Page 11 of The Triple Play

His upper lip twitched in annoyance as he shoved them both into the folder he’d stored Cole’s in. “Were you flirting with Miller?”

“What? Absolutely not,” I assured him. “I didn’t ask for that.”

“But you kept it.”

I huffed out a breath through my nose. “Elliot, come on. What was I supposed to do? Rip it up in front of him? Give it back and ask for one without his number? I didn’t want to embarrass him.”

He let out a quiet, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Right. Because protectinghisfeelings is the priority.”

I couldfeelmy patience wearing thin with him already. “It’s not like that. You know that.”

“Do I?” Elliot shoved the folder back into my backpack and zipped it up aggressively, his movements fast, irritable. “I mean, fuck, An, you were chatting with Maxwell before I even asked for autographs.”

“He came up tome.”

Elliot pursed his lips, hesitating as his green eyes blazed into mine. “Must be nice, Annie.”

I shook my head in confusion. “What? What do you mean?”

He shrugged, his arms going out in exasperation. “Being the center of attention like that. Having pro athletes flirting with you like you’re a puck bunny.”

My breathing stuttered, exhaustion from the day, from the less-than-perfect performance, from dealing withhimstarting to gnaw at me. “You think Ilikethat?”

Elliot didn’t answer right away. He rolled his lips between his teeth, tilting his head back and forth like he was thinking about it, mulling it over, and god, I hated that. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I just don’t get it. You pour drinks, you sing a few songs. I guess I just don’t see the draw for Miller.”

I recoiled a little. There was something pointed in the way he said it, something that made my skin feel wrong, something that made meangry. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He sighed as ifIwas the one being difficult, beingrude. "It’s just not serious, Annie. I mean, it’s not like you’re making acareerout of it.”

Anger prickled the back of my neck, hot and heavy and roaring to life. “What, because I don’t have a fucking book with my name on it? Because I’m not a one-week bestseller?”

He just stared at me unblinking, his expression one of steel, and I knew I’d hit the mark. That’s exactly what he was thinking. I was still trying to hit my stride, and he’d already found his. I was beneath him. Unworthy of much attention until I found my own breakthrough.

“You’re acting like you’resomebody,” he said, his voice smooth, unwavering. “It’s a fucking bar, Annie. A crap one, at that. You’re a bartender. You’ll let this go to your head, let it make you feel like maybe he didn’t think you were just some puck bunny after a quick fuck to tick it off your bucket list, and get too full of yourself.”

His hand shot out, wrapping around my wrist—tight this time. Too tight.

I flinched.

The pressure made my fingers tingle, pain blooming sharp and fast beneath his grip. His jaw was clenched, green eyes dark and unreadable.

“Elliot,” I said quietly, trying to pull back. “Let go.”

I wanted to scream at him in the middle of Smokey’s, the crowd and the music and the players be damned. I didn’t care that my sneakers were stuck to the wood flooring that definitely hadn’t been mopped in a week, didn’t care that my set hadn’t gone perfectly, didn’t care that Cole’s number was still burning a hole in my pocket or that the way all three of them had looked at me had made my cheeks heat.

I just wanted to scream.

But I didn’t.

I cared too much about my vocal cords for that.

Chapter6

Colton

Ileaned over the sink in the bathroom, the dulled sound of the music and the chatter of Smokey’s bleeding in through the hallway and the men’s room door, staring at myself in the mirror. My reflection looked the same — same sharp jaw, same dark hair pulled back, same blue eyes — but Ifeltdifferent. Restless. Wired. And I was positive it had nothing to do with the Blue Moon.

No, it wasAnnie.

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