Page 3 of Play the Last Track
“Come on, Katie. Give me something.” I place my hand on my heart. “Then, I promise I will leave you in peace.”
“You promise?” The words drip with sarcasm, and Katie doesn’t look up at me as she moves past. I don’t step back, so her shoulder brushes my chest as she does. She tries to hide it, but I don’t miss the shiver that runs down her spine. The image of her, bare and willing, and under me as I run my hands down the contour ofher back and over the curve of her hips, floods my mind. My dick twitches, and I silently scold him.
“I saw Scott at practice today.” I follow her back to the bar. She reaches around the bartop and picks up a pile of coasters, playing with them. Finally, she looks up at me.
Crystal clear, white sand, and clear skies kind of eyes stare back at me. Bright, gleaming, and blue. So, so blue. Blood rushes in my ears, and I can feel my pulse start to race.
“I would hope so. You play for the same team,” she replies.
“He said Ivy wants to have family dinner this Sunday. After the game.”
“You’re not part of her family. Why are you going?”
“Oh, come on, Rockstar. Don’t be like that.” I step forward, closing the distance between us.
“Don’t call me that.” I watch her throat closely as she swallows hard.
I step even closer, bending my mouth to her ear. “Why? You like it?”
She scowls. The force of her eye roll looks like it hurt, and I laugh, pulling away from her and giving her space. She steps back into the bar and closes the swinging door that blocks off the entrance. It’s normally kept open, so the staff can move in and out with ease.
“I’ll see you Sunday,” I say, leaning over the bartop a little and tapping out a gentle rhythm with my fist. “See ya later, Rockstar.”
I walk away and urge myself not to glance back, not to get lost in the blue of Katie Murphy’s stunning eyes. Just as I reach the door, pausing as I wait for the large group of guys that were crowding the bar before to filter out, Katie calls out.
“Stop calling me that!”
The smile that curls over my lips is unmatched. She may hate me after our night together in Italy, and she may not want to tell me why, but I get under her skin. Boy, do I love it.
The group of shot-takers lingers on the sidewalk outside the bar.
“Where do they find the staff for this place? It’s like a walking runway show in there,” one of them slurs. My shoulders tense. I pull my cap from my back pocket and shove it down over my head.
“The blonde one is a smokeshow,” another says. My shoulders tense, and I flick my gaze up. The only blonde in there tonight is Katie. The guy who took the shots, the one practically trying to jump the bar to get her attention, stands in the middle of his friends. He wears a polo shirt that he’s tucked into his chino pants. The same chinos are cuffed at the ankle. My gaze drops, and I internally gag as I take in the boat shoes he’s wearing. What a douche.
I shake my head and shove a hand into my pocket in search of my keys. Sadly, the douche keeps talking.
“She looks like she’d take it hard, however you wanted to give it to her, and she’d say thank you at the end.” My blood begins to boil. The edge of my vision tints red. “I bet I could have her over the hood of my car after a glass of wine or two. Easy.”
My resolve snaps.
Before I know what I’m doing, my fist is flying through the air and connecting with the douche’s nose. A sickening crunch echoes. There’s a beat where he looks at me like I’m insane before he pulls an arm back, and his fist heads straight for my face. I dodge it, grab him around the waist, and take him to the ground.
The next thing I know, my knuckles are split open, I’m being pulled off the douche bag by his equally douchey friends, and I’vedone enough damage to the guy’s face that he’s most definitely going to have a black eye.
“Who the fuck are you?” he demands.
“Your worst nightmare if I catch you drinking here again,” I growl.
“What is your problem, dude?” He shakes off his friends and steps into my space. I have a few inches on him, but I have to give him props for trying.
“Have some respect.” I shake out my hand. “Don’t speak about a woman like that. Especially not that woman.”
“Whoa.” He sways a little as he holds up his hands. “I didn’t know she had a boyfriend. I was just making a comment.”
“A disrespectful one. Get the fuck out of here,” I growl. “Now.”
The douche in the boat shoes looks like he wants to argue, but his friends pull him away. They yell and shout their distaste for me as I watch them go, standing in front of the entrance to Pat’s with my arms crossed over my chest.
