Page 20 of Play It Off

“You’ll be fine, Coop.” I pat him on the shoulder before I turn and run smack into a solid wall of man flesh.

He’s warm and muscular, and I’d recognize that scent anywhere. His hands curl around my upper arms, steadying me, and I tilt my head back, smiling up at him. “Hey, Gavin.”

“Freckles.” He doesn’t let go of me. “Looking cute tonight.”

Cute. I sort of wished for beautiful or stunning, but I guess I’ll settle for it. “You’re looking good too.”

Gavin is wearing a white polo shirt that offsets his tanned skin and a pair of black shorts. He looks ready to hit the golf course, which is something he does on occasion with “the boys,” meaning Coop, Nico, and Dollar. They claim golf relaxes them, which I think is a lie. More like they bet each other on every round and end up throwing back a fewat the clubhouse before they head home. One of them always remains sober, and that’s usually Coop.

“I need to do laundry. I only had a couple of clean shirts,” Gavin admits, releasing one of my arms so he can tug on the collar of his shirt. “You want something to drink?”

“Please.” I sound breathless. I feel breathless, which is dumb. It’s just Gavin. Nothing is going to happen. It doesn’t matter that he wanted me to come out tonight. He’s just my friend. I can’t read too much into this.

But my brain is going into overdrive, and I stand there proudly by Gavin’s side like a goddamned girlfriend while we wait at the counter for the bartender to see us. Sam eventually takes our order—yes, he still works here—and he won’t even look in my direction as Gavin tells him what I want: a rum and Coke. It shouldn’t make me feel good that he remembers what I like to drink, but it does. Once Sam takes off to make our drinks, Gavin’s shoulders seem to relax, and he turns to face me.

“Can’t believe he still bartends here,” I marvel.

“Oh, I can. What the hell else is that guy going to do for a living? He loves it here. It’s like he’s going to one big party for work, every night.”

Valid observation. “Do you still hate him?”

Gavin glances over at me, frowning. “When did I ever say I hate Sam?”

“You were pretty pissed at him two years ago when he tried to hit on me that one night,” I remind him.

He says nothing at first. Just looks at me for a moment, and I realize this is the first time I’ve ever referenced that night between us. The best night of my life.

Sometimes I wonder. Was it so good between us because it lasted for such a short amount of time? If we’d turned into something real, would he have ended up disappointing me? Would we hate each other and never speak again? The possibility is there, and I doubt if I’ll ever figure it out either.

“There was no trying. The asshole was legitimately hitting on you,” Gavin bites out, his narrowed gaze going to Sam. “I guess I do still hate him.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet. And in my defense too.” I pat Gavin’s massive biceps, wishing I could press and squeeze into the hard muscle. It’s like the man is made out of stone.

“You were so young.” There’s regret in his voice. In his eyes. “And you still ended up letting an asshole take advantage of you.”

We stare at each other, unspoken words passing between us, and realization hits me like a punch to the gut.

He’s referring to himself. And that night. While I made a tentative attempt at referencing the past, Gavin just plunged right in and went for it.

Typical.

“There was no taking advantage of anyone that night.” My voice is low, and I don’t know how he hears me, but he does. I can tell by the dip of his head. He’s trying to get closer to me. “I was a willing participant.”

He jerks away from me as if I burned him, and he’s blinking profusely.

Uh-oh. I think I just shocked him. The unflappable Gavin Maddox is flustered. His face is turning red, and there is panic flaring in his eyes.

“You’ve gotta be kid—”

“Here ya go.” Sam slams our drinks onto the counter in front of us, his voice curt. “You want me to start you a tab?”

“Uh, sure.” Gavin doesn’t even look in his direction when he answers him.

I grab my drink and take a sip, my lips tight around the skinny straw while Gavin stares at me, baffled. Taking a swallow, I tell him, “You should grab your drink.”

He does what I suggest and starts walking, as do I. We head back toward the table the guys are sitting at, but Gavin keeps going until he’s at a table for two, then settles into a chair, his expression expectant as he watches me. I pass the table, ignoring the strange looks from mybrother and the rest of the guys, sit down across from Gavin, and take another needed sip from my drink. There’s a lot of alcohol in this glass, and I bless Sam for the heavy pour.

We sit in silence for a few seconds, the tension building between us until it appears Gavin can’t take it any longer.

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