Page 173 of Scoring the Player
“Sheesh,”Wes yells over his shoulder as we squeeze our way into the dimly lit bar and lounge, following behind Sid, who’s being escorted to a roped-off area where three tables are being joined together. “Should we get a couple of bottles?” he asks.
The guys pick their poison. My stomach turns at the mention of vodka.
I lower my fitted cap. “I’m gonna grab a beer from the bar,” I call out before turning and cutting through the crowd.
I’m yelling my order to the bartender when a ripped dude takes over making my drink, flashing his bleach-white smile.
My head turns as Aiden squeezes into the sliver of space next to me.
“What?” I tilt my head down to hear him.
“Now that you’re out, what’sthatlike?” He lifts his chin toward the bartender.
“Like I still have blinders on ’cause I missed whatever you just saw.”
He laughs. “I’ll have what he’s having,” he calls out to the bartender, then turns back to me. “I’m all caught up onRoyals All-Access. I’ve seen the gifts. Even with blinders, you can’t miss the attention.”
“It’s different,” I admit. “But not in the way I thought.” I take a swig of my beer.
“Single life not for you?”
“Maybe not.” The answer doesn’t scare me as much as it should.
Never feeling what it’s like to wake up in Salem’s arms again? That’s what’s terrifying.
“What about you?” I ask. “Still single?”
“I date. I don’t have men making moves for me on prime-time television, though.”
I grin.
“Jones has balls of steel,” he says with awe.
Yeah, he’s the bravest of ’emall.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were gay?” I ask.
“Bi,” he corrects. “I don’t know. Same reasons, I guess.”
The sudden feeling that we’re being watched has me looking around. “We should head back.”
“Where’s Sid?”I yell over the music after returning from taking a piss.
“He just dipped,” Malik replies. “Aight, peace,” I say, then weave through the crowd toward the door.
“Yo!” I catch Sid, who’s climbing into his whip. “You’re my ride.”
“Get yo’ ass in then,” he throws back.
I nod to Jett as he opens the opposite back door for me.
“Play the good shit, Jett,” Sid says, typing into his phone.
“Yes, sir,” Jett replies as he buckles in.
A Christmas song comes on, making me snicker.
“Good man.” Sid leans back and slowly strums his air guitar.
