Page 30 of Just Playin'
Her third laugh in under a minute answers my question on her behalf. “Oh, yeah, you did.”
“Where are you?” I scan the locker room, wondering where the fuck that alpha-machoI’m about to go on a rampagevoice came from.
There’s no one in the locker room but me.
My attention reverts to my phone when Willow says, “Skylar dragged me to a sports bar.” She gags, weakening some of the tension in my jaw. “While she watched the game on the big screen, I found a much more entertaining way to occupy my time.” I can picture her brows waggling.
I swivel my tongue around my mouth before easing out my next set of words. “You watched the game?”
She makes a weirdehnoise. “I pretended to watch it, but if it weren’t for Skylar galloping around the bar on a broom, I wouldn’t have the faintest idea who won.”
I exhale the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I don’t like being deceitful, but it’s been over eight years since I’ve been looked at like Willow looks at me. Not once have I seen money signs flash in her eyes as I have numerous times the past decade.
Furthermore, whatever we’re starting is new, as fresh as Dalton’s daughter, so I have no clue what to expect. If there’s even the minutest possibility this is a flashbang relationship that fizzles as quickly as it heats up, the longer I keep it out of the public eye, the better it will be for all involved.
My entire relationship with Lillian was lived in front of the cameras. I learned from my mistakes. I won’t do thateveragain. I’ve been on the wrong side of the media. It was fucking vicious, and even though Willow appears to have a hard shell, I refuse to sit back and watch them try and crack it. So until I know what “this” is, I’m going to keep quiet about what I do for a living.
“Are you planning to stay at the bar? Or did you wanna. . .?” I leave my question open for Willow to answer how she sees fit.
She’s not going to let me off the hook that easy. “Or do I wanna. . .?”
I stuff my sweaty jersey, shoulder pads, and cleats into my bag, hook it over my shoulder and spin around. Mid-pivot, I ask, “Are you hungry?”
I freeze halfway across the empty locker room when Willow replies, “Do my nipples have breasts?” She snorts before correcting herself. “I meant, do my breasts have nipples? Oh my god, I should probably cut back on the vodka.” She cups her phone, meaning I barely hear her murmur, “I was joking; fill her up. I’ve got all night to drink and all of next week to regret my decision.”
“What happened to your lack of funds?”
Vodka isn’t pricy. . . until you’re a college student drinking at a bar. Then it’s the equivalent of top-shelf liquor.
“I’m not buying them.” She giggles like a school girl worried she’s about to get in trouble. I understand why when she whispers, “I didn’t even bring my purse.”
The slurring of her words reveals her level of intoxication, much less the return of my tight jaw. “If you’re not paying, who is?”
“Umm. . .” She cups her phone again before whispering, “What were your names again?”
I feel my blood pulsate through my veins when a male voice replies, “This is Tim; he’s Bryce, and I’m your new best friend, Archer.”
The dumb fuck doesn’t even attempt to hide the innuendo in his tone. If Willow isn’t already sitting in his lap, he’s praying she will be within the next five minutes.
Not on my watch, asshole!
“Thank you.” Willow moves her hand away from her phone, and the buzz of drunk patrons grows louder down the line. “Archer, Tim, and Bryce have been generously supplying my drinks. They’re really nice—”
“Willow?”
I hear her swallow harshly before, “Yeah?”
“Which bar are you at?”
Her breathing picks up as the sound of her teeth raking her lip flows down the line. “Umm. . . Mister M. . .Mister M. . .”
“Mister Mystra? Is there a cartoon of a chubby Chinese man holding a football on the front window?”
She giggles a throaty laugh too sexy to be heard in public while surrounded by drunken idiots hoping to get in her panties. “Yes, it does. How did you know that?”
Ignoring her question, I say, “I’ll be in there fifteen minutes.”
As I drag my cell from my ear, I hear her take in a sharp breath, but she fails to protest, assuring me I’m doing the right thing.
