Page 38 of Once Upon A Player
Bollocks. It’s Geoffrey Hawthorne-Douglas. I’ve not had a lot to do with him, and it’s not like he’s tried to pick a fight on the few occasions we’ve spoken, but there’s something about the bloke that irritates me.
He’s the type who can’t take a hint, and if he sees me here I’m willing to bet my transfer fee he’ll stroll over and act like we’re the best of mates.
I don’t want anyone interrupting my date with Violet, least of all a try-hard like Hawthorne-Douglas, and as I place the bottle back in the cooler, I slide a few inches down my chair.
Yeah, that’s not going to work. Violet’s already giving me a weird look. I chance a quick glance across the floor, and HD appears focused on his girlfriend.
Of all the bloody places he could’ve gone.
“Lucas? Is everything all right?”
I cut HD from my mind and resume a more natural slouch. “Everything’s great. Anyway, there’s something I—” My second attempt to confide in Violet dies in my throat as, with a sense of resigned inevitability, I see HD leap to his feet, a wide grin on his face as he looks directly at me.
Bollocksyshit.
“Don’t look now,” I grind between my teeth, like I’m in a bad gangster movie from the forties. “We have company. I’ll try and get rid of them.”
She scrunches her nose, but I don’t have time to enjoy it since HD and girlfriend arrive at our table. “Hey, Lucas,” he says, planting one hand on the table like we hang out on a regular basis. “How’s it going, mate? Bet you’re pissed off not being on tour, huh?”
Although he has his back to Violet, she stiffens as though his bad manners push all her buttons. I’m pissed off myself. He’s behaving as if both girls are invisible.
“Violet!” gasps his girlfriend, and HD shoots upright as though someone shoved a rocket up his arse. He looks at Violet as though he can’t believe his eyes, before his gaze drops to her cleavage.
Fuckingperv. Except that’s only an automatic thought, because my entire head’s thundering with disbelief.
They know each other.
“Monica.” There’s a strangled note in Violet’s voice as she fiddles with the stem of her glass, and Hawthorne-Douglas is still fucking drooling, the wanker.
“Eyeballs,” I growl, and he jerks his head up, but doesn’t look at me. He appears mesmerized by Violet’s face, even though she’s still fiercely focused on her glass.
Jesus Christ, is this the moron she used to date?
I’d assumed it was just some guy who played football at the weekend, not a pro. Not someone I fuckingknew.
“Wow, well, Violet,” the moron says, giving her a fake grin which she doesn’t return. I don’t know if she even sees it. It’s hard not to punch his damn teeth down his throat. “You look…fantastic.”
His girlfriend gives an audible sniff of disapproval, and Violet looks up at me. There’s an expression of trapped horror on her face, and I have the murderous urge to rip Hawthorne-fucking-Douglas’s head off.
Since she appears incapable of replying to the jerk, I lean back in my chair in a deliberately casual manner, even though my fingers are itching to curl into fists.
“Violet and I are having a private date here,mate.” There’s only the slightest inflection on that word, but even if the sarcasm goes right over HD’s head, it sure doesn’t miss his girlfriend, who goes rigid.
“Right, well,huh.” The disbelief is obvious in his laugh, which scrapes along my nerves like razor blades. “It’s been great seeing you again, Violet. It’s been too long.”
Violet takes a shuddering breath, and fuck this. It’ll be worth being banned, simply for the satisfaction of smashing that smug look off his ugly mug.
Back the hell off.I’ve not been this pissed about someone’s attitude since I used to defend my brother at school. But unlike at school, when the worst that happened was being sent to the principal’s office, this time I risk ruining Violet’s night.
Anyway, the prick’s finally backing off. But then Violet straightens and turns her head to look at him. “Thanks, Geoff.” She gives him a glacial smile that drops the temperature by about twenty degrees. “I’m sorry I can’t say the same.”
Whoa, epic shade. I hide my smirk, not that anyone’s looking at me. Hawthorne-Douglas might be thick, but he definitely gets her message loud and clear.
With an embarrassed nod, which makes him look like a fucking turkey, he turns to leave. His girlfriend, instead of following him, leans over the table to Violet.
“Congratulations, Vi,” she says in a breathy tone that for some reason makes my flesh crawl. “Not every girl gets a date with her teenage crush, whose face she used to plaster all over her bedroom wall.”
…
