Page 12 of Game Face

Chapter Six

“Are you sure you don’t want me to tag along, do our famous third-wheel thing? I could turn around, be there in thirty.”

Wyatt’s pretty transparent sometimes, even over the phone. He saw me before Tasha and I left for our girls’ night, and I think he’s a little worried about my outfit, though he’d never say anything about it. I kind of like the way he bites his tongue when I dress sexy and he doesn’t want to share. I wore my mom’s white cotton eyelet sundress with her boots tonight, maybe wanting to channel a little of her strength as I reassure my best friend that everything will be okay.

“I’m sure you would cut through the desert to get here in fifteen, but we’ll be fine. I promise. Besides, you know Whiskey will show up at Catwalk eventually. He always does.”

I promised Tasha one last hurrah before I move to Wyatt’s on Sunday, and since this is the last free Friday I’ll have for a while, I gave it to her. I hate that I’m missing dinner with Wyatt and his mom for her birthday, but he assured me she’d understand. I think she’s probably looking forward to spending a night outwith her son, one-on-one. As much as they love Wyatt, my parents secretly love when I show up back at home solo.

“Yeah, I’ve already sent Whiskey the rules,” Wyatt says.

His voice is a little loud, and there’s a lull in the music playing in the rideshare car Tasha and I are in. Her head snaps to me a second before she rips the phone from my hand.

“Wyatt James Stone, you do not get to give us rules. You’re lucky I’m letting you live after stealing my best friend from me for our senior year of college. So help me, boy, if you tamper with our girls’ night, I will?—”

“Cut you,” I say in sync with her, a grin on my face. It’s her favorite threat, though it’s all talk. At least,I think it’s all talk?

She tosses my phone back in my lap, and I lift it to my ear, still laughing.

“I’m glad you find your psycho bestie amusing,” Wyatt says, a hint of worry in his voice.

“You know she loves you,” I reassure him, cupping the phone to try to block out the sound of Tasha saying, “Ehhh, do I?”

“Well, I love you, and that’s really all I give a shit about. So, just be safe, okay?”

I glance out my window, leaning away from Tasha for a bit of semi-privacy. Catwalk is an enormous country bar outside Tucson, and it’s basically where every frat boy and jock from the university goes to usher in the weekend. The bouncers do a good job of keeping the peace, mostly, but sometimes youth and alcohol mix for bad decisions. While Whiskey sometimes makes a few of his own, his are more of the fighting-for-someone’s-honor variety. Probably not a bad guy to have looking out for us.

“I promise. I love you, too.”

I end the call and tuck my phone into my small leather crossbody bag before meeting Tasha’s stare.

“Ugh, could you two be any cheesier?” she teases. I slip my arm through hers and snuggle in close, hugging my tough-act bestie.

“You know you’re happy for me, deep inside. You are. I can tell.” I poke at her cheek with my fingertip. It dimples with the smile she can’t hold back, and she lets out a soft laugh.

“Fine, yes. I’m happy for you. But I’m still sad for me. It’s going to take a lot of drinks to get over being sad about you moving out.Expensivedrinks.”

“Ha, nothing but the best for you.”

Our ride pulls up to the curb outside Catwalk, and the line has already started to form. Tasha dated one of the security guys last year, and he still has a thing for her, so she gets us to the front of the line easily, and we slip inside seconds after the ID checkers slap bright orange wristbands on us.

“One day, we’ll be able to go to a bar that doesn’t look like we paid for premium fair rides,” I say to her, tugging on her orange band.

“Girl, that’s because we’ll be old and there to play bingo,” she says. We both laugh and link our hands as we march our way to the bar for our first round, which I buy.

With drinks in our hands, we make our way to the edge of the dance floor, taking it easy until we finish our first drink and discard the glasses to really let loose. The music heats up, and so do our moves. I spin so my back is to Tasha as we both sway our hips and bend our knees. Tasha’s hands find my hips, and it doesn’t take long for our dancing to attract attention. When a tall blond guy wearing a black button down that’s open halfway down his chest works his way to our sides, I jut my chin over my shoulder to Tasha.

“I’m taken, but she’s single,” I say, good at my wing-woman duties.

“Well, all right then,” the guy says, holding out his hand for Tasha to dance with him. I nod when she looks at me for permission, and lean into her ear so she can hear me.

“I’ll get us shots and wait over there.” I nod toward the long table to our right.

I leave my friend with open-shirt guy. I sized him up as he was approaching. No ring, and expensive shoes. He might be one of the younger professors, or maybe just a young professional out with the boys after work. I spot his friends at the bar cheering him on. I’ll keep an eye on her, especially if she doesn’t join me when this song is done.

I buy us a round of shots and carry them to the side table, recognizing the wide shoulders and famous plaid shirt of my bodyguard for the night. I tap Whiskey’s arm with my finger while I balance my drinks in my other palm. He jumps and spins like a kid startled at a haunted house.

“Wow, and you’re here to protect me,” I joke.

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