Page 80 of Brutal Game

As I pondered over how best to approach it, Dave cleared his throat.

“Listen,” he said. “I shouldn’t ask this, but do you want to maybe hang out sometime? I know that’s presumptuous, but I swear I’m a good guy and you seem like you could use a good guy in your life.”

I froze, almost dropping the drink in my hand. Dave caught it and set it down.

“I know you were with Jack. And I know he might killme for this. But I like you, Aviva. You interest me. And not only because you’re a knockout. There aren’t a lot of people who could’ve gone through what he—whatwe—put you through, and still served me a drink after with their head held high. Let me buy you a coffee or lunch or something one day. Yeah?”

Here it was. My chance. Get to know Dave, tell him I was Asher’s sister, see what he knew and if he’d be willing to help. He seemed like a good guy, but?—

—but it felt disloyal to Jack. God, Stockholm Syndome might not be real, but it had me tight in its fictitious grip, regardless.

Dave watched me. “Is it about Jack? Because I can back down…”

I shook my head.

“He’s with a new girl now,” I told Dave, the words sticking in my throat. “Unless he’s the type to not like when other men play with his discarded—” I winced at my next word, “—toys, he’s not going to care if you make a move on me.”

Dave raised his eyebrows. “Usually I’d say that Jack wouldn’t give a shit about his discarded ‘toys’, but everything about how he treats you is different than he’s treated anyone else.” He straightened. “I don’t care, though. Jack doesn’t control either of our lives. Let’s do it.”

I was in.

I felt sick.

“I guess you can have my number…” I rolled my eyes.

He grinned. “You really are cute. Hand me your phone.”

I slipped it out of my pocket and handed it to him?—

—only for it to be intercepted by a big, familiar hand. I knew the veins on that hand, the short, round nails, theslight discoloration of the pinky—probably from being slammed into the boards the wrong way during a game.

I looked up at Jack. He loomed over us, his hand wrapped around my phone. His muscles had swelled beneath his t-shirt. His hat was gone. Probably on the brunette’s head. His jaw ticked.

“Lawson.”

Dave twisted to look at my tormentor. “Jack. I believe that phone was meant for me.”

“Did nobody ever tell you about not poaching?”

Dave drew himself up to his full height—which was still a few inches shorter than Jack. “It’s only poaching when the person in question doesn’t want to be poached.”

Jack glared, moving in closer to Dave, and I considered turning the soda siphon on him.

Instead, I tried to placate him. “Jack.”

Jack raised his hand, still holding my phone. “Not now, Aviva. I’ll deal with you after.” He lowered his voice, but if anything, that made his warning to Dave even clearer. “You don’t want to test me, goalie.”

The threat must have pissed Dave off, because he turned to me, winked, then turned back to Jack. “Feldman, didn’t you ever learn how to share? You seemed like you understood that concept the other night.”

The punch came so fast, I almost missed it. But the crunch of Dave’s nose against Jack’s fist was unmistakable. So were the screams.

Jack shook out his hand. Blood dripped from his knuckles, and from Dave’s face.

“What the hell is wrong with you? How the hell are you going to punch your own goalie?!” I yelled, and this time, I did spray him down with the soda siphon, turning his gray t-shirt darker. It matched his eyes at the moment, which had also darkened with anger.

He didn’t even flinch at the spray. “You’re taking a break, Aviva.”

I continued dousing him with water. “No, I’m fuckingnot.You’re leaving, and Dave is pressing charges.”

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