Page 22 of Very Unlikely
“We’re frie—”
“She’s bunking with him during the summer leg.” This interruption comes from Desiree, and although her voice is friendlier than Heather and Selena’s, something isn’t quite right with it. “They’re staying in a studio room at Paradise Inn a couple of miles down the beach. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”
“Yes, it’s a nice hotel,” replies Selena. “But don’t their studio rooms only have one bed?”
“Exactly!” After curling her arm around my shoulders, Desiree adds, “So perhaps you should remember that the next time you’re plotting ways into players’ beds. Not all of them are single.” The women scoff when she guides me away from them with her nose facing the ceiling and her hips swinging. “Can you believe that?” she pushes out with a big breath when we reach the edge of a makeshift dance floor. “We’re literally here for half a minute, and I hear them conspiring ways to get Holden and Lennox alone.” Her face goes red when she holds in her scream. “Every.Damn. Time.”
“Everytime?” I ask, certain she isn’t alluding to what she is.
I’ve seen Lennox hit on many times, but I didn’t think that would remain the case if he was taken. I kind of feel bad for Desiree and the other players’ wives and girlfriends if that is the case. It’s hard enough ignoring the stabbing feeling that hits me every time we part ways at a party. I couldn’t imagine how horrible it would feel if we were more than friends.
When Desiree jerks up her chin, I ask, “How do you handle it?”
“Usually like I just did then.” Her smile is contagious. “But occasionally, I mix it up.”
Before I can blink, she guides me onto the dance floor in the middle of the living room. “Oh, no, I don’t dance.” That’s a lie. I’ve danced with Lennox before, but only in the TikTok videos we upload to our joint account.
Weirdness is embraced on a whole other level on the clock app.
“We’re not dancing,” Desiree replies before she boldly wiggles her fingers at a group of men mingling with another group of sorority sisters. “We’re evening the stakes.”
I don’t get the chance to seek clarification on her riddle as I’m thrust into the chest of a man with clipped hair and dazzling blue eyes. “I’m so sorry,” I grimace before attempting to find an opening in the thick crowd to make my escape.
My wish to flee dampens when the blond man accepts my apology with a playful grin before asking me to dance.
With my brow arched and my bottom lip caught between my teeth, I spin around to face him. “You want to dance… with me?”
I shoot my eyes to Desiree when he jerks up his chin. When she encourages me to accept his offer as she has two handsome suitors, I suck in a big breath to ensure I don’t pass out before returning my eyes to the unnamed stranger. “Umm… sure. Although I should warn you, I am a bit of a klutz.” He shakes his head with a grin when I ask, “So before we start… do you need to run atany stageduring the next three to four days?”
His smile jumps onto my face when his dance moves aren’t close to what I’m expecting. He leaps straight into the popular TikTok dance that went viral a couple of weeks back. He pulls it off, but his moves are nothing close to the ones Lennox executes in each video we upload. He moves his body in a way that transfixes viewers. It’s why our videos always do so well.
My focus shifts from the guy whose concentration makes it appear as if he’s trying out to participate in a new dance craze when Desiree commences counting down from five. I’m lost as to what her game plan is, but I get a better idea when an arm bands around her waist before she reaches two.
She giggles when Holden drags her away from the men eyeing her like dessert, her laughter only subsiding so she can shout, “He should be here at any moment.”
“Who?” I ask, my voice raised to ensure she can hear it over the music thumping around us.
“Lennox,” she answers a mere second before I lose her to the crowd. It swallows her whole in under a second and has me scanning the faces of the hundreds of people surrounding me with so much eagerness, I make myself dizzy.
I find Lennox a couple of seconds later. It isn’t hard to spot him in a crowd. He’s usually one of the tallest and the one attractingallthe attention. Although both assumptions are true now, Desiree’s theory is a little off the mark. Lennox isn’t racing my way to defend my virtue from a bunch of horny partygoers. He’s keeping watch from the sidelines, his expression impassive and discreet.
After waving at him to announce I’ve spotted his watch, I spin back around to face the man I’d guess to be mid-twenties. With the crowd thick, it takes me a couple of seconds to locate him amongst the mass of sweaty bodies, and when I do, it dawns on me that I lost his attention even quicker than I did Lennox’s when we arrived. He’s dancing with someone else. It isn’t a viral trend. They look extremely cozy.
Although disappointed, I leave the dance floor with only the slightest bruise to my ego. In my opinion, just being asked to dance is an honor. I’ve never experienced it before.
Just as my flat-soled shoes leave the varnished floorboards that make up the dance floor, my exit is thwarted by a lady wearing strappy stilettoes and enough fake tan to make my eyes hurt.
After mumbling an apology for not watching where I’m going, a bad habit of mine since I forever walk with my eyes fixated on the floor to discourage eye contact, I attempt to sidestep theCharlie and the Chocolate Factorywannabee.
My confidence is siphoned down the gurgler when she thwarts my wish to leave by once again stepping into my path. This is howeveryconfrontation at events like this begins. I get approached by a person wanting to know how and why I am at their party. I profusely apologize before swearing I’ll never return, then Lennox either knocks out the guy standing next to the girl determined to make my life a living hell, or he exchanges not so very nice words with the woman badgering me for kicks.
“I-I was just leaving.”
“I-I’m-m sorry. What d-did you s-say?” replies the woman I’m assuming has the worst resting bitch face while mimicking the stutter I’d give anything not to have during a conflict.
“I was just leaving,” I repeat before attempting to scoot by her, pleased I held my stutter back this time around.
A bolt of electricity rockets through me when she seizes my elbow in a firm grip. Usually, words are all I exchange with bullies. They rarely get physical, but she’s gripping me so firmly, her manicured nails are piercing the skin beneath the jacket I wore even with it still being close to ninety when we left the hotel.
