Page 77 of Rush the Edge

Oh, right. Dodgers hat. Reese found it in the backseat of her car and placed it on my head in case I needed to be incognito while sneaking up on Kane.

“I’m more of a hockey fan myself, but I can get down with a girl who likes baseball.”

Hockey fan? He’d lose his mind if he knew that Kane was a few tables down.

He’s actually probably losing his mind right now.

Or maybe not.

Maybe he doesn’t care that I’m over here surrounded by a group of hungry men with a drink in my hand. If anything is for certain since coming to Chicago, it’s that I still have no idea what’s going through Kane’s mind.

“Who said I only like baseball?” I ask.

“Ohhhhhh,” the guys yell in unison. “She likes hockey?”

I grin.

Ididlike hockey, until I was all but forced to be a mascot.

“Who’s your favorite team, blue eyes?” I turn toward the first guy only to see his expression shift.

My drink falls, and the casino spins. An arm slips around my waist, and I’m turned swiftly so I’m blocked from whatever is coming for me. My face hits the hard back of someone, and it only takes me a split second to know that it’s Kane.

With one of his arms behind him, keeping me steady against his firm backside, the other is shoving the drunk guy off to the side where his friends catch him.

“What the hell?—”

Silence fills the group.

“Holy shit. Are you Kane Barlow? The one who plays for?—”

Kane stiffens. “Yes.”

I attempt to free myself, but his grip tightens around me.

“And you almost knocked down my girl.” He drags his words out slow, as if he wants them to hear every last one.

The audacity.

“I am not your girl!” I hiss behind his back.

As if rehearsed, the group of guys leans around Kane and stares at me in disbelief.

“You’re with Kane Barlow?” one of them asks.

I open my mouth, having every intention of calling Kane a liar, but then I get a glimpse of his sharp jawline angled toward me. “Say yes, and I’ll leave right now with you,” he whispers to me.

Why is he so good at winning these little games we keep playing? I remember a time when he used to let me win.

My head screams with a refusal, but then I remember seeing him at that blackjack table, and I just can’t do it.

“Yes,” I say.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” The group of guys scatters like marbles.

Except for one.

The same one who almost fell into me before Kane swooped in like a hero to save me—anti-hero, that is.

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