5. THREE #2
He doesn’t look reassured. If anything, he looks angrier. His jaw is tense, his face a subtle shade of scarlet that he’d argue is just from the glow of the neon-pink lighting, and there’s a vein in his forehead that twitches in time with his heartbeat.
“Everyone’s out of your league,” he grumbles. “Especially with your man bun.”
I run my hand over my long hair and wink at him. “You’re just jealous I actually have hair.”
He curses under his breath, draining the rest of his beer.
Roman Murphy is the grumpiest of all of us and the most fun to fuck with.
He’s also had a buzz cut for the several years I’ve known him, and while he says it’s because it helps him run faster on the field, I suspect his hairline is receding, and he’s too embarrassed to admit it.
Sucks to be him.
I drain my beer and offer him another in consolation for his lost hairline then head to the bar.
Thankfully, the spot we’ve picked is popular with other athletes, so no one bats an eye as I push through the crowd.
But as I join the back of the line, there’s a glint of dark hair in the corner of my vision.
A shimmer of green. A flash of white teeth as they bite down on lips so pretty I’ve been thinking about them all day.
Holy shit.
It’s Eden.
Damn, she looks like a different woman without her work scrubs.
For starters, there’s a distinct lack of ink.
And she’s traded her uniform for a little white dress that looks both angelic and devilish at once.
Her makeup has her cheeks a little rosier, her eyes more sparkly, which, unfortunately for me and my sensibilities, makes them even more mesmerizing than they were this afternoon.
She doesn’t see me as I approach, too lost in her phone with her brow furrowed as if she’d rather be anywhere else but here. Well, she’s in luck, because I’m here now to brighten up her night like the firework of charisma I am.
“Well, this is a surprise.”
The shock of my voice has her lifting those jade eyes to mine.
Her lips part in shock, a gasp whispering between them, before she masks her face with indifference.
She glances over her shoulder to confirm it’s her I’m talking to, her umber ponytail whipping across her shoulders, then narrows her eyes on me. “Can I help you?”
Uncertainty flickers through me for just a moment before I remember that I’m Alex fucking Wolfe, hot-shot MLS player and charming to a fault. She knows exactly who I am, the little brat.
“Pretending not to remember me?” I rub my heart, feigning offense. “That’s cold.”
She runs her gaze over my t-shirt, black and cutting across my biceps. I puff my chest out a little for her benefit. “Maybe you should have worn a jacket.”
“If I’d have known I’d be trading barbs with you tonight, maybe I would have come better prepared.”
She smirks. “Like with a coat?”
“Like with a nunchuck.”
Her lips twitch with the promise of a smile, but she doesn’t let me have it. Instead, she distracts them with the straw of her drink, pink and sugared at the rim, as she takes a sip. Then another three.
“Unicorn jizz?” I tip my head toward her glass. “Seems to be a pretty popular delicacy tonight. I hadn’t realized it was so easy to source.”
“You haven’t tried it?”
“Nah, I’m not one for bestiality.”
Her eye roll is instantaneous. She doesn’t even giggle. Oh, come on, Eden, give me something.
She finishes her drink, her brow crinkling with the realization that she no longer has an excuse not to talk to me. “So…” She looks around at anything other than me. “Have you got any plans after this?”
My heart leaps. “Was that a pickup line?”
“Wh–” she stutters, eyes bulging to twice their size. “No.” She’s unlike any woman I’ve tried to pick up before. Usually, it only takes a wink and an innuendo to have them leaving with me. Eden, however, appears to be having a stroke.
“You literally just gave me the line dudes use when they’re trying to take a girl home,” I point out.
Something dark falls over her features. Murderous intent, I’d say, if I had to wager a guess. It’s hot. I like it.
“Why would you ask if you already know what it is?”
“So you’re confirming it was a line?” I smirk. “Interesting.”
“No. Christ, I—” She cuts herself off, pinching the bridge of her nose with a groan. “It is exhausting to talk to you.”
I want to exhaust her in other ways. I want to touch her…and not even all the good parts—though, I do want to touch those too—but just her hand, or hair, or something. That’s disconcerting. I can’t remember the last time I held someone’s hand or even felt the urge to.
But she smells like cherries, and she looks so cute when she’s pissed off with me that I just want to pet her.
My smile widens. “Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“You find me mentally stimulating.”
“Alex,” she groans, looking to the window with longing, as if dreaming of throwing herself out of it. That’s…not a great sign. “Your arrogance is astounding.”
“Confidence,” I correct.
“Arrogance. Look, I’m waiting for my sister to come back from the bathroom, and then I think I’m going to head home.”
I don’t understand what’s happening right now. Because there was no coy nod of her head toward the exit, no flirty touch to my arm, or any suggestion of an invitation to accompany her at all.
She’s leaving…and evidently, without me.
Disappointment sinks heavy in my heart, followed by something that feels like inadequacy. What the fuck? I’ve never felt inadequate. But then, I’ve also never been rejected or faced any sort of pushback at all.
Is this what the guys feel like? I’ll have to ask them. They have far more experience with this than I do.
“Hey.” A woman bounds up beside Eden and rests her hand on her shoulder.
Her sister, I assume. “Sorry I took so long. There was a huge line for the bathroom. I even considered using the men’s, but then I figured I probably wouldn’t be able to get the angle of the urinal right, and I didn’t want to risk getting pee down the backs of my legs, y’know? ”
I clock the newcomer’s cow-print top and bell bottoms. “Hey, you’re the girl who did the karaoke earlier!” I give her a slow clap. “Fabulous rendition. Better than the original.”
She takes a bow then looks back to Eden. “Who is this man?”
“Alex Wolfe.” I stretch my hand out toward her. “I’ve been trying to win over Eden with my boyish charm and dazzling good looks since one-thirty this afternoon, but I’m clearly doing something wrong. Tell me, in your sisterly opinion, do you think I have a shot?”
I hear Eden’s squeak of surprise over the thudding bass of the music and laugh to myself when she staggers back, having to catch herself on the sharp, silver edge of the pinball machine. Her cheeks flame, and she presses her empty glass to one of them as if to cool it down.
“Aspen Miller.” Eden’s sister takes my hand and shakes it. Vigorously. Her eyes turn to slits in a way that is more intimidating than it should be, considering she can’t be taller than five foot four. “It depends. What are your intentions with my sister?”
I let my dimples show. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Which isn’t a lie. If this conversation has taught me anything, it’s that Eden is not of the disposition to be down for just one night.
And I only do one-night stands. I’m not a man suited for long-term relationships, or love, or the terrifying concept of commitment.
It isn’t within the realms of my capabilities.
Invariably, my dick is disappointed by the fact that I won’t be taking her home tonight, but I respect it.
You know why? Because I’m not a fucking loser who pushes until a woman says yes.
But I digress. With a one-night stand off the cards and a relationship unthinkable, there isn’t anything else I can offer her. Friendship, maybe? But I’m way too attracted to Eden to even attempt a platonic relationship with her.
All I know is that I want to see her again. Her style of verbal sparring is almost as exhilarating as gearing up for a penalty shoot-out.
Aspen crosses her arms. “Then, no.”
My eyebrows shoot upward.
“Sorry,” she says, “but even though my sister may live like an eighty-year-old woman with zero knowledge of popular culture, I know exactly who you are. And you, sir, are photographed leaving hotels with far too many women for me to allow my sister to become one of them. So, unless you’re asking for her hand in marriage or, at the very least, a date to a very expensive and exclusive restaurant, I will be declining your offer on her behalf. ” She takes a bow. “Good day.”
“Was the eighty-year-old woman part really necessary?” Eden hisses as Aspen takes her by the arm and strides them both toward the exit.
I stare at the door long after they’ve walked out of it, bemused, dizzy, and a little high off cherry shampoo. That must be why I open the online form to the dental practice and book the closest available appointment.
It seems my toothache is acting up again.