Page 72 of Playing the Field
I turn, aggravated that he’s not letting me have my way. “What?”
“Just…don’t do anything stupid. Okay?” I glare down at his hand, and he lifts it off.
“Not going to do anything stupid at all. I want to have some fun without anyone busting my chops for once. Is that alright with you?”
“It’s fine,” he says as I pull open the door and the din inside the bar assaults our senses. “As long as you make it to training tomorrow morning, have your fun. You know the drill.”
I roll my eyes. Yes, I know the drill.
There’s no shortage of women in the bar, and within moments, two of them are talking me up, telling me they’re fans. I order one more drink, but I nurse this one. I’m not going to jeopardize training tomorrow, much as I’d like to order six more beers, just to show Mick I can handle it.
I don’t plan to take any of these women up on their offers. That’s the last thing on my mind. I have no interest in anyone but Gracie, but getting a little attention from these willing fangirls blunts the ache in my chest from seeing her looking so friendly with her ex.
CHAPTER 36
Gracie
Hunter is a no-show.
At first, I welcomed the fact that he didn’t get home right at eight because I ended up staying at the event longer than planned, leaving me scrambling to pull out my ingredients and get everything into the pot before setting the table.
But now it’s after nine. I look at my phone. Actually, it’s closer to ten. He didn’t respond to my text asking for his ETA, and that didn’t worry me at first. There have been lots of nights when he stayed late after training to work with the keepers and their coaches. He doesn’t have his phone handy when he’s at practice, and he can easily lose track of time.
Or so I thought. Now, it’s plain late. I’ve called Hunter twice, but both times the calls went to voicemail.
I look back at our earlier texts, now second-guessing my decision to be vague about my plan for tonight. I should have let him know I wanted us to have dinner. Maybe he took my request tocome after eight to mean that he could show up any time after eight. Nine, ten, midnight.
By ten thirty, I realize my plan is a bust, so I change out of my black dress and into a soft pair of gray sweatpants and a long-sleeved tee, immediately feeling more like myself. Curled up in an armchair in the living room, I pick up a book I started a month ago, but I can’t really focus.
As much as it was nice to see the pang of regret on Peter’s face when he realized how well I’m doing without him, I felt silly for needing that proof. Seeing him felt the same as seeing an acquaintance, and after a few minutes, we barely had anything to say to each other. I couldn’t wait to come home and tell Hunter how good it felt and how lucky I feel to be with him now.
“There she is.” Hunter’s gruff voice is softened by the fatigue in his eyes. He looks as lost as he did when he showed up that first night after his house caught fire, and I worry that something happened.
“Hey. You okay?” When I stand and wrap my arms around him, I can tell from his breath that he’s had a few drinks. He’s not sloppy drunk. Just mellow and maybe a little sad. He told me he doesn’t drink much during the season, but tonight, he seems like he’s had a few.
He’s rumpled and messy, the arms of his shirt rolled to the elbow, revealing his muscular, tattooed forearms. His eyes are a little bleary and dazed, but they still burn hot when he looks at me. I still love it and everything about him.
“You wore the dress.” The accusing words sizzle in the quiet of the room. “The dress I fucking love. You wore it for him.”
“What?”
“Your ex. You wanted to impress him?”
How does he know that?
Before I can form the words to ask, he explains. “I went by the event. Figured your ex might be there. I wanted to be supportiveif you felt awkward.” His face contorts like he’s bitten into a raw onion. “Clearly, you didn’t.”
I rack my brain, trying to remember what he could have seen that upset him. But more than that, I’m surprised that he came there for me. And confused by why he left without saying anything. “You were there?”
He nods. “Not for long. But a few things fell into place.” He taps his temple and sways to one side. He covers by moving to the couch and letting the cushion take his dead weight.
“I did wear the dress. But not for the reasons you obviously think.”
“What do I think?”
“That I was—I don’t know—trying to seduce him or get back together with him?” All of those ideas sound ridiculous, but I can’t discount the fact that I did want to prove something to a guy who isn’t worth it. And I feel ashamed.
“You’re saying none of that was on your mind.”
