Page 17 of Craving the Player

Chapter Eight

Sierra

“Have you been here before?" Iask, dragging my eyes across the wooden sign that dangles awkwardly from above the door of this supposed Jim'sbar.

"Atime or two.” Sophie replies casually, like it’snot out of the ordinary for her to stumble upon places like this. And Isuppose it isn’t. Sophie always was the fearless leader between the two of us, not afraid of anything or anyone. She has anatural type of confidence, the kind that doesn’twaver regardless of the situation. I’mthe opposite. Iwear afalse sense of bravery like my favourite oversized sweatshirt: constantly. It’sbecome second nature to me. There’sno time to be shy in my world.

Sophie and Istand out in this neighbourhood. We look out of place with our expensive heels and glossy, blown out hair. Ispin to face the street, too anxious to look at the exterior of the building any longer and immediately feel every set of curious eyes that latch onto my spine from behind the bar’sfront window. Being watched brings forward such an eerie type of feeling, one that sits like alump of coal in your belly as asick reminder to keep your guard up. Islide my hand into the right pocket of my wool coat and wrap my fingers around apen, clicking down on the end over and over again as if on instinct. Ionly realize my breathing has sped up once it starts to return back to anormal, healthy rhythm.

After running ashaky hand over my hair and sucking in afew deep breaths, Ispin back around. Sophie is trapped inside her own bubble of excitement as she takes astep forward and yanks open the door. Istay rooted in place and listen to the creaky hinges with ajudgmental brow raised to the sky. When Imake no immediate move to follow her inside, my best friend wraps adainty hand around my forearm and pulls me in with an unbelievably firm grip.

The musky smell hits me like abrick wall when we cross the threshold, making my nose crinkle. Iattempt to find an empty table through the thick layer of cigarette smoke in the air. "When Itold you that Clare ditched me, Iwas expecting you to take me somewhere alittle less . . . dirty," Igrumble while squeezing my body through asmall gap between two occupied tables. Isound judgemental, and Iknow that I’mbeing exactly that. But Idon’tdo well in new places unless I’mfive tequila shots deep.

"Well, suck it up, buttercup. I'mtired of the same old, same old. Live alittle, Sierra.”

It'snot hard to see where she’scoming from and wish that Icould swallow my own worries in order to make her happy. But it isn’tas easy for me to ‘live alittle,’ as it is for her. "Okay. But why here of all places? Those guys are literally smoking joints back there."

She stops us in front of atwo-person table and tosses her purse down on the top beside the words, suck adick, that have been etched into the wood. Following my stare, she looks at the massive group of intimidating bikers before giggling like aschoolgirl.

"When'sthe last time that you smoked pot? It'sbeen acouple of years at least.” She’sgrinning now, sitting on her bar height chair as Ido the same.

"Back in freshman year.” Ifind myself laughing, folding my arms and leaning back. God, we were wild in college. I was wild. Back when everything was as simple as waking up for an afternoon class and then stumbling back home wasted out of your mind the following morning. Weekdays blurred into weekends when you were living on cloud-nine, naive to the world and drunk ¾ of the time. But life is anasty, vengeful bitch just waiting for her chance to push you off acliff and watch you drown in aworld of responsibilities and credit card debt once you hold that diploma in your hand.

"Those were the days," she sighs, reminiscing.

"Being agrown-up could be worse. My new boss seems super nice. Especially considering he walked in on me having an internal freak out and didn’tsay anything about it. Even told me to call him Cole." Pushing astray piece of hair out of my eyes, Iwatch her eyes double in size.

"Is that his first name?"

"Well yeah." Inod.

"Yikes."

"Yikes? Why yikes?" Irush, starting to get worried. I've already shot myself in the foot, haven'tI?

"He wants to bang you, babe," she replies, her tone too casual for my liking. This is not the time to be casual.

"This is so not ajoke, Soph. Maybe he'sjust the laid back, down to earth type. It'spretty common for employers to tell their employees to call them by their first name, right?"

"Maybe," she starts. "But you're too hot for it just to be acasual thing. Iwould watch out, S. He might go cray-cray on you."

"Noted," Imumble, dropping my gaze to the cracks running along the wooden table. It looks like somebody attempted to fill them with abrown crayon.

"Want adrink? Ido. Be right back!" Sophie is out of her seat and rushing past me before Ican reply. As Iwatch her perfectly curled hair bounce with each step she takes, Ifind myself tugging at my straight strands, too thin to stay in acurl for longer than five minutes tops. Afeeling similar to jealousy flicks at my spine before Ishake it away with alift of my shoulders.

Acouple of minutes later, amassive round glass is set down in front of me, the all so familiar slush of amargarita bringing out my smile.

"Thank you." Iwrap my lips around the thin straw and close my eyes, nearly moaning when the familiar flavour hits my tongue. Ipeek open my right eyes when Ihear Sophie throw herself in her seat. There’sawicked smile tugging at her lips and Ifeel my head shaking before she has achance to speak.

"What?" Iask, voice shaking with nerves when her eyes keep ping ponging from me to the bar behind my back.

"So, you remember that guy from the other night, right? The one with the hot roommate and the huge di—"

"Yeah, Iremember him, Sophie," Icut her off, rolling my eyes. She knows that Ihaven’tforgotten about him. How could Inot? Ispent far too long in the bath last night because of him and the memory of his tongue between my legs.

"Well, he'ssort of sitting at the bar right now."

"What?” My stomach drops to the floor, heat rushing up my neck. Inearly choke on air when Ispin around in my seat and meet apair of pantie-wetting, bold, amber brown eyes waiting for me. I'membarrassingly breathless when he grins, aset of adorable dimples resting on both of his cheeks.

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