Page 3 of Daring the Hockey Player
I stare at him, shocked by where this is going. Because, already, my mind is telling me it can't be good.
"You do know what methamphetamines are?"
I wasn't born yesterday, but my drug knowledge is limited. I've never done more than a few edibles of the marijuana variety. I just stare at him, too shocked to answer, and he continues speaking.
"Meth salts? Yeah, I'd have the doctor give me that when I'd have to work a sixteen-hour shift or drive home after."
I think my mouth just hit the floor. I tip my drink back, finishing the Long Island iced tea. I gesture the bartender over for a second because this conversation took a turn that I was not expecting.
And any warm, tingly feelings that I had toward Tripp have grown ice cold.
Crush obliterated.
I should high-tail my ass out of the bar and leave while I'm sober enough to drive myself home. Not that I'm technically sober enough to drive legally, given I'm twenty, but whatever.
Laughter and high-fives pull my attention briefly away from Tripp.
Another glance at the rowdy group in the back, and I'd bet it’s the Ice Dragons having drinks after a win. They're one of New York's NHL teams. I don't know a ton about the team, but from the short segment on the news, I recognize a few faces.
The man who had asked the bartender to change channels and bought a round for his buddies, Jasper Greyson, makes eye contact with me.
At least, I think he does. He could be glancing past me at the television screen, but I'd like to think I caught his attention. I wish there were a secret signal that I could give him to come and rescue me.
A girl can dream, right?
Tripp is talking, and I'm grateful when my second Long Island iced tea arrives because it helps dull my senses and the fact that my interest in him is waning. Okay, it's technically gone, but I'm not sure of a nice way to excuse myself and run.
I'm too nice.
Too friendly.
He seems to think I'm interested because he puts his hand on my thigh.
My eyes widen, and I remove his hand, putting it back on his leg. Tripp keeps on talking, and I'm not sure that he's even noticed my disinterest. He's now rambling about how he vandalized the local skate park, how he brought out his tools at night and tore down the metal fencing because he didn't believe it should be shut down.
"Kids should have a place to skate," Tripp says.
I stare at him with a smirk. "My best friend, Charlotte, she works for the park district," I say.
His eyes widen. "You have to promise not to tell her."
I make no such promise. I just stare at him like he's the biggest dumb fuck in the world right now, confessing his sins to me. Although, he doesn't have any remorse for what he's done.
I don't ask him if he was on meth when he decided to tear down the metal fencing around the skate park. I honestly don't care.
"I think I should go," I say, finally gathering the courage to get my ass out of the bar before he starts thinking that he's going to get lucky because this guy clearly can't read the signs.
Tripp puts his hand on my arm, pulling me back onto the stool. "It's only been an hour. The night is still young," he says.
He shifts and stands, blocking me from getting up. There's the bar behind me and a small group standing on the opposite side, blocking me from exiting easily through their crowd.
"We're just getting to know one another," Tripp says.
"Yeah, Tripp, this isn't going to work out." I'm trying to be direct and as nice as I can be. His eyes are dilated, and I can't tell if it's because he's on meth right now or if the lighting in the bar is to blame.
"There's chemistry between us. It doesn't have to be anything serious. Have you ever had a fling before?" Tripp asks.
"Hold that thought. I need to use the ladies’ room," I say, taking my purse with me. He lets me pass as I head toward the back of the bar.
