Page 54 of Wrong Score

“Did he cover anyone else’s drinks tonight?” I press.

Reeve steps up beside me, handing his card to Aaron. “Hey, can you run this for Keely and me?”

“Sure,” Aaron says.

So Bex didn’t pay for Reeve or Keely. Just Shawnie and me. Now it makes even less sense.

Reeve glances my way, offering a quick smile. “Nice shot earlier tonight on that corner pocket shot. I think you almost got Bex to smile.”

I try not to let his comment bring me any hope. Bex doesn’t know how to smile.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” I mutter.

“He’s warming up to you. I can see it,” Reeve says with a nod to Aaron after he, signs his receipt.

“Much good that’s doing me when I'm dealing with an arctic glacier. I’ll be dead by the time he defrosts at this rate.”

Keely steps forward as Reeve helps her into her jacket. “Do you have a ride home tonight? You can crash in our guest room. We just got into a bigger apartment at The Commons,” she offers.

“No, thanks. I’ll take a rideshare home. I have a lot of work to do tomorrow anyway,” I tell them.

We say our goodbyes and then I turn back to Aaron once Keely and Reeve head for the door. “Why did he pay for mine?” I ask.

Aaron raises his hands in mock surrender. “Whatever this is between you two, I’m staying out of it.”

Between us?What does that mean?

I let out a huff. If I want a real answer, I’ll have to go straight to the source.

As I walk up, Ryker, Juliet, and Shawnie are saying their goodbyes to Bex.

“Thanks for buying my drinks, birthday twin. Next year, we’re celebrating together,” Shawnie tells him, her words slightly slurred. She had a good birthday, the drinks were flowing and the conversation and friendship in this group of women is always a good time.

“I don’t do birthdays, but we can celebrate yours,” Bex replies.

“Psht. You’re aging like fine wine, Coach Bex. Embrace it.”

He nods at Juliet, Shawnie and Ryker as they leave, then turns to see me approaching.

“You paid for Shawnie’s drinks?” I ask, crossing my arms.

He stares back at me, his eyes squinting at me for a second and he pushes his hands into his pockets. “It’s customary on someone’s birthday,”

“Okay, but it’s not my birthday, and you paid for mine too. Did you pay for anyone else?”

“No.” he says simply, his jaw tightening and his hands sinking deeper into his pockets. He doesn’t like this line of questioning. Too bad.

“So why did you pay for me?”

“It’s time to go,” he says, breezing past me.

“Time to go—” I sputter, grabbing my jacket and chasing after him. “Where are you going? You still owe me a birthday wish.”

“I’m taking you home first,” he says, holding the door open for me. “Let’s go.”

“Taking me home?” I ask, but do as he instructs.

“Yes. It’s late, and you live further out than everyone else. You shouldn’t be taking a rideshare alone at this hour. I’m going to ride with you to make sure you get there safely.”

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