Page 172 of Holding On To Good

“A full-grown single woman—”

“Nope. And stop calling yourself a woman. Freaks me out.”

“—in need of a man.”

The flush from his workout drained away, leaving him white-faced and still. “I’ll transfer you one thousand dollars, right here, right now, if you don’t ever, ever say that again. To anyone.”

“I’m in need of a man to date,” Verity clarified. “Preferably someone smoking hot and successful.”

Someone that, should word just so happen to get around to Reed that she was with this as-of-yet-known-to-her hottie, it’d prove to him that she was just as over whatever had been between them as he was.

Eli’s scowl deepened. He grunted.

Verity waited but that seemed to be his entire view on the subject.

“Look, you don’t even have to do anything. Just turn your phone around and scan the room. I’ll pick him out myself.”

He leaned even closer to the phone, blocking her view of any and all possible hot guys. “You are not dating a baseball player.”

“Who’s not dating a baseball player?” a deep, male voice asked from behind him.

“My sister,” Eli muttered. “My underage sister.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” another guy said at the same time first guy asked, “How underage?”

Elijah’s head whipped around and he gave first guy an even more deadly version of the death glare he’d given her. At this rate, he was going to kill all his teammates before she could even pick one out. “She’s a child.”

Oh, for the love of…

“I’m eighteen,” she called loud enough for their audience to hear.

“Seventeen,” Eli corrected.

“I mean, yeah. If you want to be technical about it. But only for a few more weeks.”

“I do want to be technical,” he said, serious as that heart attack he looked like he was about to have. “And you’re not dating a baseball player. Or a football player. And no hockey players. Not one. Not ever.”

There was a long, low whistle behind him. “Your sister’s hot,” guy one or two said—hard to tell, especially since it seemed they’d been joined by a couple more teammates, most of them sweaty and shirtless.

This time when Eli whipped around, he took his entire body—and phone—with him, making the world—and her stomach—turn. “What the…” He stalked over to the small group of guys huddled around a phone, took one look at the screen and shoved the short, muscular guy holding it. “Get the fuck off my sister’s Instagram account!”

Short guy pushed him back which left the opening for another guy—this one taller and younger, maybe twenty, with short dark blond hair—to grab Eli’s phone. He sent her a killer grin. “Hey, there, little sister.”

She wrinkled her nose. He was cute. Really cute but… Eww. Not the right thing to say to a girl who had five older brothers. Then again, a lot of professional athletes didn’t have to work on their pickup game. Their bodies and huge bank accounts did the talking for them.

“Sorry,” she told him, “but I’m off blondes.” Been down that road, didn’t like where the trip ended. “And no tattoos,” she added, noticing the ink on his arms. “Or smirks. Or bad attitudes. Or guys who hook up with gorgeous, skinny brunettes.”

“Fuck off, Henderson,” Eli told the guy, grabbing his phone back.

“I’ll dye my hair,” the guy—Henderson—claimed, chasing after Eli as her brother stalked across the room. “Get the tats removed.” Eli kept stalking and Henderson kept talking. “When did you say you were turning eighteen?”

Eli shoved a door open, turned and slammed it shut in Henderson’s face. He was outside now, the bright morning sun picking out the red threads in his stubble. He leaned against the building, squinting against the sun. “What’s his name?”

“Who?”

“The asshole with the tattoos and bad attitude who cheated on you with the brunette.”

“He didn’t cheat on me.” It just felt that way. But that was her problem, not Reed’s. “We were never together.”

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