Page 21 of Beauty
With no more than a second’s hesitation and a big smile, she says, “That sounds fun.”
I fight back a shudder and bow my head. It sounds miserable. Sand, alcohol, sweaty bodies, and loud music? All I want is to sit in a quiet corner with this woman. To talk to her for hours like we did last night. I want to laugh with her, and maybe,fuck, maybe hear those sounds she made last night from a little closer. Say, while I’m inside her.
Yes, my dick thickens at the image that pops into my head.
Whether we get to that last part or not, I need to talk to her. Determined, I lift my head. Only to find she’s gone.
I’m still looking around, searching for her, when Ernie squeezes my shoulder. “Come on, son. Let us show you to your new room.”
It takes Ernie and Bert half an hour to pack up and another half hour for the cleaning crew to come through. The guys asked me to meet them for a late dinner. I should go. If I don’t, I’ll end up sitting in this small room with one lone window looking out at the air conditioning unit and the building next door.
Really, I should go to the beach party. Find the woman I can’t stop thinking about. I could stop her from dancing with anyone else. I could, I don’t know, ask her to dance with me.
I scoff and drop my head back against the headboard. What am I, fifteen? Why is this so hard?
Rather than make a decision, I scroll through Instagram. War posted a photo of himself with Brooks and a few other guys who look vaguely familiar at what looks like a cookout. The caption readsNew team, who dis?
I chuckle, take a screenshot, and shoot him a text.
Me: You’re an idiot.
His response is immediate.
War: You know you miss me.
With a sigh, I lie back on one of the beds. Because, yeah, there are two. The empty one beside me is a painful reminder ofjust how alone I am. When traveling for the last few years, War and I always shared a room.
Until now, I hadn’t considered who I might bunk with. Hopefully not one of the rookies. Maybe I’ll get my own room. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a roommate other than when we traveled. War was easy to put up with. We liked hanging out together. If he brought a woman back to the hotel—which happened pretty often, actually—he’d kick a pair of rookies out of their room for a few hours.
Asshole.
War: How’s the upgrade? Send me a pic.
I scan the room. Shit. This isn’t going to cut it.
Before I can come up with an excuse, my phone vibrates, and the screen flashes with a FaceTime request.
Groaning, I accept it. If I don’t answer, he’ll keep calling until I do. “Hello?”
“Harry!” War yells.
The nickname is immediately echoed by another familiar voice. When he flips the camera, Brooks is grinning at me, a spoonful of ice cream inches from his lips.
“Hi, guys.” I offer a stupid wave and settle back in the bed.
“Show us the digs,” War says.
“Where are you?” I ask in a lame attempt to distract him.
“The pad. Most of the team lives here. Moneybags over here owns the whole building.” War nods at Brooks, who’s now beside him so I can see both guys at once.
Brooks rolls his eyes. “My brothers own it; I do not.”
“Not me.” Aiden Langfield pops up on War’s other side, upside down, like he’s hovering over the guys, wearing a wide smile.
Even if he weren’t Brooks’s brother, I’d recognize him. He’s one of the greats at our game. He’s a couple of years younger than the rest of us, but the guy is already slated to end up in the hall of fame.
With a grunt, War pulls the phone back. “As I was saying…” He glares over the top of his phone, probably at Aiden. “Their family owns it and we all live here. Like a bunch of monkeys. This way they can keep an eye on us.”
