Page 6 of Imperfect Player

“Full of cliché lines, aren’t you?”

He chuckles. “It’s not a line. It’s the truth. Trust me, sunshine, you deserve better than me.”

“Sunshine, huh?”

He shrugs.

“A little ray of sunshine in an otherwise dark existence.” He nods to the glass of whiskey in my hand. “Drink up.”

I debate the drink in my hand. I need to keep a clear head, especially around him, despite the fact that apparently he’s not trying to get under my dress.

The challenge in his eyes has me throwing caution into the wind.

I’m about to bring the glass to my lips when he stops me.

He clinks his glass against mine. “To Everly, the smartest, most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met.”

“All that after knowing me for, what, a whole five minutes?”

“Six, but who’s counting.”

His eyes are steadfast on mine as he watches me take a slow sip of the amber liquid, the alcohol burning my throat as it goes down.

I shake my head as the liquid warms my belly.

“How the hell do people drink this?”

He shrugs. “Personally, I like the taste, but you? You should drink it for the effect. Chug it.”

“You want me to chug whiskey?”

The bartender sets down a couple more glasses.

“It’ll be a lot more fun if you do.”

I pick up one of the glasses and raise it, his voice chanting a quiet encouragement.

“Chug it, chug it, chug it.”

“Here goes nothing.” I pinch my nose and down the drink, surprised at how much easier, and quicker, it goes down.

By the time I finish glass number three, I’ve forgotten all about my breakup and my responsibilities for the party. I’m drunk and lost in a sea of chocolate pools and dimples that are so big they could swallow me whole. And I like it. I like the way being around him feels. There’s an ease to it. Something I’ve never experienced before. Not with any other man. Certainly not with Kai.

As we stand there, silently taking each other in, the music changes. The tempo is quicker, modern. The real party has begun. Several of the players make their way to the dance floor.

“Join me?”

What the hell. I’ve already spent the better part of the evening with him. What could one more dance do?

Hesitantly, I wrap my arm around his, and together we walk to the dance floor.

Ethan pulls me close, my body pressed against his as he moves to the music.

There is a whole group around us, most of the players from the Remington Railcats, including my very own client, Maddox—who is currently shooting daggers at Ethan, but I’m having too much fun to care why.

Instead, I smile up at Ethan.

“What?” he asks.

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