Page 17 of Infinite

John gives me a stiff nod and steps aside. The girls squeal. “Thanks, Becca,” they offer.

It’s loud and cold here on the streets, but not as loud as it is inside. For an exclusive club, there’s no high-tech music or overly processed auto-tune. This is the south. If it isn’t country booming over the speakers it’s good old fashioned rock ‘n roll.

“Miss Shields,” the hostess says to me. “Nice to see you.”

She takes my coat. “Thank you, Marcella,” I say, grateful to get somewhat of a breather.

My butt isn’t quite on the stool when more cheerleaders accost me. “Becca, that bitch, Madison, stained my uniform with ink and then put it back in my locker.”

I nod to the bartender when he asks me if I want my usual. “Sue Ellen,” I say. “I’m neither your momma nor your babysitter. You’re a grown ass woman. Take it up with Madalyn or whatever her name is, or hell, even your coach.”

“You’re not going to help me?” she asks, seemingly affronted I’m not going in guns blazing.

I offer my thanks when the bartender sets an Old Fashioned in front of me. I take a sip. I love these things a little too much. On a good night, I’ll have one, on a bad, I’ll have three. Tonight is a good night. I’m going to enjoy every last sip. “I like you, Sue Ellen,” I tell her. “So, let me give you the best advice I have. Don’t reinforce the stereotype of an angry, petty woman in this field. You’re not doing the rest of us any favors.”

She practically stamps her feet. “But I didn’t start it.”

“I don’t care. Finish it.”

Did I just dismiss this sweet little June bug? Yes, I did and I smiled while doing it. I mean what I say. I’m the nicest person in the world, usually, but the pettiness that exists between women has led to more catfights than I can count.

Santiago slides onto the stool beside me. The bartender knows what he wants without asking. He places a Dos Equis beer in front of him, hurrying down the bar to tend to the next superstar.

“Becca,” Tiago says.

I lean forward, giving him a really good view of my large breasts. Tiago doesn’t stop to admire them. He never has. Have I mentioned Ireallylike Tiago?

“What’s her name?” I ask.

His dark brows furrow menacingly, tight enough to form a unibrow that looks surprisingly good on him. “What?”

I grin. I have him exactly where I want him. “I asked you what her name is.”

He stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replies, his face unreadable.

“Yes, you do. Want to know how?” I take a nice long sip of my drink, my eyes closing as the sweet taste of sugar and whiskey glides down my throat. Mm, heaven. I open my eyes slowly, staring at him seductively from beneath my thick veil of lashes.

Tiago doesn’t even blink, watching me in that same broody way. I point at his face and then to my chest and he still keeps his attention on my face. “That’s how I know,” I say. “Unlike the rest of mankind, you’ve never stared at my tits.”

He swivels back in the direction of the bar and returns to his beer. I laugh. “Tiago, you didn’t even look when I pointed.” I take another long taste of my drink, enjoying the slow burn traveling to my stomach. No one else can make an adult beverage this good.

“You’re not gay,” I say, ignoring the way Tiago is ignoring me. I know he’s listening. “I would’ve seen you with a man by now.”

“Becca, stay out of my business.”

“Why?” I ask, giving my drink a swirl.

Tiago glares at me. “Is now a good time to remind you I’m only one of three players from the original team? I’ve never given you a reason to question my ethics or professionalism.”

“I know, sugar pie,” I agree. “Why do you think I like you so much or care enough to ask?”

Segon Murphy ambles up beside Tiago, bending his arm to rest against Tiago’s shoulder. “Hey, Becca. Looking good tonight,” he says. Unlike Tiago, Murphy does look at my tits. “When are we gonna go out?”

“We’re not,” I inform him. I pull the fancy plastic toothpick piercing the garnishes from my drink and pop the bourbon infused cherry in my mouth, relishing the sweet taste intermixed with strong liquor.

“Why not?” Murphy presses.

I swallow the cherry, barely blinking. “Because you’re a whore.”

---