Page 84 of The Fantasy League
No no no. This couldn’t be happening.
I needed to get out of this truckimmediately. There was no way I could go on a date with Abel’s teammate to the same restaurant that he took me to on our first date. No no no.
“October… I-I can’t do this.” The words barely made it out of my mouth before I could even process the fact that it was Sunday.
Abel told me Mafiosa’s was closed on Sundays.
“I know,” he said, bringing the truck to a stop right outside the front doors of the restaurant. October turned to look at me, placing a gentle hand over the ones in my lap, and tears began to swell in my eyes at the earnest look on his face.
He handed me over a piece of paper that he must have hidden in his side door pocket. I scrunched my face and unfolded the paper to find a note written in that now familiar handwriting that I’d know anywhere.
Every word you read was true.
I’m sorry, Red.
I love you.
- A
“Go get your man, Scar.” October gave my hand a squeeze and flicked his gaze toward the entrance of the restaurant.
“Thank you.” My voice broke as I quickly threw my hand around his neck. I jumped out of October’s truck, nearly tripping as I ran toward the entrance.
It was only once I took a step through the heavy wooden doors that I stopped dead in my tracks. There were lights strung across the ceiling and flowers coating the floor. Oh my god, it was beautiful.
That’s when a figure of a man, an extremely tall man, came into view from across the room.
My breath hitched.
My lungs constricted.
My knees buckled.
Abel.
TWENTY-THREE
ABEL
My mouth was dry.
Lungs depleted of air.
Scarlett looked fucking beautiful.
She wore a light-green sundress that made her brown eyes pop. Part of me hated that she looked this good with the intention of going on a “date” with October. Subconsciously, I knew that it was all a part of the plan that Lea and I had created to win my girl back, but I hated that she had considered moving on so soon.
Granted, October did have to beg her a handful of times and Lea said she spent well over an hour convincing her that it was a good idea before she agreed, which helped ease the war that was raging inside my chest.
Fuck, why was my suit so tight? Why had I worn a stupid suit anyway?
Carlo teased me when I walked in, reminding me that I was trying to win her back, not propose marriage. Fucker. Scarlett liked when I wore the suit so I was going to wear the fucking suit.
“Hi,” I said from across the room, staring as Scarlett glided toward me hesitantly, with her mouth agape.
“Hi.” She sniffled, brushing a lone tear that spilled down her cheek. I fucking hated myself for making her cry. “What are you doing here?”
“Winning my girl back.”
