Page 22 of The Love You Win

“Do you actually want to have a shot with her?” Byrne asks seriously.

Do I? I may. I don’t know. All I’m sure of is that I screwed up. I feel terrible about it, and I wish I could make it up to her. Is there a part of me that wonders if we could have had some deep connection had I not sabotaged the evening? Sure. Of course, I do. But what’s the likelihood Isla Harding could have been the one?

I’m not even sure I believe in all of that soulmate bullshit. My mom never found hers. My dad was too much of a bastard to care if he found his, and I sure as hell can’t look to the guys around me for examples of love and healthy relationships.

“Pretty sure I blew any chance of having a shot with Isla,” I say to Logan. “Besides, she probably looked me up the minute she got home and saw all the bullshit Candace and Georgia said about me. Even if she had the slightest interest in me before that, I doubt she does now.”

It’s so easy for people to buy into their bullshit. It’s another reason I haven’t dated in a couple of years. If women know about me, they’re only interested in casual sex. Nice girls run in the other direction when they see me coming.

The Gravedigger. Jesus.

I shake my head. It doesn’t matter what Isla Harding or any other woman thinks about me. I’m done with relationships. It’s too hard to tell a woman’s intentions when there’s money and fame on the line. Hell, the last time I was certain a girl liked me for me was all the way back in high school. I was a different person then.

“So what you’re saying is she’s fair game and I can ask the team for her number and bang the teacher?” Griffin watches me intently. “Because damn, I’m imagining her in a tight little pencil skirt, a half-unbuttoned blouse, thick-rimmed glasses, and a ruler in her hand. She could bend me over a desk and spank my ass any day of the week.”

“Dude,” Navarro warns.

I lunge for Wright. He laughs, spinning out of my reach.

“Take it outside, assholes,” Coach shouts before my fist can connect with Griff’s gut.

“Okay, okay.” Wright laughs, his palms up in surrender. “I won’t bang your teacher.”

“She’s not mine,” I grumble.

“No,” Griffin says with a smirk. “But you want her to be.”

And dammit, he’s right. I do. Too bad it’ll never happen.

ten

ISLA

I walk through the week in a daze, but maybe there’s an upside to my disastrous date with Maddox Graves. Alex has consumed my thoughts for five months. But this week? He’s only popped into my head a few times.

Progress is progress, no matter the cause.

Jess and Nevaeh texted me earlier in the day, demanding a girls’ night out. Apparently, staying in on a Saturday night is a crime. They want to get dressed up and meet for dinner and drinks at this posh downtown bar called Skin and Tonic. The bar boasts the best cocktails, delicious food, and go-go dancers who sway to the beat in cages that hang from the ceiling.

It’s a bit too expensive for my blood, but after roping me into a miserable date, my friends have offered to pay. They feel guilty about the whole thing, but it’s fine. I’m over it. And I’m not really in the mood to go out tonight, but they won’t take no for an answer.

They’re worried about me. I get it. So, to ease their minds, I agree to dinner.

I’m not interested in drawing attention to myself, so I wear a simple black dress that hugs my curves and hits just above my knee. My hair is in loose curls, and I’ve winged out my eyeliner sharply enough to cut. Jess and Nevaeh draw attention wherever they go, so if I want to blend into the background, I need to look good, but not too good. I fidget with the hem of my dress the whole Uber ride there, checking my phone every few minutes.

Jess texts to say she’s running late.

Hopefully Nev is on time.

Skin and Tonic thrums with energy. The girls made a reservation, so I follow the hostess to our table, dodging patrons who laugh and dance. She seats me close to the bar and I settle into the chair facing the door so I can wave to the girls when they arrive. A harried server scurries over to take my drink order, and I try to relax. A few familiar faces dot the crowd—I recognize them as people Jess and Nev work with—but I don’t try to initiate small talk.

I’m sipping my passionfruit mojito and alternating between checking the door and my phone when it buzzes with a new text.

Nev

Ladies, I am so sorry. Got roped into an emergency situation at work. I’m not going to make it.

Jess

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