Page 21 of Play Fake
“Yeah.” He smirks, and I don’t know what he has in mind, or if I’m going to like it.
“Care to share?”
“Not yet.”
“Oookay.”
And before we can say more, the lights go down in the bar, and the first chord of music comes out across the amp.
EIGHT
Waylon
“Whoa,sorry. Didn’t see you there,” I apologize as our bodies collide on my way back from the bathrooms.
It’s not entirely an accident. I needed some way to fabricate a reason for the two of us to talk, and as the red-haired woman’s eyes travel up my chest to my face, her frown slowly fades. Which was just what I was hoping for.
“Forget it,” she offers me a smile.
She is pretty. Mac was right, but there are too many differences between them to count. Too many ways Mac is the obvious better choice, and I really have to wonder what’s wrong with her ex that he would choose her over Mac.
I glance over the crowd quickly, confirming I can’t see Mac and hopefully that means she can’t see us because I’m sure she would not approve of this little run in.
“Busy fucking night tonight,” I smile back at her.
“Yeah. It’s packed,” she looks around as if searching for something herself and then back at me. “I haven’t seen you here before?”
“First time. Heard there was some good music and the drinks weren’t half bad.” I let my eyes trail down over her form with obvious interest, trying to see if I can find the opening I hope is here.
“Yeah, it’s not bad. I book the bands, so I’ll take the good music part as a compliment. Are you from around here or?”
“Yeah. I play football at Highland.”
“Football, huh? Not really my thing, but it explains all of this,” she smiles as she runs a hand down my arm.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I meant it as one,” she gives me a sly little smile.
“Well, I’d better find my friends. But it was good talking to you.”
“Yeah. You too. Hey, I should give you my number—if you come back, I could introduce you to the bands next time beforehand.”
And bingo.
I smile widely. “Definitely.”
We exchange numbers, and I text her a little wink emoji before I take off to make sure it’s not a fake number. And sure enough, her phone lights up. As I leave, her hand brushes over my forearm, and she flashes me one last smile that makes me feel vindicated in having left Mac alone for a little too long on a night like this.
But I can’t wait to fucking tell her that her ex was exactly as dumb as I thought he was. I hurry through the crowd, expecting to find her alone.
Instead, I see her laughing so hard she’s nearly doubled over, her hand on a tall lanky guy’s shoulder who looks almost as amused as her. I pull up short, watching him for a beat, and whoever he is, he’s definitely got a thing for her. I can tell by the way he watches her every movement, the same way I’ve seen her watch Lawton. I decide to give them space.
I stop to get her another whiskey sour and get myself a glass of water. I’m driving tonight, and I take that shit seriously. The vantage point lets me watch them a little longer before I interrupt.
Fuck. I forgot about her thing for Lawton. I’ve never been jealous of that kid. I mean, sure, he gets a lot of women, and I’d guess there’s probably even been overlap between us, but it had never bothered me before. Not until I realized the prejudice I assumed Mac had against all football players did not extend to one in particular. One who was seemingly oblivious to her incredibly obvious attention.
The night before our little naked run-in, I’d looked up from the beer pong table to see her in the kitchen fawning over him. Dressed in an outfit that looked wildly out of place on her. Tight. Short. Sparkly. In heels that made her hips sway even harder when she walked.
