Page 87 of Filthy Player

I was staying out of it. I wasn’t burying my head in the sand. I was choosing to trust Beaux to take care of me like he promised. I trusted Jaxon to shoot anyone who looked at me funny, too.

His presence, while terrifying and nerve-wracking at first, was now more like a very hot, solid security blanket.

One Melanie was still trying to worm her way under to no effect.

Poor thing.

“Okay.” Shannon slammed the design book closed and stood up. “That’s done, then. Let’s go eat. I’m starving.”

“You’re sure?” I asked. “I mean, this is only the first florist, and you don’t even know if they can do what you’re suggesting.”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“You’re like, the calmest bride-to-be I’ve ever come across. It’s eerily scary.”

“That’s because my wedding doesn’t matter. It’s just a formality. I already know my marriage to Oliver is going to be beautiful. He shows it to me everyday.”

Whatever insecurities, as small as they were, I had about Beaux fluttered away like butterfly wings as Shannon spoke. We were way too early to even discuss marriage.

But she was right. Beaux showed me every day and had since the night we met, how beautiful a life with him could be. It wasn’t the money. It was everything else he brought with him. Security. Love. Laughter. An extended family who accepted my dad and I just as we were.

In short, Beaux gave me everything I’d ever dreamed of and much, much more.

I was one lucky girl.

***

“Hey, Hannah!” I threw my arms around her as we reached the table in her section. We were close enough to the bar so we could watch the interview when Beaux came on, far enough away to have some privacy in a booth. “How are you?”

“Oh, you know me,” she said, hugging me back. “Same, same. Good to see you. Who’s this?”

She glanced at Shannon with a cool look in her eye and I frowned. “Hannah, this is Shannon, Beaux’s sister. Shannon this is my friend, Hannah.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Shannon said.

Hannah took her hand. “You too. Powell’s fiancée, right?”

There was a tone in her voice that was friendly enough, but not the same excitement she usually had. “Hannah’s a huge Rough Riders fan,” I said to Shannon.

Shannon winked at her. “Aren’t we all?”

“Yes, well, only the lucky ones get them, I suppose.” She grinned at me. “I’ll be right back with your waters. Y’all want anything else to drink?”

We gave our drink orders and she walked away. I slowly turned away from her and slid in the booth across from Shannon. “Weird. She’s usually tickled pink when anyone connected to the Rough Riders come in. Plus, she didn’t even give her typical googly eyes to Jaxon here.”

I nudged him, which was the same as slamming into a brick wall. Like usual, Jaxon said very little, his eyes alert and focused as he scanned the restaurant.

“Chill, Rambo,” I whispered. “There’s no one dangerous here.”

He shot me a look telling me how naive I was and opened his menu.

I shook off Hannah’s coolness and looked around the restaurant. It was busy but not slammed, a pretty typical Thursday night. I set my menu to the side while Shannon looked at hers. I’d worked there long enough to know I’d be ordering the southwestern burger with an extra side of onion rings.

They were my favorite.

Hannah came back, chatting with us just enough to do her job, and the longer we sat there, having a couple beers and waiting for our food to arrive, I couldn’t shake the strange feeling I’d seriously pissed her off.

And I felt like crap for it.

---