a wave of hair over her shoulder, and I tilt my head slightly, watching each movement she makes.

She’s beautiful. In that I shouldn’t be staring, but I can’t stop kind of way.

The way that makes you do a double take and stop what you’re doing to pay attention.

I wish she was closer so I could see more of her features.

I’ve never seen her before—or if I have, I’ve never noticed—and I hate how that makes me feel. Because a woman like her deserves to be noticed. But she’s definitely got my attention now.

Her hair is in dark curls and she’s wearing a black floor-length dress—both are my kryptonite. Which is interesting, since Lacy is blonde and in a pink dress.

I feel Lacy’s fingers on my thigh again when the lights dim even farther, practically reminding me she’s there, but this time I subtly brush them away.

Lacy’s beautiful, and on any other night, having her hands on me would be something I crave, but the air completely shifted when I saw this woman across the table.

Though I make sure to give Lacy’s hand a quick squeeze while offering a brief smile. I like her—we’ve been friends for a couple years, and I don’t want to be rude. Plus, I’m not a dick.

There are a handful of speeches being made by guests of honor and a founder of one of the charities just wrapped up his speech, ending on a cheesy joke that only made me, Connor, and the woman I’ve been catching glimpses of all night laugh.

“I’m going to grab a refill. Can I get you anything?” I ask Lacy, my hand on her shoulder as I stand.

“I’m okay, thank you.” She grins up at me and then continues her conversation with Connor.

“Old fashioned, please.” I raise my index finger to the bartender once I lean my elbows against the bar top.

“Oh, Liam, we could’ve come to take your order,” one of the bartenders says.

“No, that’s not necessary. I like coming up to the bar and cataloging all the expensive bottles you have displayed up here.” I grin at her as she’s making my drink.

She’s a little older if I had to guess, and has that very sweet, small-town demeanor about her. I decide pretty quickly she’ll be getting a good tip from me.

“You’ve got some nice whiskey on display here,” I say as I take in the top-shelf liquor. “Macallan is one of the best drinks I’ve ever had.”

She smiles and slides my drink to me on a napkin.

“Can I just have vodka cranberry and a water, please?” The voice I hear to my left pulls me in. It’s identical to the one I heard earlier when she was speaking well above a whisper.

“Vodka cranberry, wow. Can’t remember the last time I had that.”

She turns to face me—a few barstools are between us—but it’s brighter here than it was at the table, and I can see her face more clearly.

You can stick a fucking fork in me this very second. The darkest—and most stunning—eyes I’ve ever seen roll my way. And I genuinely mean they roll my way. A big fucking eye roll. And dammit, I probably shouldn’t love that as much as I do.

I watch as she takes a seat, following her every movement.

“Too cool for a vodka cran and moved onto a harsher drink with that old fashioned?” she bites back, but there’s a tiny smirk that plays on her lips. “The alcohol isn’t mine,” she says.

She smiles down at the sticky bar top. Ah, so the drink I saw her with earlier must’ve been water. Kind of relieved, to be honest. Seems dangerous to allow someone that much vodka.

I glance over my shoulder at the table. Lacy is still talking to Connor, and Brandon is talking to a couple of gentlemen who’ve approached the table—no one’s paying any mind to the bar.

“So you’re the water. Smart. Stay hydrated.” I tip my drink before taking a sip, and I hear her laugh.

I swear to god, my knees feel like they might buckle at the sound of her laugh. It’s the best thing I’ve ever heard, and I’d pay to hear it again. I catch a dimple on her cheek that’s facing me, and I can’t help but wonder if she has a matching one on the left.

“I’m just grabbing my—” There’s a brief pause in the flow of her sentence, but then she continues, “Fiancé a drink.”

Fiancé?

My attention snaps to her left hand. I know I would’ve noticed a ring. Engagement rings are hard to miss, aren’t they? Women usually become left-handed for everything once they have a rock on their finger.

But her right hand nervously cups over her left as she notices me looking at her bare finger, and I avert my eyes somewhere else. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. Although, it’s kind of a douchebag move to make your fiancée go to the bar to get your drink. Docking a few points from this guy.

“It’s…a long story.” She sighs as the bartender puts both of her requested drinks down in front of her.

My lips turn down as I shake my head. “No need to explain.”

She nods and tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and it’s then that I get a glimpse of the ink on her wrist.

The letter B.

B, as in Brandon? Based on her hesitancy to admit they are engaged, I find myself wondering if the tattoo is for him or something else.

“Well, congratulations on the engagement.” I turn my back to the bar, looking out over the tables full of people.