Page 4 of Never Your Girl

Bridger

My gaze tracks Holland as she weaves through the crowd at Slap Shotz, all long legs and that flame-red hair that haunts my dreams. She moves like she’s ready for war with her chin held high and shoulders back, all the while radiating a touch-me-and-die energy that makes most guys steer clear.

Then again, Garret Akeman isn’t most guys.

I watch him intercept her, stepping into her path with practiced ease. She doesn’t immediately eviscerate him, which is... interesting.

Or maybe the word I’m searching for is “concerning.”

Something hot and ugly twists in my gut when she actually smiles at him. The exchange looks too comfortable.

Almost familiar.

I get along with most of my teammates. And up until recently, I didn’t have a problem with him either. But Garret’s decided to ride my ass and gun for my position on the team.

The guy can take a flying leap if he thinks I’m just going to roll over and give it to him without a fight.

Her gaze flicks to me for a split second before she dismisses me entirely. That single glance hits like a body check, leaving me winded. Then she turns back to Garret, saying something that makes him lean in closer.

My brows pinch.

Are they friends?

Or worse, more than that?

Their conversation flows a little too easily, and something about that irritates me. With a tilt of my head, I study the pair more carefully. It’s tempting to stalk over there and put the kibosh on whatever game Garret is trying to run.

Over the past couple months, Holland has become my number one suspect in the messages that have been wreaking havoc in my life.

As I stare at them, another thought slams into me.

What if she isn’t the only one behind them?

What if she has an accomplice?

Months of anonymous texts, and now Holland Tate is getting cozy with my biggest rival on the team.

Coincidence?

I don’t fucking think so.

A heavy hand lands on my shoulder. “You’re doing that thing again,” Steele says, sliding onto the barstool next to me.

“What thing?”

“That thing where you look at Holland like you’re trying to solve a murder and commit one at the same time.”

I tear my gaze away from where she’s slipping past Garret toward the exit. “I don’t look at her like anything.”

“Right.” Steele flags down the bartender. “And I’m not about to order another beer just so I can stick around and make sure Lilah gets home safe.”

“At least admit you’re into your best friend,” I say, trying to deflect attention from my own drama.

“Sure. I’ll do that as soon as you admit you’re not over Holland.”

My phone buzzes before I can tell him where to shove that thought. My father’s name flashes on the screen. It’s his third call tonight.

Steele’s expression softens. “Your old man?”

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