Page 94 of Vegas Heat

He makes apfftsound. “Fuck no. Take a look in the mirror if you want to know why.”

My brows dip. “What does that mean?”

“The sagging shoulders. The general cynical demeanor. The Cooper Noah I knew a few years ago wasn’t like that, and I’d put up a pretty hefty sum on the fact that it was a woman who did this to you.”

I press my lips together. He’s not wrong.

He nods. “That’s what I thought. You know the best way to get over someone, don’t you?”

I raise my brows.

“Get on top of someone else, dude.”

Is that what she’s doing? Is she getting on top of Spongebob? The thought of it makes me want to throw up. It makes me want to put my fist through something, probably not the smartest move given my future at the Heat.

Still, though, the thought of her with someone else fills me with rage. I think back to those headlines about Cooper Noah, the guy who never loses his cool—except that time when I clearly tagged Pete Mitchell out and the ump called him safe…the one time I was ejected from a game for unloading on the asshole who clearly got it wrong.

All the replays were on my side, but I may have gotten a little mouthy with the umpire.

“Yeah,” I finally admit on a deep sigh. “A girl fucked me up and I get it. I get why you wouldn’t want to subject yourself to that. I don’t really want to subject myself to it anymore, either.”

“Stacy?” he asks. “Wasn’t that her name?”

I’m about to reply in the negative—that it wasn’t Stacy this time, even though she fucked me up pretty good herself, but then the car arrives at the casino and we both stumble out of the backseat.

I start to think this was probably a bad idea. I have a nagging suspicion this is going to be an expensive evening out with a friend.

We head toward the high limit area in the back, mostly because it tends to offer privacy than the main tables. Plus the fact that we’re two fairly well-known professional baseball players wearing hats. They help protect our identity, but they don’t make us invisible, and it’s mere moments after entering that Danny is noticed by a group of women. He grins over at me, and they follow his gaze to his friend. I’m recognized pretty quickly by association after that since apparently our names have been paired in the local media as fans anticipate the new expansion team.

“Now this is what I was just talking about,” he says, and I can’t help but laugh.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe the best way to get over Gabby is to get on top of somebody else. But I’m not sure I have it in me to just pick up a random girl and spend the night with her, not when what I shared with Gabby was so unique, not knowing a woman has it in her to make me feel the way she did. Nobody here tonight is even going to come close to that. Maybe no woman ever will again.

We head toward the tables, where I blow way too much money, drink way too much whiskey, and laugh until my stomach hurts with my buddy, and I’m hurting on Sunday when I wake up.

Nobody’s in bed with me to make sure I didn’t choke on my own vomit while I slept…though I’m old enough to know my limits and to stop before it gets to that point.

That fact doesn’t dull the headache or help with the loud rumbling of my stomach. A shower doesn’t really help much, either, and I get back in bed after my shower hoping to catch a little more sleep.

And that’s when I hear it.

My bed is up against the same wall as hers, and I hear voices.

I can’t make out what they’re saying, but she’s not alone in her room.

And the other voice?

It’s decidedly male.

If that little fucker spent the night, I might just lose my shit.

CHAPTER 15: GABBY

Maybe it’s wrong. Maybe it’s immature. Maybe I don’t care.

Justin and I drank a little bit last night during our epic ping pong battle, and I told him to stay the night. He didn’t stay in my room. He stayed in one of the guest rooms in my dad’s wing, so he wasn’t even in the same part of the house as me while we slept.

I heard Cooper come in late last night—or rather, I heard him stumble in. My door was shut and my light was off. I was in the middle of tossing and turning for the seven thousandth time when he not-so-quietly headed to his room.

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