Page 32 of Ruled Out

I inwardly roll my eyes. I’m ready to change the conversation—or better yet, put an end to it altogether. “What’s the name of the bar?”

She stops writing and looks across the room, clearly trying to remember. “I know it’s a sports bar. I want to say it begins with anS.”

“Helpful,” I reply dryly. I don’t know why I’m so damn moody, but I am.

“All right, don’t get your panties in a twist,” she replies, pulling out her phone and quickly typing something, although I can’t see to who, and I get back to note-taking.

A couple more minutes pass, and finally, I feel like I’ve rejoined the room and started to follow the class. Although Jessie’s unanswered text plays in the back of my mind, firing off excitement in my stomach. Once I’m out and away from prying eyes, I’ll reply to Pancake Boy.

“Aha!” Tara announces. “I was close with theS, just one letter off in the alphabet. Riley’s! That’s the name of the bar.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

MIA

Okay, well, Riley’s Bar is clearly the place everyone goes to after Scorpions games.

“Are you sure about this?” I tap Tara on the shoulder as we push and squeeze our way through the mass of bodies.

Nearly getting taken out by a big, brawny dude, she turns back to me. “Yeah, I told you, Leo booked a private booth.”

As I grip my bag closer to my side, embarrassment no doubt paints my cheeks redder than my reaction to this hot-as-fuck bar. The gift I got him is kind of embarrassing, but I couldn’t think of—or afford—anything else. Especially when we’ve only known each other since the start of the school year.

“I’m going to head to the restroom,” I announce as we finally reach the other side of the crowd and I can breathe again.

Swiveling around to me, Tara smirks. “You look perfect, babe, but I can understand why you’d want to look your best for Leo.”

“More the fact that I actually need to pee,” I reply dryly.

I’m at that point where I’ve given up on trying to correct Tara about Leo. He’s nice to look at, but he does nothing for me.

The cooler air from the bar restroom hits me as soon as I push through the door, and I shake out my long hair and pull off my jacket, instantly feeling the benefit before looping it over my shoulder bag.

“Unbearable out there, right?”

A petite brunette looks at me in the mirror as she washes her hands and then begins drying them on paper towels.

She’s pretty—really pretty. Definitely older and somehow kind of familiar.

And British.

“Yeah. Kind of wish I’d worn my hair up tonight.” Trying to gather my it into a tight, high ponytail, I begin searching through my bag for a hairbrush and tie. “Dammit.” Pulling out the brush, I set it to the side and then root around for the black hair tie I’m sure I picked up from my dresser.

“What’s the matter?” the pretty brunette asks as she begins applying hand cream.

As I drop my shoulders in defeat, I try one last time, looking in a zipped side pocket. “Ugh. I was sure I’d brought a tie with me.”

“I got you.”

When she bends down to her side, that’s when I see it—the large black tote bag next to her feet. She sets it on the counter and then pulls out a cosmetic purse, handing me a black tie with a smile. “Here you go.”

It’s a tiny gesture, but coming from a stranger in a big city like this, it somehow means something. I take the tie from her as my eyes snag on the impressive emerald rock on her left hand.

That’s some ring.

“Thank you. That’s really kind.”

As I gather my hair, she stands, watching me in the mirror, her head cocked slightly to the side.

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