Page 6 of Sparks Fly

“Did you hear Rossi’s moved in with Jasper’s ex?” What’s-his-name says in a condescending voice. I freeze, forgetting about the milk I’m pouring. “Fucking dog. As if that bitch didn’t deserve–”

“Shut up!” I flinch at the sudden rise in Conrad’s voice, spilling milk all over the bench. “Fuck man. You’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, so keep your damn mouth shut.”

I glance over my shoulder to see him clenching his fists as he grinds his teeth. When Ronnie went missing last year, Conrad had been the one who raised the alarm and helped locate Jasper. He’d seen firsthand what Ronnie had been through. I’m grateful to him for stepping up to help get her back, but that still doesn’t make up for all the rest of the shitty things he’s done.

His teammate puts his hands up in the air and laughs. “Touchy. Whatever man, I’m just saying–”

“Nothing. You’re saying nothing.” Conrad looks over and catches my eye. I quickly drop my gaze with a shake of my head, and finish making their milkshakes.

Dave Ellordi, another one of Conrad’s teammates that went to high school with him and Brady, speaks up. “You weren’t there, Palmer. Just watch yourself.”

I can’t make any sense out of Conrad defending Ronnie. From what I heard, he was part of the reason she and Jasper broke up in the first place. Is he doing it to impress me, or am I just reading too much into things?

Fuck. This guy has me twisted up in knots and I don’t like it. I need him gone so I can think clearly.

I pour the milkshakes into takeaway cups and place them down on the counter without a word.

Dave smiles at me as he picks up his drink, while the asshole with the big mouth just sneers. “A lesson in how to be nice to customers wouldn’t go astray…gorgeous,” he says with a condescending wink. He’s lucky he walks away before I have the opportunity to pour his drink over his head.

Conrad glances over his shoulder before dropping his voice. “Can we talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

He narrows his eyes but doesn’t push his luck. Instead, he picks up his shake and follows his teammates out of the store. I head into the back office, my chest heaving as I close my eyes and rest against the wall. Why am I letting myself get so caught up in what he said? Conrad isnota nice guy, and I don’t want anything more to do with him.

* * *

THE HOUSE IS empty when I let myself in after work. Mum texted me to say she was staying at her boyfriend’s and after the day I’ve had, I’m relieved that I can just wallow in peace. I love her and I know she’s worried about me, but I’m getting sick of dissecting how I feel on a daily basis.

I heat up some left-over risotto and plop down on the couch, ready to binge the latest season ofChicago PD. Halstead and Upton are about to break down the door of a drug den when my phone pings with a text.

I pause the television and blink down at the screen, trying to make sense of the message. It’s not saved, but it’s clear who the message is from.

Unknown: Have you seen my wallet? The last place I remember having it was up at the Point. Can you check your car?

How the fuck did he get my number?

Ivy: I don’t know how you got my number, but you can delete it.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Why does everything come back to bite me in my ass? With a frustrated groan, I grab my keys and head outside. The blanket from last night is strewn across the back seat and I pick it up, cursing as Conrad’s wallet falls onto the floorboard.

Ivy: I have your wallet. You can come pick it up, and then you can delete my number.

Unknown: Be there in five.

I decide to wait for him on the front porch, wasting time on social media. Being the masochist I am, I search up Lachy’s profile, but I immediately regret it when I’m confronted with an image of him and his new girlfriend. They’re wrapped around each other and grinning at the camera. It’s like a knife to the chest. That used to be us.

Those familiar honey-brown eyes stare back at me, and my finger hovers over the unfollow button. I want to put a stop to it. Ineedto, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. A tear slides down my cheek and I swipe it away. Lachy’s moved on–why can’t I?

I toss my phone to the seat beside me as a silver BMW pulls up to the curb. God, even hiscaris pretentious. He runs a hand through his curls before placing his BHU cap on his head and getting out of his car. My heart starts to race–and I hate it. I can’t stand that my body reacts to him.

He stops a few feet away from the steps. “Sorry about the guys earlier,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Rupert’s a dick.”

“Does he know?” I ask, swallowing down a lump of fear. Conrad definitely seems like the stereotypical jock that would tell his mates about every time he scores. Last night was a huge mistake.

“What?”

“Did you brag to your mates about what we did last night?”

---