Page 59 of The Goat in the Bedroom
“Sure you don't.” She was standing too close now, her perfume overwhelming, something expensive and trying too hard. “You know, I understand what it's like. Wanting something you can't have.”
Her hand touched my arm, fingernails trailing down to my wrist. Everything about it felt wrong, calculated, performative, like she was playing a role she'd seen in a movie.
“I should find my brother,” I said, stepping back.
“He's busy.” She nodded toward where Flynn and Tempest were deep in conversation with Mac and Sara Jayne. “Everyone's busy. Except us.”
Before I could respond, a familiar voice cut through the bar noise.
“Gryff, there you are.” Sean materialized like a guardian angel, Ren right behind him. “We've been looking everywhere for you. We're planning a brunch to celebrate your first pro game at our place.”
“Cool. When?” I grabbed onto the subject change like a lifeline.
“Tomorrow?” Ren asked, his eyes flicking between me and Sloane with an expression that said he knew exactly what he was interrupting.
“We have practice. Mondays are brutal now that preseason's started. No more weekends off. But we could do Tuesday.”
“Perfect, Tuesday it is.” Sean had somehow positioned himself between me and Sloane without being obvious about it. “Bring everyone, Flynn, Tempest, Artie.” He paused, glancing toward the bar. “And her new friend, if she wants.”
“Tyson,” I supplied, trying not to let it sound as bitter as it felt.
“Right. Tyson.” Sean's expression was sympathetic. “Bring swimsuits. Ren's got something ridiculous planned.”
“Not ridiculous,” Ren protested. “Memorable.”
“Memorably ridiculous,” Sean corrected.
Artie's laugh rang out across the bar. She and Tyson were doing shots with some of the other rookies, and she looked happy. Really happy. He was teaching her some complicated handshake, and she was laughing so hard she could barely follow along.
They looked good together. Natural. Easy.
Everything we weren't.
Everything in me screamed to leave, go home, leave her to flirt her ass off.
Great. Now I was thinking about her ass. Which immediately led to thinking about her in my bathtub.
Three fucking days later, and I was still replaying every second of walking into my bathroom to find Artie naked and singing in my tub. The way the water had made her skin glow. The way she'd looked at me when I'd stood there like an idiot in nothing but a towel. The way my body had reacted so immediately, so obviously, that there was no pretending it was anything other than what it was.
I was hot for my best friend. Hot like lava. Like the temperature of the sun.
And fuck if I wasn't on the verge of getting hard in the middle of the bar thinking about seeing the bruise on her ass. Not because I wanted to see her hurt. But imagining her standing up out of the water like Venus, water dripping down her body, turning so I could see every inch of her thick thighs that I wanted to crush my skull while she rode my beard.
Fuck. Fuckity, fuck, fucking fuck.
I wasn't going anywhere tonight. Not if that meant leaving her at the bar with some strange guy she'd just met. Not that Tyson was strange.
“I should go check on Artie,” I said, even though it was the last thing I wanted to do.
“That's very masochistic of you,” Sean observed.
We made our way back through the crowd to where Artie and Tyson were with Flynn, Tempest, and some other players. The moment Artie saw me, her whole posture relaxed.
“Gryff. Where'd you go?” She grabbed my arm, pulling me into their circle. “Did you know Tyson's dad played for Chicago and now his older brother does? It's so Kingman of them.”
And just like that, I was part of the conversation. More importantly, Artie was completely at ease, chatting and laughing, her hand occasionally touching my arm when she made a point, using me as her anchor while she flirted with Tyson.
She had no idea she was doing it.
