Page 88 of Offside Devil

She never told me. She hasn’t told me anything in days, but she should have told me some shit like this.

Suddenly, a hand clamps down on my shoulder. “Well, are you coming out with us, Whitaker? You’re the cool kid tonight. Everyone wants to party with you.”

I read Mira’s text one more time before I toss it in my duffel bag. I can’t forget something she never told me, can I?

I turn around and throw both hands in the air. “Let’s fucking go!”

The locker room erupts.

36

ZANE

Davis appears out of nowhere, clutching shot glasses between each of his fingers. “This round is on me, gentlemen.”

We stopped being “gentlemen” sometime between Davis jumping on the bar to sing LeAnn Rimes and Nathan and Reeves snapping a table in half while arm wrestling.

For the first couple hours tonight, I was blocking more shots than Cole did all night in the goal. I waved off every free drink that came my way. My teammates know I don’t drink much, but only a few people know I’m completely sober. I’ve gotten good at “staying on the trolley,” as Owen would say.

Then I caught a glimpse of black hair bobbing through the crowd.

I was out of my seat before I even knew what was happening, tracking this woman through the bar. I followed her all the way to the door of the women’s restroom before Cole grabbed me by the arm and asked me what I was doing.

Instead of answering, I snatched the drink out of his hand and tossed it back.

To clear my head, I thought. One drink and I’ll be done.

Now, I pluck shot number who-the-fuck-knows from Davis’s hand and I don’t bother pretending it’s going to be my last. It won’t be. My last drink will be the one that finally shuts off my brain. It’ll be the one that makes me forget my own name—and, more importantly, anything to do with dark-haired nannies.

Davis cheers as I toss the liquor back. “Fuck yeah! It’s good to see you loosen up, man. You deserve it. You were great out there tonight. Back to your old self.”

I’m my old self right now.

I slam that thought behind the comfortable haze of alcohol and clap Davis on the shoulder. “I have to piss.”

I wobble as I stand and make it all of five steps before I run into Reeves and Jemma. Really, Jemma runs into me. Reeves has his wife bent back over a rickety table, kissing her in a way that is only ever a lead-in to fucking. Her other leg is hooked over his hip and they're a zipper and a thrust away from giving everyone a show we never asked for.

Reeves assisted two of Carson's goals tonight. He played well and now, he's here. With his wife. Celebrating.

While Mira is waiting for me to get home so she can meet up with her fucking date.

Right on cue, my phone vibrates. Like each of the other thirty times it’s rang tonight, I ignore it and turn back towards the bar for another drink.

Jace is standing behind me, a half-full beer in his hand. “The bar is gonna ban us for life if we break another table.”

“No, they won’t. You already put your credit card down for the first one.”

He shrugs, but doesn’t deny it. Jace can’t help but do the right thing. Something breaks? He’s going to fix it.

I wonder what that must be like.

“Are we going to tell Reeves he's about to make his wife indecent or do we let him have his fun?” he ponders.

“Let him have fun,” I mumble. “Someone should.”

I take another step and stumble. Jace catches my shoulder. “You okay, man?”

That old, familiar shame bubbles up, but I ignore it and make my way to the bar. “I thought married couples were supposed to be sexless. Isn't that what happens once you have a kid?” I conveniently choose to ignore the fact that I've got Aiden and yet I still have plenty of energy left over to think about what—and where and when and how—I want to give to Mira. “Your entire life becomes about taking care of your kid.”

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