Chapter Four #2
“Then figure it out,” I cut her off, trying not to snap.
I make myself smile at them, but based on the way they draw back slightly, it must not have the effect I’d like it to have.
“Get the players on the local news with an animal shelter.” I throw up my hands.
“Do something. But do it fast, and do it well.”
“Do the guys even know that you’re about to sign them up for this?”
“I’ll handle that,” I say quickly.
Everyone’s gaze shifts up, beyond my shoulder, and Maddie shoots me a warning look. I turn slowly, swallowing, already sure of who I’ll find behind me.
“Handle what?” Tristan looms over me, his hands on his hips.
My mouth goes dry, because I was entirely unprepared for his physical presence just…presence-ing. Yeah.
“Handle you,” Maddie offers up.
“Well, I can’t say I haven’t imagined that,” he says slowly, a delicious, clothes-melting grin aimed my way.
“Not just you—the whole team,” Thick Glasses announces, and I make a mental note to add him to my list of personal enemies. Once I remember his name, that is. Then he’s definitely going on it.
“Wait a minute—” Tristan flattens a hand in the air, then gestures at me and the table of PR folks. “Don’t tell me Miss Michelle Oxford finally came to a team night and then…talked shop?”
He arches an incredulous dark blond brow at me, and I roll my eyes. Who says “talked shop” anyway?
“She’s stressed out,” Maddie tells him, bristling on my behalf.
Surprised, I blink at her, then move her up another few notches in my esteem. Maybe I can steal her from PR and have her work with me more closely.
It would be so nice to have an ally for all the day-to-day.
I really miss having Abigail around.
“You know what you need?” Tristan asks.
“She needs a fucking Xanax,” someone coughs.
Shock ripples through me. My teeth grind together at the rude comment, and my hands ball up into fists so tightly that my fingernails are probably leaving indentations in my palms.
This is why I don’t go out with coworkers. This right here.
“Nah.” Tristan drags out the word, and I glance over at him, surprised at the quiet menace radiating from him, so at odds with his easygoing nature. “What she needs is a team who has her back, not insults. You’re better than that. You may not be on the field, but this is one team, one goal.”
Disbelief wars with gratitude, and then, embarrassingly, the urge to cry. I can’t even bring myself to look at my colleagues around the table.
“Come on.” Tristan tugs at my wrist, pulling me away from the stunned group. “The guys want to play shuffleboard, and I know you won’t be able to resist the possibility of kicking my ass.”
“Why did you do that?” I ask him, my voice so quiet I can hardly hear myself over the noise of the bar.
He glances down at my wrist, dropping it like it’s electrocuted him.
I pull it to my chest, absently rubbing the empty space where his hand just was.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have grabbed you—”
“Not that.” I shake my head, wishing I’d never started this conversation.
“Defending you?” Tristan looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Because you’re right about what they should do. It’s a good idea.”
I stare at him, confused, and he grins.
“I heard what you said.” He nudges me in the ribs. “I’m not psychic. Getting the guys out there would be good for them, for the team, and for the city. It’s a win-win.”
“Oh. Thanks.” I finally recover, relieved to hear he thinks that.
“And no one gets to insult you in front of me.” Something possessive flashes in his eyes.
I don’t know what to do with that. I’m not even sure if that’s what it is, but whatever it is leaves me…wanting.
He drops his gaze from my face and jerks his head toward the far side of the private room, where two long shuffleboards sit with several of the Aces players gathered around them.
“I call Michelle! She’s on our team, Gold,” Logan Steel yells across the bar.
“You don’t even know if I’m good at this,” I tell him with a laugh, some of the tension finally melting in my shoulders. “I could be terrible.”
“Nah,” Logan says, grinning broadly down at me. “You’re the most competitive person in the front office. We all know it. We figured challenging you was one of the only ways to get you to stop obsessing about work.”
“She doesn’t obsess,” Tristan says, raising an eyebrow.
“You know what I mean, bro,” Logan says.
“Maybe I don’t even know how to play,” I say, glancing up at Tristan. He’s back to his normal smiley self, though.
Maybe I imagined that look in his eyes.
It should be a relief, but all I feel is a keen sense of disappointment.
“Yeah,” Logan chuckles. “And maybe you’re a sandbagging son of a bitch.”
“Better than an ice-cold bitch,” I say, surprising myself and making everybody laugh. The corners of my mouth kick up, and I let out a little laugh, too.
Tristan catches my eye, grinning at me. “We could make this interesting, you know.”
I tilt my head, that competitive monster in me stretching its claws. They’re not wrong about me. I love winning.
It’s unhealthy, really.
“It’s already going to be interesting.” I lift one shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t know how to play this.”
I’m not exactly lying. I haven’t played it before. That said, there’s no way it’s that hard.
They don’t put games in bars that are impossible to play while drinking.
I purse my lips, suddenly remembering the existence of darts.
“It’s easy,” Tristan says, beckoning me to join him at the end of the long shuffleboard table where he stands.
“Don’t trust him,” Vincenzo Rossi says, shaking his head. “He wants you to be a loser.”
“I want her to learn to play, jackass,” Tristan says with a laugh. “Come here, Oxford. I won’t bite.”
My smile falters, my gaze dropping from his eyes to his lips, the perfect white smile.
“I need a drink,” I tell them. “If I’m going to get bitten, I want to at least be on my way to tipsy.”
“No one’s biting you,” Vincenzo objects. “You are one of us.” He pounds his fist against his chest, and I bite my own cheeks to keep from laughing at his antics. “If Tristan wants to bite you, he will have to get through me first. I would like to see him try!”
Tristan grabs an icy pitcher of beer from a nearby table and pours it into one of the empty glasses near it.
“They make it here,” Tristan says, passing it to me. There’s a challenge in his eyes, like he doesn’t think I have it in me to drink whatever beer this is.
But I went to my fair share of college parties, and just because I’m not a big drinker now doesn’t mean I can’t chug a beer.
I raise the glass to my lips, and it’s clear from the moment the liquid meets my tongue that this isn’t the shitty light beer I chugged as a twenty-one-year-old.
Unfortunately for me, I’m not a quitter, either.
“Holy shit,” Logan says, his eyes huge with disbelief. “She’s chugging it!”
Wincing, I finish off the glass, making a face of disgust as the beer sloshes in my stomach.
Raucous applause breaks out, and I realize half the team has watched me chug what must have been an IPA.
Ick.
What the hell has come over me?
“You okay?” Tristan asks, his eyes laughing as I finally make my way to his end of the shuffleboard table. “Not going to puke on me, are you?”