Page 80 of Whirlwind
The first people we run into are Coach and his wife, who has begun insisting that we all call her Mama Cole. Zander and Damian both have complicated family situations; the Coles have taken them in the same way they have me.
“You look beautiful,” she whispers while giving me a big hug. “I’m so thrilled you’re here.”
“Thank you.”
“Enjoy yourself,” Coach tells me after he, too, gives me a hug.
“I will,” I promise.
“Take care of my girl, here,” he tells Tyson.
“Always, Coach.”
The next group of people are the rookies who were recently called up and I’ve yet to meet.
“Killer, Sammy, this is Kit. She’s the mastermind statistician for the team, and my girlfriend,” he introduces me. My stomach flips and flutters at the moniker that we’ve never discussed.
“Hey, Kit. Nice to meet you,” Killer says. His government name is Victor Kirill. His nickname is an obvious one and I know it’s been a joke with the guys that attract all the league murderers with ‘Victor Kill’ and ‘Cill Wylder’.
“What he said,” Sam Vogel says, pushing his buddy out of the way to hold his hand out to me. I give him mine, thinking he’ll shake it, but instead, he lifts it to his mouth and presses a quick kiss. His shaggy hair falls over his baby face as he does.
“She’s out of your league, fuckwit,” Tyson says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.
“Dude, I’d say she’s out of yours,” he shoots back.
“I’m smart enough to know that.”
“Nice to meet you guys, too,” I say as Tyson leads me away.
“Wash that hand,” he mutters, making me grin at his jealousy.
“Miss Kit,” I hear from my right. “Zhivago looks damn good on you, darling,” Odette says when I turn to her.
“Thank you! I was worried I wouldn’t fit in, but I love the dress so much.”
“Standing out is superior to fitting in, every time, my dear,” she says, winking before she walks back to where Gavin Vaughn is waiting for her.
“I told you,” Tyson says.
“You did. I should learn to listen to you more.”
“Easy now, you’re by far the smarter one in this relationship.” He leans down, I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead, he smells my hair.
“Did you just smell me?”
“Maybe.”
“Now, who’s a Cullen?” I ask, and he just grins.
“Do you want a drink?”
“A white wine, please.”
“I see Willa.” He nods to the next room. This time, he does kiss the top of my head. “Head in there, I’ll grab drinks and find you.”
I don’t move right away, deciding to take a minute to admire my date. His suit is tailored to perfection, and his ass looks juicier than ever. For a gal that had little to no interest in sex a couple of months ago, I sure do have a healthy libido, these days. Shaking my head, I move through the archway that separates the bar area from the ballroom.
I pass by a small group of women and hear the catty comments from them as they discuss what other women in the room are wearing. It’s exactly what I expected tonight, even if this conversation isn’t directed at me. Or—yet, anyway. Women in this world tend to gather in cliques and get as competitive as the men. Only, they’re competing for attention rather than a cup.
