Page 53 of Through the Water

“You’re absolutely right.” He nodded, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Who passes up the chopped steak? Meat and potatoes, Reed. Meat and potatoes.”

“No—she has a brain injury,” I snapped, slapping my palm against the table to punctuate each word, hoping to permeate his thick skull. “And you just—you were just an asshole—”

“I was,” he readily agreed, lowering the menu. “That’s definitely my bad. But, in my defense, you didn’t exactly speak up. Kinda like—oh, I don’t know—how you failed to mention the fact that you were into her?”

“What?” I choked. “I’m not anything with her. Christ, what kind of an asshole—you know what, don’t answer that.”

Bailey reached for my water glass and drained it with an indifferent shrug. “What’s the big deal? You’re both consenting adults. Wait—” He paused, his brows snapping together in suspicion. “Just wait a fucking minute—you’re not still on that whole purity kick, are you? Oh, you are, it’s written all over your face!”

I lowered my voice in warning. “That’s not what we’re discussing here. You’re proposing I sleep with a woman who is recovering from a brain injury.”

“Well, clearly she’s got a brain injury if she’s interested in you,” he deadpanned.

“Which she is not,” I added, scanning the room for any unwanted eavesdroppers.

Bailey cocked his head to the side, the smirk on his face fading instantly. “You don’t see it? Who do you think she got all dolled up for, Reed? Wasn’t me or anyone of these geezers, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Just drop it,” I pleaded, massaging the back of my neck. My watch vibrated. I lowered my arm, exhaling a bitter laugh as I read the text.

Dad-

Tried calling and got no answer. You around?

Right on cue.

I was more likely to skip dinner in favor of a grueling session with Rocky than I was to text my father back. Hell, I would have taken being interrogated by Bailey in a locked room over another lecture on how I wasn’t living up to my potential.

“Look, I’m just saying—as your friend and teammate—it’s my job to call it like I see it.” Bailey crossed his legs and clasped his hands behind his head, almost resembling a therapist, were it not for the incessant jiggling of his foot. “It’s a responsibility I don’t take lightly. And I’m telling you now, that girl imagined you naked at least once since she sat down. Trust me, a man knows these things.”

The man knew jack shit.

“You picked up on that without her having to say a single word? That’s—well, that must have taken some skill. Although, if imagining me in my birthday suit is our only criterion, I reckon we could fill the whole damn ballpark with ‘love-struck’ women.”

His lips twitched. “We’re gonna need a bigger stadium.”

“Seriously? This is no different than the time you gave my room key to that hotel bartender because you felt a vibe between us. Just let it die, Bailey,” I said tightly, pushing the hair off my forehead. My heart lurched in my chest, clearly siding with my teammate on the matter.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He tipped the chair back again, smirking like he had all the answers.

At least one of us did.

“Now, I’m willing to overlook the makeup—”

I tensed. “She doesn’t normally wear any—”

His eyes flickered with amusement. “Ah. That’s probably a good thing as her current look is a bit Bozo-esque. Regardless, she obviously wants you to notice her, but that’s not why you’re wrong. Go ahead, ask me why.”

“I don’t want to,” I grumbled while picking at my fingernails.

“Alright, alright,” Bailey sighed dramatically. “Stop begging already. I’ll tell you. You ready for the bombs of truth Uncle Conor’s about to drop?”

“Not really. I lost interest about ten minutes ago.”

“Here goes—” He brought the chair back down with a loud scrape and leaned in to rest his forearms on the table. “I don’t think that woman has the slightest clue who you are. And that, my surly little friend, is why she’s not like the others.”

A smirk tugged at my lips as I prepared to blow Bailey’s theory out of the water. In fact, I was somewhat looking forward to watching his face crumple as I told him of Ari’s little autograph attempt.

I don’t even know you.

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