Page 25 of What If I Hate You
She huffs, and her lips tug in a smirk. “Power dynamics are weird, huh? In your world, strength is loyalty. In mine, the only way to be respected is to rip someone’s throat out before they rip out yours.” She pushes off the counter, shoulders hunched up as if bracing for turbulence. “Maybe that’s why we keep ending up in the same room. We’re hunting the same thing, just with different weapons.”
She lingers a moment, the air tight between us, then pivots and strides back toward her seat. I watch her go. Maybe it’s her unapologetic stride, or the way she cocks her head to look back as if to check if I’m still watching, but a knot forms in my chest. A cold, flickering ember of desire that both ignites my heart and chills my resolve. The feeling doesn’t line up with what I thought I wanted at all. I chase it down with a gulp of water and flex the tension out of my hands.
Why is she so damn intriguing?
Back in my row, the guys are like a pack of wolves—maybe even hyenas—hazing the rookies and debating whether it’s physically possible for Ella to host a mascot party inside a hotel ballroom without someone getting tased by security. I pretend to join in, but my focus angles to the blue glow of Rivers’s laptop screen in the row ahead, and I wonder how the hell she does it. How she can absorb so much bullshit and keep barking?
CHAPTER EIGHT
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“Idon’t know if I should really be hanging out with the team," I murmur, uncertainty weighing heavily on my words as I look at my best friend.
Marlee furrows her brow, her head tilting in confusion. "What? Why? That makes no sense."
"I don’t know. I just…you know…" I trail off, the words tangled in my mind.
"Listen, if this is about Barr?—"
I open my mouth to respond, but Ella interjects, "Forget Bear." She pauses, then giggles. "Ooh! Maybe you should actually hook up with Bear!"
"What?" I nearly choke, caught between disbelief and intrigue. "Are you crazy?"
"I might be, yeah." She laughs. "I don’t know, it just seems like there’s something electric between you two and if you just, you know…" She mimics a suggestive gesture.
"Yeah, thanks but no thanks. I’m pretty damn sure sleeping with Barrett Cunningham is not going to make him less of a…bear. Not to mention the fact that the guy hates me and anyway, that’s exactly what my coworkers already think I’m doing."
"What do you mean?" Marlee asks, her confusion deepening.
"I mean they all assume I’m sleeping with my boss or someone influential, and that's why I'm the only female in the press room."
Marlee shifts, her expression turning serious. "Wait, are you serious?"
"One hundred percent. Because it can’t possibly be my quick wit, my passion, and knowledge of the game, or my willingness to call players out on their bullshit. So, it must be about my tits, right?" My voice is tinged with irritation.
"Okay, you're coming with us," Ella insists, grabbing my hand firmly and pulling me away from my turmoil. "Everyone is celebrating the win tonight and you’re coming too."
"But—"
"No buts," Marlee cuts in, taking my other hand, her determination unwavering. "This mama needs a drink and so do you."
The Black Dog tavern is already at capacity, beer flowing, music blaring, bodies pressed so close you could suffocate on the collective postgame ego. The guys commandeered a horseshoe of booths near the back, where it’s dim and rowdy. Marlee and Ella lead me through the crush of people, their hands never letting go of mine like they’re worried I’ll ditch and run. Which, okay, maybe I would have.
We barely clear an elbow-patched pack of pretentious-looking corporate jobbed men enjoying a night out before Bodhi Roche sees us, grinning and standing up so fast his chair nearly tips. “THE LADIESS,” he bellows, arms out wide. “Now it’s officially a party!” He grabs Ella by the waist and spins her, then dips a dramatic bow to Marlee. “Welcome, m’lady Remington, Lady Rivers.” He has no shame, but he’s weirdly charming so I simply shake my head and smile.
“Hey Bodhi.”
“About damn time!” he shouts, sloshing half his pint. “We thought you’d chicken out.”
My eyes slide to Barrett seated quietly at the end of the booth but not looking any less tense than usual. Then I glance back at Bodhi with a smile. “Do I seem like the chicken-out type?”
His grin goes manic and Marlee’s laugh bounces off the brick wall, the whole scene instantly a million times lighter than my last twenty-four hours.
Thank God.
“Glad you could join us, Rivers,” Harrison Meers says, seated next to Barrett. “You want a beer?”
“Sure. I’ll take whatever’s cold,” I say, and Harrison’s already flagging the server. Marlee slides in next to me, Ella and Bodhi across, and for a second I think that’s it. That I’m safe. Barrett will just glower from his corner and the rest of the table will let me blend into the scenery.
