Page 104 of Win Big

We stop at the valet parking out in front of the hotel and wait for the attendant to bring my car around. I turn to face her. It’s cooler here, the ocean not far away. I grasp her upper arms. “Are you okay?”

Her eyes are big and shiny, fastened on mine, her head tipped back. She nods. “Are you mad?”

“Mad? Uh... fuck. I don’t know what the hell I am.” I shake my head. My insides are clenched and my chest tingles with dread. I don’t even know why.

The valet helps Everly into the SUV. I see how the guy looks at her. She looks smoking hot tonight, expensive and classy, the black turtleneck and pants outlining her slim figure, gold and diamond accessories glinting at her ears and wrist. I take a deep breath.

She was sixteen.

I rub my mouth as I pull out of the hotel driveway, hanging a left onto Ocean Avenue. I blow past Wilshire, then Santa Monica, and Everly tentatively says, “Where are we going?”

“My place.”

“No.” She lifts her chin, her lips tight. “I want to go home.”

For a moment, I don’t answer. Then I say, “Fine.”

I make a left at the next intersection and zoom up whatever street it is. I control my frustration enough to check out some street signs and get my bearings. I haven’t gone that far out of our way, so a few turns get us back on track and soon I’m pulling up in front of her place.

She unfastens her seatbelt and shifts so she’s facing me. “You don’t have to come in.”

My jaw clenches. “I don’thaveto?”

“What is wrong?”

“I saw the way he looked at you.”

She gapes at me, and the look of pain and repulsion on her face makes me feel like an asshole. “Who?”

“Gage.I gather you two... knew each other.”

Her lips tremble but she lifts that stubborn little chin and tosses her hair back. “That was a long time ago. Look. I think we’ve taken this too far. We were supposed to go out a few times and get some media attention. We both know there can’t be any more than that. So we can’t see each other again.”

My molars are grinding and I force myself to relax my jaw. “What the fuck?”

“You’re all bent out of shape over nothing.” She waves a hand. “Come on, you’re Mr. Fun. Clearly you’re not having fun.”

She’s right. Dammit. But she’s not making sense. I don’t want to have fun right now, I want to punch someone. Preferably Gage Gregoire. My life isn’t just about having fun all the time, for fuck’s sake.

“Okay, so we’re good.” She attempts to suck in a breath and nearly sobs. “Thanks for lots of fun, Wyatt. See you around.”

Incredulously, I watch as she opens the door and hops out of my vehicle. Even in her high heels, she runs lightly along the sidewalk to her door.

What the hell just happened? I think I’ve been dumped.

I also don’t think I’ve ever been angrier in my life.

I watch her unlock her door and enter the condo. The outside light extinguishes. I sit there longer, my body buzzing, my hands clenching and unclenching on the steering wheel. I don’t even know what to do. Chase after her and argue with her?

I don’t want to end things with her.

I slam the vehicle into drive and pull away from the curb. My vision is hazy. I probably shouldn’t be driving. I only had one drink, so it’s not that.

Why am I so pissed? She’s right. Mr. Fun. Ha. Good one. But that’s me. Life is too short to be miserable. And unlike hockey, there’s no replay in life.

I focus on the road so I don’t screw things up even worse by crashing into someone, and drive home.

There, I pour myself a big glass of scotch and throw myself down onto my couch.

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