Page 9 of Rookie Season
“I still know more about life than you. Even if you did go six for six from the line tonight.”
“You did see my game.”
But the weight of his attention has me tingling.
I don’t need to look at Ryan to know his height stands out even among a bunch of other players. His dark curly hair makes me want to brush it off his face. His firm lips and bright eyes are movie-star riveting. His huge hands are currently wrapped around his glass in a way that shouldn’t be distracting but is.
The two women who’ve been eyeing him and Miles sense their opportunity and descend. I turn away to serve the other side of the bar, hoping I’m facing the other way by the time my eyes roll.
“You were incredible tonight,” I hear one of the women say over the music behind me. I deliberately don’t turn back, making drinks for everyone on the other side.
I watch this shit go down every night.
“Hello?” an impatient voice calls.
I turn back to find one of the women flagging me down impatiently. “Can I get a tequila sunrise?”
“We’re out of cherries,” I say. “I can make you…”
But she’s already talking to Ryan. The other woman is laughing too.
I put my own spin on a tequila sunrise, making the drink with a flourish.
I push the drink over.
“Where’s the cherry?” She stares me down.
“We’re out,” I repeat.
Her lips, which have enough filler to claim their own zip code, pout. She runs a hand over Ryan’s arm. “But how can I show you the tricks I can do with my tongue? We’re under the mistletoe.”
She nods toward the little white flowers that are actually way closer to my head than hers.
I clear my throat. “Would you like the drink?”
New patrons are trying to make eye contact with me while I wait for her.
Her attention turns back to me, her smile replaced with disgust. “No. You might be able to drink tequila straight, but I need a cherry in my cocktail.”
It’s not straight, I want to tell her but bite my tongue since I can see that the message won’t sink in.
Ryan looks between us. Before I can lean in, he rounds the bar.
“Come on.” He tugs me out from behind the bar and after him.
“I can’t leave!” I protest. “Someone might do something stupid. Or steal alcohol. Or…”
“Clay’s keeping watch,” he says without looking back as he pulls me toward the storeroom.
His fingers are huge. I look down in disbelief to see his golden skin over my tattoos. The feeling leaves a not-unpleasant buzz in my stomach.
When we get to the storage room, I hit the light switch from memory.
Tired fluorescents flicker on with a low hum. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust, and when they do, I see Ryan looming over me with an amused expression.
“What the hell?” I demand.
“I figured you might deck that girl. And as much as I’d love to see that, it’s easier without fifty witnesses.” His grin is slow, and I’m way too invested in how good he looks when he does it.
