Page 5 of Rookie Recovery

I turned back to my beverage as they lifted their shots. Felt like an intrusion to be so close, yet not part of their crew. Another reminder that as much as Katie and I were part of the staff, we weren’t part of the team. Not players. Not family.

No shared drinks or arms around shoulders. Which is exactly what Zac was doing as Bowman choked back his second shot. “Fuck, this is disgusting. It’s fine, fellas. Pretty sure I don’t actually need an esophagus.”

“Everclear 151.” Aaron nodded, made no effort to bite down on a wide, devious smirk. “Tastes like rubbing alcohol. Gets you fucked up real quick.”

“Oh, shit,” Katie groaned under her breath next to me. “He just did two shots of that.”

Yeah, that wasn’t gonna end well for the kid. I shrugged anyway. “He’s a party boy. Sure he’ll be fine.”

“All right, I need a rematch,” JJ said, probably in an attempt to steer the about-to-be-fucked-up drinking crew away from the bar before they got any more wild ideas about shots of high-proof alcohol. Maybe it was having kids of his own that made him the unofficial team dad.

“Drinks first.” Aaron waved down the bartender—poor guy was getting his cardio in—to order rum and cokes. Rowan snatched his off the counter and stormed into the back corner, Aaron and Zac trailing after him.

Bowman turned to follow. Turned—towards me.

For one moment, we locked eyes. And for that single instant, the rest of the world disappeared: the guys behind Bowman, Katie behind me, the crowd murmuring and chattering, the music, the stale scents of AC and alcohol, the rush of the city outside. All of it: gone.

The world was green eyes and blond hair.

His brows shot so high they vanished into that charmingly ruffled hockey mop—I refused to think of it as sex hair—and his little crooked smile stole back over his face. It was almost the cute one, from the pictures, the ask your dad if he can date you one.

And then that grin turned full-on sinful smirk. He slid off the bar stool, gaze locked on me as he sauntered forward: shoulders square and head up. The smell of his soap and shaving cream brushed against my senses like a caress, and I resisted inhaling deeper.

His eyes drifted across my shoulders and arms, down my chest, slid along my abdomen in a way that left a trail of burning heat in their wake. For an instant, I thought he might lean in. Whisper something in my ear, just to make me shiver. But his gaze flicked past me, shattering our shared moment.

He didn’t stop.

Kept moving in that same cool saunter, his hard shoulder brushing mine as he passed, the faintest touch. He didn’t pause, didn’t turn, didn’t look to see if I’d noticed.

He knew I’d noticed.

He just didn’t care. I spun to bury my face in my glass as the universe crashed back in—hard. Music and voices and car horns and JJ following Bowman like nothing Earth-shattering and world-stopping had happened.

Because it hadn’t. Because I’d been the only one who’d noticed. I almost wished my drink was something strong enough to make me forget that I’d lost myself over a silly boy. In the words of Rowan, what an asshat.

“See,” I choked out to nobody in particular. “He’s a dick.”

So why was my heart suddenly beating so hard I couldn’t hear past the sound of my pulse? Why were my damn palms clammy? Why did his clean, fresh-shower scent still flit over my senses, even though the smells had long since vanished?

Get the fuck ahold of yourself, Sullivan. Jesus H.

“Aw, he’s cute!” Katie gave me another one of those sharp elbows and did an eyebrow-wiggling thing I should tell her to never do again. I’d say the Blue Moons were hitting home, but it was too in-character for me to be sure. “He totally checked you out.”

I groaned. So she’d seen that. Naturally. Hopefully she hadn’t noticed me getting all hot and bothered like I’d never been eye-fucked by a sexy twenty-something before. Once upon a time, an occular-drag like that would have ended very—very—differently.

“Didn’t notice.” I tossed back the rest of my drink, going for an indifference I wasn’t feeling. “I don’t do cocky assholes.”

“Does that really matter when you’re doing them?“ Katie cracked a grin my way, and I couldn’t blame the booze. She was more dangerous sober.

“I’m not gonna do him.”

“Yeah, or anyone.” Katie slid her empty bottle away. “When was the last time you got laid?”

“I think I’m gonna leave,” I said. “Because my love life is not anyone’s business and because I have to—”

“Study. Yeah.” Katie sighed. “You’re gonna spend the rest of your youth studying and then what, Jamie? Realize you’re fifty and running some fancy physical therapy practice, raking in the money and … alone?”

The glass in my hands was empty, buoyed on a puddle of condensation, so it slid sideways between my fingers. Like a puck on the ice. Fluid and free.

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