11. Ella #2
“Still can’t believe you got a fake ID this good in some backwater town in Georgia,” Sierra mused, shaking her head as we settled into a booth.
Dom shrugged, and I added, “He’s six-five with a linebacker neck. No one’s questioning shit.”
She would probably not believe me when I told her it was little old Mrs. Bingham, who used to run the local DMV back home, who was responsible for this. She enjoyed causing mayhem in her retirement.
Who wouldn’t want a little corruption with their sweet tea?
The bar was packed, the air feeling sticky and warm with beer breath and body heat.
Music thumped overhead — something bassy and vaguely nostalgic — making me swing my hips from side to side as we wound our way through the throng of buzzed students.
We probably wouldn’t have even been able to snag a table if it hadn’t been for Dom.
Football players were always a big deal in the South. Make it make sense . As an athlete myself, I was only slightly bitter about this.
At the very least, it’d gotten us somewhere to sit.
Sierra was clearly unimpressed with the crowd. Aside from sorority events, I was almost certain that she’d never partied on a school night before.
I, on the other hand, was scanning the crowd, fully engaged in people-watching. It was honestly one of my favorite pastimes.
Dom had just gotten up to order us drinks when the volleyball girls rolled in like a glam squad in sneakers — tan, confident, and ready to make Sierra feel like the queen she was tonight.
Someone must’ve shot them a text about celebrating, because they came in buzzing like they were already part of the plan.
We’d barely made it through introductions before the door burst open and a squall of big guys entered the bar.
They were clearly part of Dom’s crew — they were all loud and hyped up, like they’d started celebrating an hour ago.
Wouldn’t have surprised me. Those guys worked as hard as they played.
The booth we’d claimed got louder, warmer, and more chaotic. In a good way. Celebratory energy was buzzing in the air like carbonation.
Knox, one of the big lugs I was introduced to earlier, bumped his knee into mine. “So, what are we drinking, little Kincaid?”
“First off, rude. I’m the older one. Second, honestly, I’m not entirely sure. Tastes like lime and regret.”
A booming laugh rang out. At least someone could appreciate my humor.
Once everybody had congratulated Sierra, I ordered a round of shots — bye, bye, tips — to toast to her incredible success.
She hadn’t wanted to come out, but now her face was flushed, a smile playing around her lips.
Dom did the honors for me with an expression on his face I’d never seen before. Soft and filled with admiration.
“Darlin’, I’m so proud of you. You earned this, and most importantly, you deserve this. Here’s to you kicking ass in Cali!”
Raising my shot of tequila, I met her eyes. “As your future sister-in-law, I expect custom merch. I want ‘Sierra’s Hype Squad’ in rhinestones.”
She snorted, and we all downed our shots with varying levels of disgust and shuddering involved.
I felt him before I saw him, like gravity bending just a fraction tighter.
When I turned around, there was Hunter, leaning casually against the booth behind me, his eyes cutting straight through me.
When the fuck did he even get here?
I blinked and watched him out of the corner of my eye, like he might vanish if I looked too long.
How has no one noticed him yet?
It felt as though his gaze was burning into the back of my head, but that must have surely been my imagination.
The whole room didn’t shift. Just me, apparently. Just the part of me that had clocked something sharp and cold and magnetic and refused to look away.
He was watching us, not in a creepy way, but in the distinctive ‘Hunter’ way. Like he was running some invisible calculation.
His presence didn’t announce itself. It pressed, a quiet kind of gravity. My throat suddenly felt very dry.
Do not look again. Nope. Just keep sipping. Be normal.
Sierra was telling us about her future team, the Los Angeles Sirens, and I tried to focus; I really did. But I could feel my focus slipping, my eyes blindly tracking the condensation dripping from my can.
Why did he look like he was waiting for something?
Maybe he wasn’t even here for us. Maybe he’d just wandered in. Maybe he owned this place with his weird, shadowy hacker money.
Inwardly, I rolled my eyes at myself.
Girl. Calm down. He’s just a man.
A man I’d definitely like to take for a little joyride, but what were the chances of that happening?
Still. Something in my stomach coiled tight, just a little. Hunter was so pretty — strong, masculine jawline, sharp gray eyes and tousled dark-blond hair — it was fucking unfair.
Even his damn scowl worked for him.
Leave him alone. He doesn’t want you talking his ear off.
Knox, who was still sitting next to me, finally noticed him and muttered under his breath, “Damn. Didn’t think he’d show.”
Yeah, no kidding.
After quietly greeting some of his teammates, getting a drink, and rejecting any offers to take a seat, he simply took up residence in the very same spot again.
Leaning against the side of the booth behind me, but offset enough so I was able to see him in my periphery.
I kept thinking I could feel his eyes burning into me, but I knew for a fact it was just my imagination running wild.
“I’m gonna go get another drink!” I announced to the table. “Anybody else need anything?”
Mercifully, all of them declined. I was a generous person, but my tip money was already gone, and I wasn’t really swimming in the green stuff.
Forcing myself not to shoot a quick glance Hunter’s way, I bowed my head and slunk past him, heading for the bar.
Elbows braced on the slightly sticky wooden bar, I flagged down a bartender.
“Hi! Could I please have another one of these?” I shook the empty can in my hand for clarification, the last sip of liquid sloshing around in the bottom.
“Sure thing.”
As I was rummaging in my pockets for the pitiful rest of my cash, I felt someone sidle up to me. Nothing unusual, considering it was pretty packed tonight.
The bartender set the can down in front of me, and just as I was about to hand her the money, a hand cut in front of me, wielding a credit card.
“Put it on my card.”
The voice was unfamiliar, and when I swung my head to the side, I was almost eye-to-eye with a pretty decent-looking guy. Why, hello.
“Oh no, you don’t have to—”
“It’d be my pleasure.”
The bartender still hadn’t made a grab for the plastic. Instead, she was watching the guy with a smirk tugging at the corner of her lip, and her brows quirked in amusement.
“Sorry to burst your bubble here, lover boy, but you’re too late.”
He gaped at her in disbelief. “How? I was right here the entire time?”
Inwardly I cringed. This wasn’t a good look on him.
“Too late?” I echoed, nose scrunched in confusion.
“Yup. Your drink’s already been paid for,” she said, completely ignoring the dude next to me, and made to turn away from us.
“Hold up. Who paid for my drinks?”
“Some dude from over there.” She pointed vaguely at the booth. “Big. Looked like a football player.”
Cool. That totally didn’t describe all the dudes around the table over there.
Then she was gone, breezing off to take care of the next orders from other patrons.
It must’ve been Dom. Right?
Credit Card Guy was still standing next to me as I twisted my torso back his way and offered him a shrug.
“That didn’t really go according to plan.” He chuckled before tipping his chin at me. “I’m Lucas.”
“Ella. Not your fault. I’m pretty sure it was my brother.” I jerked my head toward the booth.
“Your brother?” Lucas arched a brow, his eyes flicking between me and the rowdy group I’d indicated. “Not your boyfriend?”
“Nope. I don’t have one of those rare, elusive creatures. Been trying to catch one, but they’re weirdly skittish around me. Like squirrels.”
He snorted. “Really? How come?”
“Maybe I’m on the wrong end of the hot-crazy scale. It’s a delicate balance.” Cracking my can, I took a sip while peering at him over the rim.
“Are you crazy?”
I waggled my brows exaggeratedly. “Guess that’s for me to know and for you to ignore all the warning signs.”
He narrowed his eyes for a second, searching my face. “Nah, I don’t think you’re crazy. You don’t have the crazy eyes.”
“That’s what all the horror movie girls say right before it goes sideways.”
“If you’d be the one doing the murdering, at least I’d die with a smile on my face.”
Yuck. Did I just throw up in my mouth? How fucking corny.
I still offered him a little laugh, considering this was the first flirting I’ve engaged in for weeks now.
“Yeah, well, let’s hope it won’t actually come to something like that.”
After this slightly awkward moment, we fell into a casual conversation about our majors and my tennis career.
Although he wasn’t an athlete himself, he showed an interest and didn’t ask any creepy questions about my tennis skirts or whether I moaned during matches.
Lucas was nice — perhaps even a little too nice — but I didn’t care. I didn’t have to marry him on the spot, but it was nice to have someone to talk to for a change.
Maybe this was the end of my ghosting era.
Before I knew it, my drink was empty, and my bladder was screaming at me for relief.
“I’m so sorry, but I gotta head to the restroom real quick,” I apologized, my hand still closed around the now warm metal of the can.
“No worries.” Lucas chuckled. “I’ll wait for you here?”
“Maybe we could head over to my table once I’m back? It’s my friend’s special night, and I don’t want to disappear on her,” I explained, a smile stretching my lips as I pushed myself off the bar.
“Yeah, sounds good.” He bobbed his head up and down, his answering smile showing off his white, even teeth. It was a nice smile, I guess.
But that was just it. Everything about him was just that: nice . Bland. There was no edge to him.