Page 45 of Most Likely to Score
For a few minutes, until the game ends and I’ve lost. Connor’s teammate Malcolm steps up to the table, pointing his paddle at me. His thick black beard points at me, too. “You keep that shitty play going all through the season and we will clean up against your sorry ass in the conference.”
“I save all my best moves for the field. You watch out when the third Sunday of October rolls around.”
Connor smacks Malcolm’s arm. “See that? He’s scared of us. He already knows when we’re playing so he can prepare to be whipped.”
“Assholes.” I laugh. “I know the schedule because I like to be prepared to destroy my opponents.”
They shake their heads in unison. “We will ping-pong your ass back to the West Coast,” Malcolm taunts.
I raise my hands to the sky. “Why do I hang out with you clowns when I’m in town?”
Malcolm makes his way around the table and taps his chest. “Because we’re fun. So fun, in fact, I say it’s time to ditch this Ping-Pong table. What do you say we hit the clubs?”
I shake my head. “Early bedtime for me. No more partying.”
Malcolm lets out a dejected, dramatic sigh. “Man, are you serious? I know places where we can clean up like that.” He snaps his fingers.
The offer is tempting. I wouldn’t mind a night out, some dancing, chatting up some women. But that’s not what I signed up for this year. That won’t suit the new image, or sit well with the new sponsors. That doesn’t sit well with me, either, because there is only one woman I want to chat up, and she’s off-limits.
Connor holds up his index finger. “Training camp starts in one week. Then, no GFs, no women stopping by for blowies.”
Malcolm wiggles his eyebrows. “One night, JB. How can you resist?”
Easily, actually.
I tip my head toward the hotel. “I have a pillow calling my name and a movie to watch. Not to mention a brand-new contract with a pet food company as an incentive to keep squeaky clean.”
“Nice,” Connor says, holding up his palm to high-five. I smack back.
“Smart move. You need to keep that shit locked up. I’m going to unlock mine,” Malcolm says, and the ironic thing is, he can, because his deals are different. His biggest sponsor is a vodka brand. That doesn’t mean he can get roasted and show up on a YouTube compilation of blitzed athletes. The contrary. He doesn’t drink when he’s out.
We wander across the sand toward the pool. The sun has fallen below the horizon, and night is settling in. I say goodbye to the guys and head through the poolarea to go into the hotel. I spot Jillian in the shallow end, her elbows on the side of the pool, chatting with that Golding dude.
That unpleasant sensation stabs my chest again. My jaw clenches and my muscles tighten as jealousy crashes over me.
Jillian spots me and waves.
“Hey,” I grunt, tipping my forehead in her direction as I stalk past them, since that’s all I can manage. Once inside, I stab the up button for the elevator, and when it arrives I want to punch the panel.
I don’t.
I curse under my breath as the doors whisk shut.
I can’t fucking believe she’s hanging out with that guy in front of me. I march down the hall to my room, fumes of jealousy in my wake.
In my room, I strip out of my shorts and T-shirt, crank up the shower to scalding, and wash away the sand. But as I scrub soap over my skin, all I can think is that guy is peeling off her bikini tonight.
Tossing it on the floor of her hotel room.
Kissing her neck. Making his way down her body.
Envy burns in me like a wildfire. This is not okay. In a heartbeat, I rinse off the shampoo, get out of the shower, and towel off. A minute later, I’ve yanked on swim trunks and a T-shirt, and I’m on my way to the pool.
I’m going to crash her party.
When I arrive, they’re on the deck. He’s giving her a hug. It’s going to take every ounce of my restraint not to grab that arm of his and rip him off her.
Because she’s mine. Even though I can’t have her, that guy sure as hell can’t, either.
