Page 40 of Calling the Shots

I want to be that guy.

Tearing my gaze away, I pick at the edge of the label on the glass bottle. Anything to keep my focus off Gracelyn and the dude she’s talking to.

“Mack—do you have plans this weekend?” Baker rams my elbow, knocking my arm so hard a few droplets of beer slosh onto the wooden bar.

“Working in the yard. Tons of leaves to rake.” I swipe at the spill with my knuckles, my eyes wandering back over to Gracelyn. Now she’s looping one of her long curls around her finger and fluttering her lashes at the dude. He moves in closer, boxing out the other guys.

I don’t like the way he’s staring at her tits. Or his aggressive posture, chest all puffed out. Like he’s some modern-day caveman ready to haul her out of the bar over his beefy shoulder.

In fact, I don’t like anything about the guy. Jealousy pings through me like a silver pinball trapped beneath the glass of an arcade game, bouncing off my taut nerves. I take another chug of my drink, the cool liquid doing nothing to ease the scratchy tightness in my throat.

“I’m gonna use the john. Be right back.”

Setting my bottle on the bar, I shove a hand in my pocket and move through the crowd toward Gracelyn, who’s conveniently located near the restroom. I slow down as I get closer to her group, unsure if I should say anything to her.

What are you going to say?

Ducking my head and avoiding eye contact, I step into the bathroom. Surprisingly, there’s no line and I do my business, debating what to do as I stand over the urinal. Part of me wants to sidle up to her and see what happens. An even larger part of me wants to tell the fuck boy to get lost.

Zipping up, I wash my hands and shove out of the restroom. Gracelyn’s still standing in the same spot and now the guy’s inched in tighter, his fingers dangerously close to my girl.

My girl.

Except she’s not my girl.

Scrubbing a hand over my tight jaw, I stalk back to our spot at the bar. Last thing I want is to make a scene and embarrass myself. In a town as small as Thunder Creek, everyone will hear about it by tomorrow morning. The story may even hit the local paper, and I’m pretty keen on keeping my coaching position. A bar fight would definitely put that in jeopardy.

Baker and Carter have their heads together, fully engrossed in putting together a Special Teams offense for the next game. They don’t loop me into the convo—I’m uncertain they know I’m back from the bathroom.

Leaving me more time to fixate on Gracelyn and the frat bro at the other end of the bar. Now he’s leaning down, whispering something in her ear. I bet he’s sniffing her floral perfume and wondering what she’d smell like rubbing up on him. Anger surges through me as his meaty paw strokes her arm.

Hell, naw.

I can’t stand here and watch this. But I can’t bring myself to look away, either. It’s like witnessing a slow-motion car crash, knowing something grisly’s about to happen and there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop it.

Frat bro reaches out and tucks her hair behind her ear and that’s all I can take. Black spots flicker at the corner of my vision and I’m hot all over. Pulling my phone out, I tap out a text.

Mack: If that dude touches you one more time, he’s going to have a few broken knuckles

I smash the send button and glare over at the corner, waiting for Gracelyn to read the message. A few seconds later, she picks up her cell and glances at the screen. Then her head pops up, her gaze wandering over the crowd until her crystal blue eyes land on me.

She holds an index finger up to frat bro as her hands fly over her cell.

Firecracker: Seriously? You don’t have a claim on me, Mack

Accurate. I have no claim on her at all. And that’s burning me up, from the inside out.

Mack: I know. But I can tell from here he’s not right for you

She flips her hair over her shoulder and shakes her head at her phone.

Firecracker: You don’t know anything about this guy. Maybe he’s Mr. Right

Now it’s my turn to shake my head, my right eye twitching. Surely, she’s not falling for his amateur moves.

Mack: He definitely isn’t

Firecracker: How do you know?

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