Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
RUBY
I thought that the other guys—the men that he’s best friends with, his teammates—would be the issue. The restaurant was a little nerve-racking, but it ended up being a great time. I got to know them all a bit, even though I was nervous as hell the entire time.
This isn’t that, though.
This is different, and I hate it.
All of it.
In my mind, the limelight of sitting in a designated area and wearing his jersey was supposed to be the problem.
But it isn’t. Nobody even gives a shit. Honestly, I wasn’t thinking about it and was having a great time until I noticed a group of women holding signs.
Those posters had Liam’s name on them, along with phrases I do not like at all.
The most upsetting read:
We’re Lusting for Liam
Pressing my lips together, I stand from the seat. The game is over. The Houston Lonestars lost. I’ve been spiraling inside my own head, hyperfocusing on those women and their signs, and I just want to go home now.
Their loss doesn’t help. I don’t know what that means for Liam’s mood, but I can tell you that it’s done nothing to dampen the moods of the women around me. Which makes me feel even more insecure.
Most of the fans have left, but all the women in skimpy skirts, shorts, and tops are still here. And they are vibrating with excitement. I don’t know what to do or where to go, so I watch them. They’re all huddled together, their heads close as they discuss something.
I feel jealous as hell.
They squeal and then hurry away. Standing, I wonder if I should follow behind them. There are people who have started cleaning up the stands, which I assume is my cue to leave. I chew on my bottom lip and just breathe for a moment.
Taking my phone out of my pocket, I glance down at the screen in hopes that Liam will have texted me with where he wants me to go next.
He hasn’t.
Walking out of the stands, I move through the building, heading toward the only exit that seems to be open. As I step out, the humidity hits me in the face. The difference between the ice rink and the outside Houston air is thick. I feel like I could actually chew the air.
But the air isn’t what bothers me. Again, it’s the screaming women. Because there aren’t just one or two, there are dozens. They’re all dressed in tight clothes and are holding signs as they chant the players’ names and whatever sexy messages they have.
I text Liam to let him know where I’m standing. I watch as the players start to walk out. They seem a bit defeated, but every single one of them perks up at the sight of the women. I watch as a couple of them even choose women from the crowd.
“Oh my god, I’ve been dying to get with him,” the woman next to me whines.
“Get with him?” I ask.
She turns her head, her lips curved up to a grin, before she leans forward. Her words come out as if she’s going to tell me a secret. “If you wait out here, hopefully one of the guys will pick you and take you home.”
Oh my god.
“This happens every game?” I ask.
She hums, nodding a couple of times. “A group of us usually hang out around here, and the players pick who they want. I’ve been dying to get a shot at Fichtner. He’s my favorite.”
I blink. I don’t know what to say, how to respond to any of this. These girls literally hang out around the back of the arena after the games in hopes of being chosen from a lineup for a night with a player.
What fresh hell is this?
Taking a step backward, I shake my head a couple of times as I attempt to catch my breath. My heart begins to race. It slams against my chest. How can I even attempt to compete with any of this?
Looking around at the girls, I take them in.
They’re all wearing short skirts, tiny tight tops, or skimpy dresses.
A few are wearing leggings and crop tops.
None of them look like me. I thought I was doing the most tonight, wearing my favorite wide-leg jeans with Liam’s jersey tied into a knot at my back with a pair of slip-on flat sneakers.
I’m not doing the most at all. In fact, I’m pretty sure this is the absolute least compared to the rest of these girls. I’m never going to be them. I’ll never dress like they do—I’ll never be as thin and pretty as they are. What am I even doing here?
A million doubts fill my mind. Only one of them screams at me: I do not belong here. I will never belong here. I am not these girls, and I never will be. I can’t compete with them, and Liam is going to see that.
He’s going to realize it, and then he’s going to walk away.
I’m just going to take care of that before it can play out.
I know that I’m freaking out over something that hasn’t even happened, but I don’t think I’ll be able to live with the unknown, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I’m anticipating the eventual breakup because I know that’s exactly how this will end.
So I’m going to be the one to walk away before anyone gets really hurt—selfishly, me.
Except I don’t walk.
I pretty much run.