Page 43 of False Start

“You have a better suggestion?” I took a sip of my drink, relieved.

Kit shrugged. “How about a game? We’re not winning the rally, but maybe Trent can dominate us at a bar game. Have you all ever played Skulls?”

She swiped a stack of coasters, rooting through her purse and pulling out a pen. She marked a flower on three coasters and a skull on one before passing the set of four coasters to me.

“I’m a little tipsy. Will I understand the game?” Hayden asked.

“Yeah, absolutely.” Kit winked at me as she set out the rules.

After the third round of Skulls, we attracted enough attention to make Skulls become unwieldy. Kit transitioned us to Werewolf, which then became No More Jockeys, and finally, Win, Lose, Banana to choose the winner of our impromptu game night. Kit edged me out in the last round, securing her crown and refusing to share.

As midnight approached, the bar emptied, teams heading to their hotel rooms for a full night of sleep before the rally restarted in the morning.

I lingered at the bar with Kit as she ordered us both water.

“Fuck,” I shook my head, staring at Kit with fresh eyes. “You didn’t warn me you were fun.”

She sputtered out water, covering her mouth with her hand. “Of course I’m fun. You thought I wasn’t fun?”

“Honestly?”

She pursed her lips, pressing her finger to her lips. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”

Her cheeks blushed red before she pulled her finger away. “I guess I can’t act offended. I haven’t exactly shown you my best self.”

“Same,” I admitted. “Why is that?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” Her incredulous look told me it should have been obvious, but it hadn’t been. Not really. Football fans loved me. Most women loved me. Kit had been annoyed with me right from the start.

“I do, actually.”

Her eyes flitted over me with a frown that cleared with a nod. “You know what? Let me show you.”

She stood up, straightening her spine and relaxing her shoulders in an eerily good impression of my stance. Her eyes traveled down my body and back up again in a way that somehow felt invasive and judgmental all at once. Once she reached my face, she dropped her eyes down again with a nod. “Hi, I’m Trent.”

She slid on a dramatic Texas accent and nailed the rhythm of my voice. Her lips spread into a Cheshire Cat grin that rang slightly hollow. A little too friendly when coupled with a bored gaze.

I winced. “It’s more charming when I do it.”

“It’s not.” She fell out of the impression and grabbed her drink. “I mean, I’m sure some people think it is. But it’s so rehearsed and calculating.”

“Calculating?” I’d been called a lot of things over the years. It came with the territory. Cocky. Arrogant. But not calculating. “You’re making me sound like a James Bond villain.”

She laughed. “Don’t think that highly of yourself. It’s more like you’re sizing people up to decide what they’re worth. When you sized me up, you decided I wasn’t really worth the effort.”

I recoiled. She wasn’t entirely right, but she wasn’t wrong either. “I don’t think I meant to do that. I’m sorry.”

She set her empty glass on the bar and waved off the bartender’s offer for another. “You’re only saying sorry because you found out I was fun.”

“That’s not the only reason.” I grinned. “Part of it, but not the only reason. How can I make it up to you?”

Her fingers danced around the top of her glass. She thought about the offer before signaling the bartender back over. “One more round, and put it on his tab.”

The bartender nodded.

“That’s it?” I asked skeptically. Kit hadn’t given me an easy out on anything. I couldn’t help but sense a second part to the apology.

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t have asked otherwise, but since you really were an asshole when we met, I feel like I’m allowed: What happened in Phoenix?”

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