Chapter 30
brIELLE
My best friend stands at the edge of the high-top table and does a celebratory spin. Her thick, long black hair twirls around her face as she soaks in our cheers, blushing a deep shade of pink.
“To Aubrey, the only woman I know who can strike a man down with nothing more than a glare!” Beck cheers, already lifting his beer into the air.
The rest of our group shouts, “To Aubrey!”
I raise my glass into the air alongside hers while we cheers. She tips hers all the way back to finish it off before Finn’s pulling her back into his lap. Her grin is bright enough to rival the lights above us when he plants a sloppy kiss to her cheek.
It’s a blessing to be able to watch someone you care about fall so deeply and openly in love.
Their journey from best friends to the couple they are now wasn’t entirely unexpected.
From the moment Finn joined the Havoc family, Aubrey’s been right here with us.
There has never been one without the other.
Platonic soulmates are very real, but that wasn’t the case for them, even when they’d convinced themselves it was.
This right now is exactly what was meant to happen, and I couldn’t be happier for them.
Even if I wish that I could be sitting on someone’s lap alongside them instead of sipping a cocktail beside the one person here who knows exactly what I’m thinking.
Beck doesn’t say anything when I give his shoulder a shove and motion for him to scoot his chair in so I can pass, but his smug expression hides nothing. The knowing wiggle of his thick brows is more than enough to have me pulling on his ear when I pass. Aubrey’s glass is empty when I pick it up.
“I think you need another drink.”
Before she can reply, I’m heading to the bar.
The familiar pink atmosphere of Pretty Little Pour keeps me grounded as I set the empty glass on the bar and order another one.
Unlike most nights, we opted out of espresso martinis and chose some fruity thing off the new extended menu instead.
I nursed my first drink for as long as I could before Beck ordered another round.
That was twenty minutes ago now, and my glass is still full on the table.
I’m not the type to turn down drinks when I’m out with my friends, especially when I’m not the one picking up the tab, but for some reason, I want to be sober tonight. Roman’s not going to show up here, of all places, but I guess I’m hoping that I’ll see him somewhere else.
This isn’t his scene. He’s not the type of guy to want to go out drinking with his players.
There isn’t even a shard of hope inside of me that I’ll be able to change that about him.
And even if by some miracle I could, I wouldn’t want to.
If this thing between us goes where I’m wanting it to, I’m prepared to accept him the way he is.
Twirling my gold bracelet around my wrist, I look back at the table.
The people sitting there are the ones who mean the most to me.
They’re an extended family that I wasn’t expecting to find when Wes first joined the team.
It wasn’t like this in high school or college.
There weren’t women connected to those players who I wanted to be friends with so instantaneously or men who were actually genuine and respectful to the point that I was able to overlook their flirty comments and sometimes, even arrogance.
Roman’s kept himself from becoming a more integrated member of this group, and while I wish he would allow himself to jump headfirst into this dynamic, I understand why he can’t. His job is to manage this team, and I can imagine being best friends with the players could complicate that.
My being so involved with them is already troubling enough.
I chew on my bottom lip for a beat before pulling my phone free and opening our last text conversation.
Roman Shore is a terrible texter, point-blank.
Most of the time, I don’t notice our age difference.
The fifteen years should be intimidating, yet I hardly think about them.
Especially when we’re together. His age might be higher, but his lived experiences are completely different than mine.
When I learn something from him, he learns something from me in return.
There’s this steadiness between us that makes what could be a power imbalance a stable foundation instead.
With that said, his texting is lacklustre and makes him seem like an eighty-year-old.
There are too many periods and not enough exclamation points for my liking.
Half the time, I wonder if he’s mad at me when there’s no plausible reason for him to be.
With how little we actually text, you’d think the few messages we do exchange would make me flutter or consider sending a sext.
Nope. The only flutters I get are the nervous type.
Luckily for him, tonight, I’m feeling too needy to care about a lack of emoji or how professional his replies may be.
I open my camera and snap a photo of myself pursing my lips before sending it to him. The pink glow on my cheeks and reflecting in my eyes should make it obvious where I am, but in case he misses the obvious hints, I risk coming off like an obsessive creep and share my location with him.
Four letters spell the word Read immediately.
My pulse goes full speed ahead as I watch the typing bubbles appear. Then disappear and appear again.
Rome
Beautiful.
I slam my phone face down on the bar and swallow a squeal before my lips part with a wide grin. Even with no emoji and that damn period making another appearance, it’s the perfect response.
Aubrey’s refill is suddenly sliding toward me. I take it, unable to stop smiling. The single-word reply doesn’t leave my mind the entire walk back to the table.
Finn’s giving my brother the middle finger while holding Beck’s hand in a death grip when I return. Intrigue distracts me for a moment.
“I’m desperately waiting for the day one of you finds girlfriends to keep you busy.” Finn drops Beck’s hand.
I set the new drink in front of Aubrey and drop myself into the conversation. “Or boyfriends.”
“Yes, or boyfriends. As long as I get the chance to make fun of one of you for being in love sometime during the next decade, I’ll be happy,” Finn says.
“And what about you, Brielle? Doesn’t she count, too?” Beck asks.
That gets my brother’s attention. He reaches across the table and punches Beck in the chest. “Don’t ask my sister about her relationship status. What, are you into her or something?”
“Jesus Christ, Wes.” I opt for the empty seat next to Aubrey this time. “You’re so annoying.”
“Annoying? I’m just looking out for you.”
“By scaring off potential suitors?” Aubrey asks slyly.
Wes points a finger at her, then looks to his best friend for help. Finn does nothing for him because he’s too busy sniffing Aubrey’s neck. I hide my laugh behind a cough.
“Fine. But when Mr. Fucks A Lot breaks your heart, don’t come crying to me. I’ll change my locks so you can’t get into my house to cry in my arms,” Wes mutters grumpily.
“You’re such a shitty liar. We all know you’ll want to hear her say you were right too much for that,” Jett calls him out.
Beck scoots his chair closer to the table, drawing my eyes. “And I don’t fuck a lot.”
“Yeah, don’t you know that he’s too busy stalking a barista for that?” Finn asks.
The glare Beck sends his way is new. I haven’t seen it before, which only makes me more curious.
“I’m also not interested,” I say, offering Beck an apologetic look. “Sorry. You’re just not my type.”
“What does that mean?” He almost sounds offended, even though I know he’s already aware of my feelings. After all this time, it would be pretty awkward if he didn’t.
I ignore the other eyes poking holes into my head and focus on him. “Exactly what it sounds like. I prefer older men.”
“Woah, okay. Since when?” Wes blurts out.
Rolling my eyes, I bring them to rest on my brother. “Don’t look at me like I just told you I wanted to marry some eighty-year-old.”
“Might wanna clarify before he malfunctions, Elle,” Aubrey suggests.
I huff, tucking my hair back. “I just mean that I like my men experienced. The kind who know what an RRSP is and that rubbing the outer lip of a vagina like they’re trying to see if a genie will pop out isn’t going to make us come.”
Roman may not be having meetings with me about his savings accounts and financial decisions, but there are just some things you can tell about a man just from looking at him. The vagina thing, on the other hand? That he’s proved to me a dozen times.
My temperature spikes as I’m transported back to the last time I had his hands on me. The calloused feel of his palms left imprints so deep in my skin I swear I can still feel them when I close my eyes.
The roaring laughter that escapes Kellan drives the conversation deeper into the pits while I sip my drink to try and cool down. Soon, Asher’s arrival brings a sudden change in topic. The broody introvert gets dragged into the madness despite his closed-off demeanour, and that’s just fine with me.
I’ll take anything to distract me from the lust I feel for the man I wish were here tonight.
“Roman?” Brielle freezes when she sees me at her door.
It’s far too late to be showing up at a woman’s house for any other reason than being one desperate son of a bitch, but I couldn’t give less of a fuck about that.
This is the only place I wanted to be all night, and I couldn’t deny myself any longer without burning a hole in the floor of my bedroom from all my pacing.
Her sweaty forehead and rapidly rising chest have me narrowing my eyes as I look past her into the apartment, expecting to see someone else.
She’s barely dressed, wearing only a baggy shirt that narrowly covers her pussy and droops so far down in the front that one tug on it is all it would take to expose her tits.
From the two bumps beneath the fabric, she must be naked beneath it. Or braless, at least.