Page 120 of The Off-Limits Play

CARSON

I down three beers and two shots of bourbon at Offside, watching a football replay on the big screens and ignoring the flirty look I’m getting from the girl at the end of the bar.

When she stands up to approach me, I shoot her a glare that has her backing off, and then it’s just fucking awkward because she doesn’t leave and keeps flicking me these hurt, disappointed, pouty frowns.

Fuuuuuuck!

I down my third shot and slam it onto the bar. It’s time to get the hell out of here. Shuffling out of the bar, I walk to my bike. I probably shouldn’t be riding the thing, but like fuck I’m leaving my baby here.

Slapping the top of my helmet once it’s secure, I throw my leg over the seat and… Fuck, I really should not be riding. My brain is swimming, and?—

“You serious?” a guy calls from behind me.

I swivel my head to see who’s just followed me out of the bar.

“Who the fuck are you?” I growl.

“Name’s Casey, and I know what wasted looks like. Now get your ass off that bike.”

“Fuck off,” I mutter, starting the engine with a loud roar.

His hand clamps over mine before I can rev the accelerator again.

“You got a death wish?” I glare at him.

“No, but you obviously do.” His look is dry and scathing.

I try to nudge him off me, but he holds fast, not giving an inch, his cheerful tone soon replaced by a hard look I can’t ignore.

“Just get the fuck away from me.” My voice starts to wobble and break.

What the fuck?

Am I on the verge of tears right now?

Fuck no! I am not a weepy drunk!

Sniffing, I grit my teeth and am getting ready to punch this guy in the balls if he doesn’t let my hand go.

“I’ll drive you wherever you want to go, and then I’ll get off your bike and walk. It’s not exactly how I want to spend my one free period, but I’ll do it if it means keeping you alive. So, come on, man. Move back.”

“You don’t even know me.” I spit the words.

“Yeah, I do. You’re the guy who scored a touchdown on Friday night. Thanks to you, the Cougars are going to the playoffs.” He nods. “And I don’t even fucking follow football.”

I frown at him, and he gives me a wide grin. “I’m a hockey guy.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

He rolls his eyes. “And I was actually in your house a few weeks ago, so I’m not the enemy. Now move your ass, or am I gonna have to drag you off this bike?”

“Just try it,” I growl.

He rolls his eyes again. “You get that I’m trying to help you, right? Stop being such a dick.”

With a huff, I shake his hand off me and move my ass back in the seat. Why the fuck I’m letting him boss me around, I don’t know, but he swings his leg over the bike and pulls out of the parking lot.

“You crash my bike, I’ll kill you,” I warn him.

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