Page 20 of Played
“What are you doing?” I frown, shoving the bills Adina set on the scarred mahogany bar back toward her. “Get that outta here.”
“I brought you here, so that means I treat you to drinks.”Herebeing a small one-step-above-dive bar in Mount Hope.
Ignoring her dumb-as-fuck argument, I hold up a hand, signaling the bartender. The pretty young woman with long black hair and tattoos running down her arms approaches me with a smile.
“Can I start a tab?”
She nods. “Of course.”
“Put these two”—I circle a finger over our bottles of Sam Adams—“on there.”
“No problem.” She smiles again, and though I glimpse the recognition in her eyes, she doesn’t say anything. Usually, I have no problem with fans approaching me, but right now I appreciate her restraint.
I turn back to Adina, and she mugs me. But I shrug and lift my bottle for a deep sip. The wine at her parents’ had been fine, but it’s not my preference. Give me a cold beer anytime.
“I can handle a few beers,” she pushes with a bite in her tone.
“Fuck I look like letting you pay for me, ma. When I’m with a woman, I’m getting it.” Her frown deepens and her lips part, but I beat her to it. “Yeah, call it sexist, whatever. Not gonna happen.”
Her lips snap shut. And she lifts her beer for a long sip. After she lowers the bottle, she continues to stare at me, all her feelings and thoughts on her face.
So I’m low-key surprised when she says, “Thank you for not busting me out tonight and playing along as my man.”
I dip my chin. “I take it ‘Kyle’ happens often.”
She shudders, thrusting a hand in her thick brown-and-auburn curls. Last time I’d seen her, the shoulder-length tight coils had been tamed in a bun at the nape of her neck. And I do meantamed. Tonight, that hair is free, an explosion of natural beauty. All through that shitshow of a dinner, the peach scent emanating from it had teased me. Tortured me. I’d wavered between scooting my chair over as far as possible without sitting on her father’s lap and leaning over so I could fill my lungs with that scent.
It’d been so long since I’d buried my face in a woman’s hair, the brush of the strands an intimate, sensory caress. I’d loved lying behind Kendra, inhaling the vanilla-and-cinnamon scent from her shampoo and conditioner ...
The fuck.
Adina is not my wife. Could never be Kendra. So why the hell am I eventhinkingabout this?
The beer ain’t cutting it. I might need something more brown, stronger and guaranteed to drown my brain so it doesn’t have ridiculous, traitorous thoughts.
“Too often. My mother is of the opinion that I’ve given up ever dating or trying to find love again. It’s not her believing I need a man; she’s too progressive for that kind of bullshit. I don’t even think she cares if it doesn’t end in a long relationship or marriage. She just doesn’t want me to ...”
“Give up,” I finish for her when her voice trails off.
She gives me a tight nod, then takes another drink, her gaze skipping away from mine.
If I thought her body did magical things for her firefighter’s uniform, then it’s doing the Lord’s work with these dark-denim skinny jeans, knee-high camel-colored riding boots, and green V-necked sweater.
Adina Wright has been heavy on my mind since she left that conference room. I’ve tried to evict her. Many times. But she’s as stubborn in my head as she is in person. It’s bugged me how our conversation ended. No, correction. How she saw me has bugged me.
I’ll freely admit, I haven’t given a fuck about much in these last couple of years. But that? I’m giving a fuck about it. So much that I made the effort of asking Natasha to get me Adina’s information. So much that I had the guys sign a jersey so I could give that to her in apology.
So much that I pretended to be her boyfriend.
If I dwell on it long enough, I might realize it unnerves me that I’ve gone to all this trouble for a woman I barely knowandwho violated my privacy.
So I don’t dwell on it.
“I read your journal,” I say.
Again, Adina nods. “That’s why I gave you the link,” she replies and drinks more beer.
We’re going to need more alcohol if we’re having this conversation. I turn on my stool and, catching the bartender’s notice, hold up two fingers. She smiles, and I return my attention to Adina.
