Page 14 of Sure Shot
I hold her gaze. Now we’re having a staring contest. I win it. Bess’s eyes drop first.
The victory doesn’t sit right with me, though. To this day I don’t know why she cut me loose. We had a really good thing going there for a little while.
But then she cut me off with no explanation. She only said she was too busy to spend time with me. But it was probably the other way around. Her next boyfriend was probably a guy who didn’t spend sixty nights a year on the road.
“Bessie, I’m heading out,” her brother says, interrupting our second awkward moment of the evening. “You sure you won’t come out drinking?”
Bess shakes her head. “You go ahead. I don’t feel like getting as drunk as you’re about to get.”
“How do you know?” he asks.
“Oh, please. One last night in the city with the team?” She waves a hand, like the math is too easy. “Just don’t get arrested. No two a.m. calls from the city jail, please.”
“Like that’s ever happening,” he scoffs. “Bayer, you in?”
Eric looks toward the house. “Probably. But first I’ll make sure Alex and Rosie get home. Text me when you land at a bar.”
“Will do.” Dave crosses a few feet of lawn to kiss his sister on the top of her head. “Don’t wait up. And I promise not to be too hung over to hang out on your birthday.”
Your birthday. Whoa! I’d forgotten the date. But I haven’t forgotten any of the details.
Neither has Bess. Her blue eyes cut right to mine. She quickly looks away again, and I see it—the telltale blush leaking across her cheeks and up her forehead. Nobody blushes like Bess.
And there’s plenty to blush about. I remember everything about our first night together. The hesitation on her face when I’d invited her to my hotel room. The shock and lust in her eyes as I’d kissed my way down her body. The sounds she’d made…
Fuck. That was a long time ago. But it made a powerful impression on me.
“Hey, Tank.” The backup goalie—Silas—arrives beside me. “Coming out with us tonight?”
Beside him, his buddy Castro scowls, as if he can’t stand the idea.
That’s okay, because I’ve had enough togetherness already. “You kids have fun,” I say. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
When I turn around, Bess has disappeared.
* * *
Before leaving the party, I make a pitstop in the mansion’s sumptuous guest bathroom. Then, since I still need to shake Nate Kattenberger’s hand, I go looking for the billionaire. Every ground-floor room is more impressive than the last.
I’m just passing the kitchen when I catch a few words the chattering caterers are saying.
“She left him! Can you believe it?”
“He must have a flaming hemorrhoid for a personality, because I wouldn’t kick him out of bed. Did you see those arms?”
Feeling paranoid, I stand there, listening.
“She must love Texas more than she loves his dick,” someone says with a snicker.
“I read that he cheated.”
“Right? All that temptation from puck bunnies.”
“They say he cheated with a teammate’swife. That’s why he got traded.”
Oh my fucking God. People will write anything on the internet.
This is why I’d spent the summer hiding from everyone, living in my Russian teammate’s house, taking care of his dogs, trying to decide which Dallas neighborhood would be my home next year.
