Page 33 of Spotlight
I set my drink glass on a small empty table just before I step inside the club. A new crowd has gathered in the time I’ve been outside, and I fight through people again to get to the bar.
One giant group of guys, fraternity brothers judging by the college name and Greek letters on their shirts and hats, is gathered in a big huddle in the center of the room. They’re loud, drunk, laughing and having a good time.
For the briefest moment, a flicker of longing for that kind of carefree fun hits me. Not that long ago, I was out with my college buddies at a place a lot like this. I was so ready to be playing professionally, to get to that next level, that I probably didn’t enjoy it as much as I should have. I feel older than I am, but that’s always been true.
Maybe it stems from being the youngest in a family of successful athletes or maybe I just have an old soul, but I’ve spent my life working so hard for the next step that I often wonder if I missed out on enjoying the moments as they happened.
I don’t want to go back to the minor leagues or to college, but it’s difficult to stop myself from wondering how things might be different if I hadn’t always been so eager to be where I am now.
As I’m edging around the frat guys, I spot Olivia. She’s out from behind the bar again. One hand holds up a tray of shots as she navigates through the crowd with a grace and steadiness that is sexy and impressive.
My body tingles as I watch her. She’s a knockout, but it’s more than that. I just dig her, and I refuse to accept that night in New York wasn’t indicative of how good we could be together.
As I’m walking toward her, one of the guys in the group of fraternity brothers approaches her. I can’t hear him, but her reaction is all I need to know he’s hitting on her. She shakes her head with that same firm but polite look she’s given a lot of other men tonight. I hate to admit that I enjoy watching her turn down some other guy, especially since she’s done the same to me a few times now.
I don’t have long to enjoy that feeling though because as she tries to walk off, he wraps an arm around her waist from behind and I have an “oh shit” reaction. My brows rise in surprise and my blood boils. It’s fucking slimy to put your hands on a woman without her permission, and even I can tell from here that she wasn’t interested in whatever he had to offer.
I move toward them quickly, but by the time I get there she’s already extracted herself from his hold.
“Aww, come on,” he says. His eyes are heavy-lidded, and he reeks of beer. He extends a hand like he might touch her again, but I grab him by the forearm.
“You good?” I ask her as I hold on to the guy.
“Fine.” Relief flashes in her eyes for a second.
“Dude.” The drunk guy pulls free and looks at me with disdain. I really didn’t havebar fighton my agenda tonight.Fuck.
I don’t even bother giving him my attention. My gaze stays on Olivia. She regains her composure quickly and puts another step of distance between her and the idiot.
“What the fuck? We were having a conversation,” he says to me.
“You touched her.” I finally flick my stare in his direction.
“I was just playing around.”
“Really. I’m fine.” Olivia’s tone is hard, and her stunning blue eyes bore into me with a clear signal not to get involved.
But there’s little to no chance I’m going to stand by while some creep violates her personal space.
“See?” He grins at me like he’s proved his point.
I don’t like it, but the situation seems to be under control.
“As I was saying.” He steps in front of me and sways.
Motherfucker. This time when he reaches out for her, I don’t catch him in time. His fingers spread across her stomach and while I’m grabbing him by the back of the shirt and putting myself between Olivia and this asshole, she does one better. She tosses a beer from her tray into his face. Or mine since I’m now blocking him.
“Everything okay here?” The question comes from a deep voice to my right.
When I blink away the beer stinging my eyes, I find one of the bouncers has positioned himself in front of Olivia.
“Great,” I mutter as the cold liquid drips down my face and seeps into my shirt.
As the bouncer takes in the scene, he must decide it is in fact not great, because the next thing I know he’s guiding me and the drunk dude toward the front door.
A couple of his fraternity friends follow us out, and when their brother starts protesting, they offer me sympathetic smiles.
“Get him out of here,” I say to them. “And when he sobers up, tell him the next time he puts his hands on a woman, he better be damn sure she’s consented.”
