Page 68 of My Lucky Charm

I brood. I don’t want to be here anymore.

I can’t date her, but that doesn’t mean I want her dating one of my teammates.

“Hey guys,” Eloise says. “Jimmy was just explaining what a slapshot is.”

“She doesn’t care what a slapshot is, you idiot,” Jericho says with a laugh.

“Aw, she said she did!” Jimmy says, in his stupid Southern drawl. Sometimes I think it’s fake. He sounds like a cowboy. He looks at Eloise. “You would’ve told me if you didn’t care, right?”

She gives him a playful shrug, and I can hardly stand it. Watching him flirt with her is one thing—watching her flirt back is its own kind of torture.

“Hey, I’m going to go.” I glance at Burke. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I push past him and walk out the door, into the hallway, when I realize someone took our coats and hung them up. I have no idea where.

I turn back just as Eloise walks out of the room. “You okay? You were doing so well at being social.” She smiles, and I have to look away.

“I just need to go,” I say.

I catch her frown, but I don’t acknowledge it.

Her expression shifts. “I’m so sorry. I thought this would be a good idea. Are you missing your girlfriend?”

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned a girlfriend,” I say before I can stop myself. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Her frown is back. “But . . . I heard you on the phone.”

It takes me a second. When would she have . . .

Then I remember.

Scarlett.

I ruefully chuckle once to myself. “That wasn’t my girlfriend.”

Her entire body posture changes. To . . . relieved?

I want to shake this entire conversation away. This is personal, not professional, and not something I need to discuss with Eloise.

“Do you know where my coat is?” I say it more briskly than I mean to.

“I can get it for you, but—” she pauses.

We’re standing here in this dark alcove of the restaurant, and the second my eyes reach hers, I feel a shift inside of me. I have to ball my hands into fists to keep from reaching for her. I search her eyes, just a flicker of a moment, where I can fill in the blanks of my own brain.

I want her.

She doesn’t move for a few long seconds. Then, she presses her lips together, and it almost kills me. My head is screaming for me to take a step back. To walk away. To resist. But I can’t think of a single reason why I should listen.

“Are you—” she whispers it. Does she remember the kiss? Is she replaying it? Does she want to do it again? “Okay?”

Someone drops a plate in the restaurant behind me, and I hear it shatter. It’s enough to wake me from this trance. I look away.

“Gray?”

I can buy another coat. I can’t stand here another second. But as I turn to go, I stop moving and say over my shoulder, “Don’t go out with Jimmy. His accent is fake.”

And then I walk away.

Eloise

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