Page 30 of Scoring the Player
I can’t help but laugh as I get to my feet.
* * *
I hadn’t really planned on partaking in century club, but that’s about the only thing going on when we get to The White House. By the time I’m through several beers, the party is really going.
I send Dahlia a text to let her know I’m here and then, holding my phone in one hand in case she texts back, I decide to take a lap.
Jordan stops me as I’m making my way around the yard. I do a shot with him and some hockey guys out celebrating one of their teammates’ birthday.
When Dahlia finally texts that she’s walking over, I’m feeling good. I meet her on the patio. She’s wearing another tight, little dress, this one pink, and a pair of white, platform sneakers that make me smile. Jane is at her side, and I tip my head to her in greeting before I move to stand next to Dahlia.
“I like your shoes.”
“Thanks. They’re the only part of me tonight that feels like me.”
I nod slowly, trying to make sense of her words.
“The dress is Jane’s, and Violet and Daisy did my hair and makeup. But the shoes are all me.”
I smile at that. “What are you drinking tonight?”
“Oh, uh, just sticking with seltzer probably.” She lifts the can in her right hand. Fuck, I must be drunker than I realized because I didn’t even notice it.
“I probably should have done the same,” I say as we move farther into the yard. “I came early and did century club.”
“And you’re still standing?” Dahlia’s brows lift.
“Unlike you, I can handle my alcohol.” I wink at her, and she blushes. “Truthfully, I only made it through about half a century.”
“A quitter,” she teases.
Jane’s gaze pings between us. “Is it okay if I hang with you two for a while? I promise not to crash your whole night, but all my single friends aren’t here yet.”
“Definitely,” Dahlia answers, then looks to me.
“The more hot girls, the merrier.”
Dahlia snorts. “That’s so sweet.”
I really like when she goes all sarcastic on me.
The three of us stand around and drink with the other hundred or so people crammed into the backyard of The White House.
“So, Walters,” Jane says, her tone immediately setting me on alert, “Dahlia filled us in about your plan.”
Jane is eye level, in a pair of tall-as-fuck shoes, and her gaze is ice as she stares at me, thoroughly unimpressed. I don’t know Jane well. She was always with Dahlia when I’d run into them at parties and stuff, but I was so focused on Dahlia that I don’t remember a single word we’ve exchanged.
“Uhh…” I clear my throat. How am I supposed to respond to that? “All right.”
“Do you have any hot friends who want to be my Cindy Mancini?” Her eyes crinkle at the corners.
“Cindy Mancini?” I mouth and look between her and Dahlia.
“I tried to pay a guy to date me once. It didn’t go over well. I thought it would be veryCan’t Buy Me Love-esque, but he wasn’t into it.”
“It’s an 80s movie,” Dahlia fills in for me.
“I guess I missed that one.”
