Page 110 of Bombshells
“What are you talking about?”
“You were so wise and bossy when I was falling in love.”
“What? I was not.”
“You were full of advice. We were sitting in this same bar, for chrissakes. Balls to the wall, man! Sound familiar?”
“You shut up.”
He snickers.
Then the door opens, and I forget all about Eric. Because Sylvie’s dad is leading her into the bar. The women’s table lets out a cheer, and I’m on my feet and crossing the floor toward Sylvie.
The problem is that two men are homing in on her at the same time. Bryce from the left and me from the right.
But I’m faster this year. My game is on point. All those light beers must count for something, because I get there first. The relief I feel as I gently fold Sylvie into my embrace is just indescribable. Like I can breathe again for the first time in three and a half hours.
“Are you okay?” I ask in a shaky voice, as she rests her forehead against my mouth. I give her a quick kiss on the head. “I was so worried. Does it hurt?”
“I’ll be fine,” she whispers. “I promise.”
“What are you doing?” Bryce howls. “Be careful! She has a concussion!”
I loosen my arms immediately. I don’t think I’m hurting her, but I need to be sure.
Sylvie isn’t okay with that, though. She grabs me and kisses me right on the mouth.
Hell yes. I give her a slow, soft kiss.
“So I take it this is the guy?” Sylvie’s father asks.
“No!” Campeau thunders. “Fuck no. Anyone but him. He is not the guy.”
“Why not me?” I ask, staring into Sylvie’s sweet eyes. “I’m not perfect. But I really care about you.”
“You’re a player! You’re a mess,” Campeau says.
“Watch it, Bryce,” Eric murmurs.
“No,” he growls. “You’re a snake, Anton. You sat there and listened to me talk, nodding your head like you care. And the whole time you’re sneaking around and—”
Sylvie flinches, and I guess we’re both pretty glad he doesn’t finish that sentence.
“Now, calm down,” Mr. Hansen tries.
Campeau isn’t having it. “This is the kind of teammate you are? Fuck you.”
“Bryce,” several people say at once.
But he’s in a full-on rage. I watch with growing horror as his face reddens even further. This is exactly the moment I’d been trying to avoid. “Lies? Sneaking around? Is that what Sylvie deserves? That’s what it means to be a good teammate?”
I feel a million people staring at me. And the truth is that I did all those things. I did sneak around. “I don’t feel good about that,” I say quietly.
“Wonder why?” He snorts. “You—”
“Shut up,” someone else shrieks. “Just stop.”
The whole bar turns to see who’s yelling now. It’s Petra the bartender. She has laser eyes for Campeau. “You idiot!” she hisses. “Sylvie is fine. Anyone with eyes can see that she’s fine. And they’re happy together. Just get over yourself already. You’re making a scene for no reason at all!”
