Chapter 14
Fourteen
Liam
Bristol Greyson is the last person I expect to find joining us tonight—although I’m not sure she’s technically joining us. It seems like she showed up to give me a tongue lashing.
Typical of Bristol.
I can’t believe Harper made a video and put it out for everyone to see on social media! Was she trying to humiliate me?
“Seriously, Harper?”
“Sorry,” she grimaces and her cheeks blush, “the phone glitched, and then I was trying to find the camera feature, and you have a lot of apps on your phone. I screwed up.”
“Yes, you did,” I grumble, annoyed.
Luca scoots his chair between Harper and me. “If you have a problem with my wife, take it up with me, Liam.”
“Stay out of it, Ricci.” Why does he have to fight all of his wife’s battles? I turn around, facing Bristol and ignoring Luca, which I’m not sure is the better option.
“What do you want, Firebreather?” I snap, glancing her over.
She’s dressed up, sort of. Bristol is wearing a Predators’ jersey—she’s clearly the enemy—and black, skin-tight leggings, which show off her thighs. But the dressed-up bit is the dark-green, sparkly heels, and her hair and makeup look freshly done.
“Cute shoes.” I glance down at the sparkly shoes that seem a little too dressy for the outfit.
Her eyes widen in horror as she glances down at her feet.
“Oh my gosh!” Red creeps onto her cheeks and she slinks into the nearest chair at our table.
“I didn’t say that you could join us,” I grumble at Bristol.
“Yeah, well, fuck off, Moretti. I’m sitting.” She folds her hands on the table and glares at me.
Is this a staring contest?
I’m pretty sure I’d win.
But if it’s a silent competition, she loses, because she opens her mouth first. “I didn’t say you could call my father, twice. Now, look where we are.” She glares at me.
“You called her father?” Luca’s voice catches in his throat. “Kyler Greyson?”
“He owes me a favor,” I boast. I refrain from pointing out that I technically only called Kyler once, the other time I texted him. He, however, called me.
“I owe you something, Moretti. How about a black eye?” Bristol threatens, showing her rage in the form of a fist.
“Liam,” the DJ announces my name to sing the next song. I stand and grab Bristol’s arm.
“You’re coming with me.”
“What?” Her eyes widen in horror. “You’re not serious!”
I drag her with me up on stage, and the DJ hands me a microphone and then her one as well.
“You’re an asshole,” Bristol grumbles at me.
I offer a wry grin. “Thanks, Firebreather.”
The song “Gives you Hell” begins playing.
Her mouth drops, and she glares at me with a wicked smile on her face.
It turns out, she knows the song by the All-American Rejects. She doesn’t even look at the screen displaying the lyrics as she pins me with her stare, singing the lyrics right to me.
As she starts the chorus, an angry smile breaks on her face. Bristol continues singing, dancing to the beat of the music, putting on quite the entertaining show.
Her hips sway, and my body can’t not react to her proximity and movements.
I try to keep up at least in terms of singing, my tone matching hers as we harmonize together, which only seems to anger her further.
I can’t seem to catch a break.
During the brief instrumental break, she flips me off. By the end, she’s practically sing-screaming at me as she’s staring me dead in the eyes.
I’m waiting for a mic-drop at the end, and so is the DJ because he carefully holds out his hand for the microphone.
Bristol forces a smile at him and hands him the microphone. She flips me off again, glaring at me as she saunters off the stage in those ridiculous sparkly heels.
I don’t dare admit that her little performance turned me the fuck on.
And those glittery shoes, yeah, she can leave those on and nothing else in my next fantasy.
“You’re still an asshole, Moretti,” she barks at me and saunters over to the bar area.
I follow after her, even though I should probably give the witch some space.
She leans on the bar, gesturing for the bartender.
“What can I get for you?” he asks.
“Sex on the Beach,” Bristol says.
“I’m going to need to see your I.D.”
She reaches into her purse and hands him what has to be a fake I.D. because I know she’s not twenty-one.
He glances it over, checks the date of birth, and hands it back. “Anything for you?”
“No, I’m good.”
I lean closer, my lips brushing against her ear, so only she can hear me. “So, you’re twenty-one now?” I ask, skeptical. She’s in her sophomore year, same as I am.
She shifts around to face me, folding her arms across her chest. There’s a warning written across her face, not to cross her.
“So, how are you?” I force a smile, trying to break the obvious tension hanging in the air between us.
“Better, now that I showed you up on stage.”
“You certainly outdanced me.” I admit defeat in that category.
I wasn’t moving my hips. I barely moved at all while I sang, because, quite frankly, it took too much energy to remember to open my mouth and let the music come out, while she was doing that hip sway thing and staring straight into my soul.
She leaves her credit card with the bartender, then takes her drink, walking back to the table with my friends and teammates.
Damn, the girl has some nerve.
I’m right on her heels, heading for my chair when she snatches it first.
I grab another chair from a nearby table, scooting it over and boldly sit next to her. She raises an eyebrow at me as she sips her liquor.
“We met briefly before,” Harper says, and holds out her hand, introducing herself. “I’m Harper Ricci.”
“Bristol,” she says and offers her hand. “Yeah, I remember the little man, is it Zeke?”
“It is,” Harper says.
Zeke beams and climbs from Harper’s lap and over to Bristol.
“It seems he remembers you too.” Harper laughs, amused by her son’s antics.
“Hey, do you want to sit with me?” Bristol asks, and Zeke climbs onto her lap. She keeps her drink out of his reach as he keeps extending his arm out, wanting to grab it.
“If he’s bothering you—”
“Oh, it’s no bother. He’s cute. Sweet even. Unlike this ogre,” Bristol says and jabs her thumb in my direction.
“Ogre?” I glare at her. “I’m surprised you know such a big word.”
“I know a lot of big words, most of them aren’t appropriate for Zeke.” Bristol’s icy gaze sends a chill down my spine.
Zeke keeps reaching for Bristol’s drink, and as she takes a long sip, his hand dunks into the colorful concoction. I grab his hand and a napkin, wiping him clean and taking him from Bristol so she can finish her drink without anyone wearing it.
Bristol finishes her drink and heads for the bar, ordering another while I watch her, mesmerized by the enemy.
She’s spellbinding, but I can’t quite figure out why.
“You like her,” Luca says, watching my gaze and following it. “Somehow, I doubt that she feels the same way.”
“You’re wrong.” Harper smacks Luca’s arm. “He definitely has a shot with her; he just has to take it.”
“No, I think Luca’s right on this one. Bristol and I have hated each other since the first grade.” I’m not about to recant the story to them, but the tension they feel, it’s not unresolved sexual tension; it’s pure hatred.
Zeke wiggles off my lap and runs across the restaurant and toward the bar, making a beeline straight for Bristol.
“I’ll get him,” I offer, hurrying toward the bar.
“Hey,” Bristol says and bends down, scooping Zeke into her arms. “I’ll bet it’s past your bedtime.” She glances over her shoulder, noticing me, but doesn’t say anything.
“No bedtime,” Zeke proclaims. “Want.” He points at the drink that the bartender is making Bristol.
“Sorry, Zeke, that’s not for you,” I say. “Do you want me to take him?”
“Would you? Wrestling him and heels are a lethal combination.” Bristol smiles at me, and it’s as natural as the sun setting. My heart leaps in my chest.
It’s probably the alcohol making her giddy but damn, I’m not complaining.
I don’t count how much Bristol has to drink. She goes to the bar a few more times before Coach, who is sitting at another table, gives us a ten-minute warning.
We wrap up, pay the bill, and have to head back to the bus.
Bristol stumbles as she walks on those sparkly heels and giggles as I catch her, my hands instantly wrapped around her hips. “Are you always going to be my hero?” She smiles up at me.
It’s a sight that I never imagined witnessing in all of my life.
Bristol Greyson is drunk.
And she’s a happy drunk.
“How’d you get here?” I ask, glancing her over. She’s not in any condition to drive home, not that I believe she has a car, at least she didn’t the last time we caught up together.
“The bus,” she slurs, and I glance at my watch. I’m concerned about her taking the bus, alone, at this hour, while in her current inebriated condition.
“Harper, can you watch her for a minute?” I ask and hurry off to find our coach.
“I don’t need watching!” Bristol hollers back and smiles at Harper. “Your son is so adorable.”
I jog toward Coach, who is getting all the players back onto the bus, taking an inventory of us to make sure that no one gets left behind. “I can’t in good conscience let Bristol take the bus home alone. She’s drunk, and I’d feel terrible if something happened to her—”
“What are you suggesting, Moretti?” Coach glares at me. “This isn’t a party bus. We’re not giving free rides out or taking girls home.”
“Of course not,” I say. “I’ll make sure she gets home, and then I’ll take the city bus back to campus.”
Coach’s eyes tighten and he nods. “You’re a good kid. Do you have enough money to get back to EU?”
I tap my wallet, making sure it’s in my pants pocket. “Yes, sir.”
“We’ll take your equipment back to campus.” He’s referring to my duffel bag already on the bus. The team always handles our hockey equipment for us.
“Thanks, Coach.”
He pats me on the shoulder, his grip firm as he holds my forearm. “Make smart decisions, Moretti.”
“Always.”
I hurry back toward Bristol, who is chatting up a storm with Harper.