Page 15 of Wasted On You

“It’s a good look for you.”

“You haven’t changed a bit,” he replied with a wink. “You playing with Mike Paul?”

She nodded.

“Okay.” His reply was slow in coming. “I’m counting on you guys to behave this time.”

“We’re all grown up now, Dave. What kind of trouble could we get into?” She patted his arm.

“The adult kind,” he replied dryly. “The team is on the far lane. Do you need shoes?”

“I do. Embarrassing, I know, but the shoes and my ball are long gone. I’m only here because they needed a fourth.”

“No problem, darlin’. Come with me.”

Dave had her set up in no time, and she grabbed a beer on her way over to the last lane. She spied Mike Paul before he knew she was there and paused, watching him for a few moments while she dug deep for the nerve she needed to spend the evening in his company.

Why in hell did he always look so good? She knew from experience it wasn’t something he worked at. The man rolled out of bed, looking like a teenage dream without trying.

He was standing next to a blonde, a very pretty lady, who looked up at him while he explained something. Ivy couldn’t see the woman’s face, but she must have said something funny because Mike Paul threw his head back and laughed, his face wide open and easy and so damn handsome it was almost hard to watch.

Almost. She needed to focus. Needed to put him back in that special little box and lock it up. Maybe she could pretend he was someone else. Some man with a big gut, bad teeth and?—

Mike Paul glanced up just then, that insane smile of his still there like it was a painting. The expensive kind, meant for private collections. They locked eyes, and her blood stopped moving, along with her heart and pretty much everything else inside her.

Panic, the kind that took a girl’s breath away, rolled through Ivy, and she took a step back as Mike Paul moved past the blonde woman without a word. He walked toward Ivy, and she was aware that every single woman in the place watched. Covert glances if they were married (some not so much) and hungry, predatory ones if they weren’t.

“You came,” he said, nodding at the ball bag in her hand. “Where’d you get that?”

“Dave.” Good. Her voice still worked.

“Okay, well, we’ve got about five minutes before we start.”

She tried like hell to keep her expression neutral and her voice even. “Where’s Bryce?”

Mike Paul motioned to his left. “He’s still shoveling pizza down his throat.”

She took a step forward and looked around Mike Paul. She spied Bryce sitting at a table just behind the last lane. “Is that Waylon Smith with him?”

“Yep.”

“Surprised he’s still in town. I pictured him as a big city man. Thought he’d move to Austin or Dallas. At the very least, Bozeman.”

“His wife Amanda Hills is with him.”

“I like Amanda. Who’s their fourth?”

“Wanda.”

Ivy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Weatherly?”

“That would be the one.”

“She lives in Big Bend now?”

“Married to Bryce.”

She looked up sharply and Mike Paul grinned. “I told ya. Super Bowl all over again.”

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