Page 27 of Keeper
A battle was raging inside me—I was so conflicted. On one hand, I wanted her to ask me what I did for a living so I could impress her when I told tell her I was a pro athlete. But on the other hand, if I told her that,I’d also have to tell her I was currently ashittypro athlete. Because if I didn’t tell her about my slump and she googled my name, she’d immediately see all the articles about my struggles. She’d see the forum posts by the pissed off fans, wondering what happened to my game and why the Devils only win when I’m not in the net.
Besides, I was kind of enjoying flirting with her as some random nobody. Being a pro athlete was like a cheat code to getting girls. But this? This was kind of a challenge. A fresh start.
This, I kinda liked.
“So what’s your boyfriend do?” I asked.
She fluttered her eyes at me, unimpressed. “You’re throwing game at me again, Tanner.”
“No.” I smiled confidently. “I’m just asking ques—”
I stopped talking when she suddenly grabbed my arm and started tugging at the sleeve of my jacket.
“Ainsley?” I stammered, perplexed. “What exactly are you doing?”
“Checking the time,” she said as she tried to hike my sleeve over the face of my watch.
“You could justask,you know,” I teased. “Although I don’t mind having your hands all over me.”
“Don’t get full of yourself, Tanner. I’m only asking myself how much longer I’m willing to put up with you.”
I laughed. “Wow.”
One thing about this girl was certain: she could be feisty. I think I liked that about her the most.
I watched as she continued to struggle with the sleeve of my jacket. I could’ve easily helped her out, but I thought the payoff once she finally saw my watch—a Rolex Submariner—would be even better if I let her discover it all on her own.
At last, she’d bunched the sleeve up enough that my watch was revealed. Holding me by the forearm, she leaned over my wrist and peeked at the gold watch’s blue dial. I studied her face, waiting for the realization that I had money to sink in, waiting for that starry look to fill her beautiful eyes.
She leaned back.
“Wow,” she said, unfazed. “It’s getting late.”
That’s it?I thought. Maybe she didn’t knowthe damn thing cost me thirty grand—but all girls knew expensive jewelry when they saw it, didn’t they?
I left my watch out, hoping she’d do a double-take, but her mind was elsewhere. She called her friend again and again, but the result was always the same: no answer.
I sensed another opportunity to impress her. Maybe she didn’t know an expensive watch when she saw it, but she’d certainly know an expensive car when she laid her eyes on my new Lamborghini Aventador. Only then would I tell her what I did for a living—and we could see if she’d change her tune about what womanizing scumbags us athletes are.
“Tell you what,” I said. “I can give you a ride to your friend’s place.”
Her skeptical eyes turned to slits. “You mean, you’ll give me a ride back toyourplace, right?”
“Hey, if that’s where you’d rather go, sure,” I joked.
I regretted it immediately because this time, she didn’t have a snappy comeback ready to fend off my advances. This time, I saw the flash of disgust behind her big, sad eyes, and I felt absolutely rotten. Not only did her friend abandon her, but now she was vulnerable and stuck withme—some fuckin’ jerk at the club trying to get in her panties—all the while she had to figure out how the hell she was getting home safe and sound.
Fuck, I really am a scumbag.
Ainsley kept trying to call her friend. With each unanswered call, her concern grew. It was impossible not to feel worse and worse for her. What the hell kind of friend runs off without a word, anyway? But whenever I even began to hint that her friend sucked for putting her in this position, she threw up the walls and steered me away.
“It’s my fault, not hers. This is what I get for having my phone off. She probably tried to call me earlier and I missed it.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter if your phone’s off. You’re her guest and—”
“Tanner,” she warned, her voice stern. “Don’t talk bad about my friend. It’s not helping.”
She was right—it wasn’t my place to comment. Besides, who the hell was I to judge anyone else?
