Page 30 of Hart Breaker

Her man shakes his head as he lifts the beer I’ve just placed in front of him to his lips, his World Series ring catching the light and nearly blinding me.

“It’s not my money; owners don’t get tips.”

“Neither do friends of the owners.” She arches a brow.

When I see Lauren hurry through the crowd toward the doors that lead to the deck and watch her push them open like a linebacker and walk out, I hold up a finger. “Be right back.”

When I get outside, I see her standing between Hudson and … Brett.

“What is going on?” I ask, pissed.

“Tell my fiancée what you said to me,” Brett spits.

Hudson unclenches his fists and crosses his arms, and the look on his face is disgust. “That’s your play? No wonder you rode the bench in college. How much playtime did you get, number negative one?”

The fact he knows that much about Brett’s college football career is … disconcerting.

“I went to an Ivy; my focus was on my studies, you imbecile. I didn’t attend a low rent state school with a pitiful record until that”—his face scrounges up in disgust—“boy from Texas showed up, and you rode his coattails all the way to the only team in the NFL who went to the Island of Misfit Toys to recruit a team of low-talent wannabes.”

“Brett!” I gasp.

Hudson barks out a laugh as he catches Lauren's hand before it lands on its desired target—Brett’s face. “That may have actually stung if it didn’t come from a clown whose father stroked dicks under the alumni table to get his kid into college and then had to open the vault and pay in greenbacks so you could wear the jersey of a team we wiped our asses with.”

“From the bench.” Lauren nods, trying not to laugh at Hart.

“My grades got me in, not my family’s money. But speaking of, isn’t your old man in jail for?—”

“That’s enough!” I yell. “This was supposed to be a celebration, not a fucking third-arm race.”

Hudson reaches down and starts unbuckling his belt. “After this, every time you open your mouth to make some snide-ass comment, trying to convince yourself you’re superior, remember my dick and everything about who I am is bigger than yours. And Brett, you can look, but you can’t touch.”

Brett laughs out, “Finally, he finds a way to show my fiancée his dick, hoping she’ll want to?—”

Lauren cuts him off by taking his hand. “He’s too honorable a man to go after Riley, you turd. Choke on that and not his dick.” She walks away and pulls at Hudson’s hand, scolding him, “Your penis should never be used in an attempt to end a fight.” She looks back at Brett. “That’s just fucking lame.”

I see the way Hudson looks at Lo, and it’s with amusement and respect, I think. It shouldn’t sting, but it totally does. But it also means I have some work to do because the two of them would be such a beautiful couple.

Once they’re inside, I whirl on Brett. “What was that all about?”

“He told me I didn’t deserve you, that any man in this bar was better for you than me. I flat-out asked him if that included him, and the bastard smirked and walked away.”

“And you?—”

“I was out here, getting some air, and he told me he was going to be all over me until the day you said I do, Riley.” He throws his hands in the air. “He had the nerve to tell me he was confident that he’d be part of your life longer than me.” He grabs my face. “The sooner we get married, the sooner he’ll stop this bullshit, and I won’t be so on edge. He’s ruining us, Riley, and you just won’t let yourself see it. You think it’s all me and?—”

“He can’t ruin us, Brett; only we can do that.”

“Marry me.”

“I already said?—”

“I don’t wanna wait until the season ends. You and I elope, and then we have a reception after the fucking season ends.”

“Brett, I?—”

“I’m not waiting until the season ends to get my wife pregnant.”

I close my eyes. “How do you think getting married in secret is going to change this between you and?—”

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