Page 90 of Lucky Shot
“I’m not even sorry,” I tell him. “You can be too good for the next person. I already deal with your attitude all season; I sure as fuck don’t want to deal with it now.”
Marlon rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Kain.” He turns back to his phone.
It’s a good thing he’s got talent. Otherwise, he’s got nothing going for him.
“Mr. Kain?” I look up and smile at the stewardess. “Right this way.”
I flash Marlon a grin, to which he just presses his lips together in a thin line as I get to my feet. Creed is a few rows in front of where I’d been sitting, and I drop into the seat next to him. He grins.
“Who did you just bribe?” he asks.
“Anyone and everyone to get me away from Marlon.”
“Shut it, Kain,” Marlon’s voice carries down the aisle.
I grin at Creed. “Can you blame me?”
He chuckles, shaking his head.
“What are you doing in Florida, anyway?” I ask.
“Visiting my family,” he says. “They’re just outside of Miami.”
“Where are your lovers?”
There’s still a shy smile when he gets asked about Ethan and Jakub. “Home, but they’re flying to Colorado later tonight. Ethan chose to sit this game out, but Jakub’s playing.”
“You two better be on different teams,” I tell him.
He grins. “I think Ethan’s our fulcrum, anyway. We’re wingmen. We rely on Ethan to bring us together.”
“Metaphor for your life?” I tease.
Creed rolls his eyes. “No.” He glances at me, trying not to smirk. “Not anymore anyway.”
I laugh.
“What about you? What have you been up to?”
“Online romance,” I announce. Creed’s eyes get wide. “I’m going to meet him in less than twelve hours.”
“Oh, fuck,” he says. “Please tell me he’s not a serial killer or something.”
“First, I’d like to point out that serial killers don’t introduce themselves as such. It’s not a label they wear, so we can easily identify them. Second, I already asked, and he promised me he wasn’t.”
Creed laughs.
“Actually, this guy I was talking to?” I lean closer so not everyone around me can hear this conversation. “I already knew him. But, like, we didn’t know we knew each other.”
“That’s kind of a fairy tale, isn’t it?” he asks.
I nod, my stomach fluttering. “It’s… surreal. I’m as excited about it as I am fucking terrified.”
“Were you friends?”
Shrugging, I say, “We were friendly. I don’t know that we were really friends. I mean, he’s always been really nice, but… I don’t know. He never looked at me.”
“You hate being looked at,” Creed says, and I smile. I fucking love when people know that about me.
