Page 23 of Power Play

“Me either. I didn’t drink that fruity shit, but we had a couple rounds of tequila while I was teaching her how to play shuffleboard and damn, I sure as fuck feel it today,” I agree.

It’s true. Drinking in your thirties is nothing like drinking in your twenties. When I was in my twenties, I could drink whatever I wanted all night long and be perky the next morning at hockey practice. Now, half the time I don’t even have to drink to get hung over. I just look at the bottle wrong and I’m incapacitated for two days.

“What happened to us? We used to be fun. Used to drink all night long, but now after just a couple hours of drinking, we’re practically dying.”

“We got old. And speak for yourself. I’m still fun,” I tell him, laughing when he glares at me. He hates when I tell him we are old.

“You got old. I’m still thirty-four. Not all of us are closer to forty than thirty like you. When did we start using the word fun to describe you? More like ‘grumpy’ or ‘growly.’ Those fit better,” he quips, teasingly.

“Fuck off, jackass. You turn thirty-five in like three months, and I just turned fucking thirty-seven. You act like I’m ancient, and I. Don’t. Growl.”

“Hey, you just did.” Trevor shrugs before an annoying smirk takes over his face, which I know will lead to a conversation I don’t want to have. “So, how was your night with club girl?”

“Her name is Sawyer, use it. She’s more than just her job,” I grumble, doing my best not to hit him upside the head for goading me or for smirking at my growl.

“I know. I was just curious what your reaction would be, and it was just like I expected.”

Trevor’s grin is wider than usual—too wide for someone who’s been complaining about being hungover all morning. I want to smack it off his face because I know damn well he’s trying to make a big deal out of nothing.

“And what did you expect?” I question.

“Caveman with a side of possessiveness, and boy, did you deliver. Thanks for winning me fifty bucks.”

“Dude, there’s nothing going on between Sawyer and me,” I tell him as I run my hands through my hair, pulling on the ends. “Actually, I don’t know. I’m not sure what is or isn’t happening, and I’m not used to that. And why the hell did you fuckers bet on me?”

If I wanted to smack him before, I want to strangle him now. Trevor’s shit eating grin and the laughter that comes out of him as he stands to get ready for our run makes my blood boil.

“Yup. I bet that you’d act just like you did. Possessive and grumbly. Like you’d piss on her if you could, mark her as yours. But I know you well enough to know that you’re going to fight it and refuse to go for it yourself, yet not let anyone get close,” he says.

“Thanks for the visual. Just what I needed.”

“Well, don’t act like a wild animal and I won’t have to give you those visuals.”

“So, what’d y’all bet on?” I ask as I stand to finish stretching.

“Harris thought you’d avoid the topic for a bit, then crack, while Cade thought you didn’t like the girl at all and that you’d do your usual bullshit and avoid feelings like the plague. Miles had no idea, as he spent most of the night flirting and not paying any attention to you.”

“You all suck,” I grumble.

“Nah, we can just read you better than you can read yourself most of the time. Some of us better than others obviously,” Trevor jokes, before a serious look falls on his face. “Really though, Rex, you’ve been dealt some tough cards in the past, but you played the hell out of ‘em. Don’t let anything that’s happened bring you down, play the field. I’m not saying you need to do anything serious.”

“I—”

“Shut it. I’m not finished. No one’s saying you need to bring her home to mama, or in your case, to Ro. We just want to see you happy and putting yourself out there again,” he says, effectively cutting me off.

“I know. I don’t know what’s happening in my head. One minute, I want to hang out with her more because it’s fun, the next I freak out that I’m letting someone get too close. I don’t know, but I’m sure once I fucking figure it out, you’ll already know.” I glare. “Now let’s go run, I’ve heard enough talking from you.”

* * *

An hour later, we’re at the bagel place picking up our usual order, mine including stuff for Stella and Rory.

“Better luck next time. One day you’ll beat this old man,” I say.

“Shut up. I could literally smell the vodka coming out of my skin when we came around the last corner. I almost stopped to puke, but the hot yoga moms were right there, and I didn’t want to freak them out,” Trevor groans.

“Excuses aren’t going to win it for you.”

“We’ll race again when I’m not 75% vodka. Oh, and don’t forget to figure out a plan for Ro next weekend. I promised we’d all be there,” he reminds me.

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