Page 11 of Creed

“Did he fuck you over?”

“More like he ghosted me. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“Smooth. Too bad that shit doesn’t work on me. You forget I know you and have watched you run game too many times.”

“I’m not fucking with you or playing games. I wouldn’t do that. Not with you.”

“I may not have been present in your life these past ten years, but I guarantee you’ve not been a choirboy.”

“Never claimed that.”

“Just admit it. You’re a total player.”

“You think I’d fuck you over?”

“Why are we even talking about this? I don’t even know why I’m here. I should go.”

“You just got here. Stay.” I squeeze her upper thigh. “How have you been? Ghosting douche bags aside. Of course.”

She glances down at my possessive grip on her bare thigh and clears her throat. “Like I said. I should get home.”

“Not so fast, beautiful.” Loosening my grip on her thigh, I realize how uncomfortable she might be with my intimate touch. It’s been ten years. I doubt she’s still harboring a crush on me. Not after all these years. I finish my beer and signal Asphalt to bring me another round.

Lottie pulls back, creating too much distance between us for my liking. Her piercing blue eyes study me like she’s reading her favorite book. “I see you’re still hardheaded.”

“No doubt.” I grin as Asphalt replaces my empty bottle with a full one.

Mimicking my earlier action, she picks at the label on her own beer. “What do you really want, Seth?”

“Call me Creed when we’re at the clubhouse.”

“All right, Creed,” her voice softens, and my road name rolls off her tongue, smooth as a good whiskey. “What do you want from me?”

“Why do I have to want something?”

“One, you’re you. Two, you’ve not bothered to look me up all this time.”

“Maybe I’ve missed you.”

“Why? It doesn’t look like you have a shortage of groupies.”

“Careful. Almost sounds as if you’re jealous.”

“Learned that lesson once. I’m not looking to repeat past mistakes.”

“What makes you think we’d be a mistake?”

She lets out a long huff. “Gee, Creed. I don’t know. Want me to write you a list?” Her voice is laced with the bitterness of the memories she holds of the Becky situation and those that came before her. “Why would this time be any different for you than all the rest? Why would you treat me any differently than anyone else?”

“I’m older and wiser. People do change, Charlotte.”

“Don’t call me that. You sound like your father and it’s too weird.”

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