Page 43 of Bad Teammate
The couple went back to passionately making out. I moved on, walking extra carefully so I didn’t drop any glasses, or, worse—fall and twist an ankle in my heels.
I made my way through the penthouse, heading for the kitchen. The party had changed a lot in a short time—gone were the married couples and their cute children. Now, with the music blaring and the alcohol flowing, the party resembled something closer to a night club.
A pack of rambunctious girls had turned the living room into a dance floor, laughing and cheering as they seductively gyrated on each other. Like the popular girls in high school, they looked like they were all cast from the same mold—their hair and makeup done the same way, their teeny-tiny dresses leaving little to the imagination.
Is this Derek’s crowd?
My heart sank like a stone in water. Theirs was a mold I knew I never fit. And just like how the popular girls hoarded the guys’ attention in school, they lured one athlete after another out onto the dance floor and quickly surrounded him.
Is this supposed to be fun?
They wereactinglike they were having fun, and that they were all such great friends, but beneath the surface it was easy to see the cut-throat competition playing out. Desperate to one-up each other, the girls fought over the athlete’s attention. They rubbed their bodies against him suggestively, trying to entice him with their bodies, like waving a juicy steak in front of a starving dog.
I hated it. I never felt comfortable fighting over a guy—and certainly not using my body as the bait. If a guy didn’t like me for who I was as a person …? Then forget it.
I made my way into the kitchen. There, I found Derek, leaned against the counter, a bottle of beer in hand and a group of girls surrounding him. His voice was a confident, gravelly grit as he asked the girls questions, only to tease them over their substance-lacking answers. Not that they cared if he was being insulting or rude—they loved it. They exploded into laughter and fawned over his dangerous wit, their voices blending into one high-pitched squeal of adulation. With eager hands, they touched and poked and preened at his muscles or his hair or his suit at every chance they could get.
So thisisDerek’s crowd,I thought.
I was disappointed. But not surprised. I only felt stupid that I’d let Emma and Austen fill my head with unrealistic dreams. But I had no one to blame but myself for getting carried away. Because if I thought for a moment that I could fit into this crowd? I deserved whatever disappointment came my way.
I tried to slip by with my armful of glasses without being noticed. Derek didn’t see me—but one of his girls did.
“Are you taking drink orders, sweetie?” she asked. “Because I could use another.”
“No …” I muttered.
Derek saw me. He broke away from the group and rushed over to help me. Carefully, he removed the glasses one at a time from the stack in my arms and set them safely on the counter.
“Thank you, Derek.”
“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” he said.
“I wanted to help.” I looked around the party. “Is Sasha still here?”
“No. Niko left with a group to go to the club. The others are heading over there in a bit, if you want to join them.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Was Sasha drunk? I meant to watch him more closely …”
Derek shrugged. “I don’t know. Pretty sure he’d had a few.”
The girls laughed and sniped at me with snarky remarks.
“It’s a party, sweetheart—everyone’s drunk.”
“She wanted towatchhim?”
“What are you, his mother?”
Derek turned to the girls. “Hey. Knock it off.”
But I was just fine ignoring their catty comments on my own. “Are you going to the club, too?” I asked.
“Maybe,” he said. “I’m not sure yet.”
The girls decided my one-on-one time with Derek was over. Working as a group, they surrounded the hockey player again and quickly tightened their circle, squeezing me out. I was being exiled, and I didn’t like it. I wasnotgoing to let myself be pushed out of the picture and end up forgotten. I cleared my throat and talked over the group.
“Can I talk to you alone, Derek?”
