Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Tucker: Okay.
I frowned at the message on my screen, tucking it away as Houston brushed past me.
“Hey,” I said, catching up to him as he headed toward the visitors’ lot. “Cullen and your brother handling the loss okay?”
“Yeah, they’ll be alright,” he said in his usual laconic style.
“You meeting up with them?”
“Yep.”
By then, he was eyeing me curiously, probably wondering why the fuck I was so interested, so I clamped my mouth shut and nodded instead.
“Have a good time.”
An hour into drinks with the guys, I was checking my phone constantly, worried I’d miss a text from Tucker telling me he wanted to meet up. I was craving it, needed it, and another half hour later, I decided, fine, I’d be the one to take the initiative.
Me: Where are you?
I’d assumed Tucker was caught up with his teammates, but his reply came surprisingly fast.
Tucker: Rumba
Me: I want to meet up.
Tucker: I’ll let you know.
For the second time that night, I found myself frowning at my phone. Maybe Tucker just wanted to hang with the Rush crew, lick his wounds like he said. I could understand that, or at least told myself I could, but as the minutes ticked by and turned into an hour, and when the guys I was with decided to head to a strip club, I bailed.
I hopped in an Uber and stared at my phone screen the whole time, willing Tucker to message me, but he didn’t. Hell, maybe he was with someone else tonight. Just because he hadn’t been before didn’t mean he might not now, and oh, how the thought lit a spark of jealousy inside me that grew into an inferno as we drove.
As the driver pulled up to my house, I looked at my screen again and then at the lights still decorating my yard. I’d not taken them down yet. “Hey, I need to go somewhere else, actually.”
The driver glanced back at me and nodded. “Sure, whatever you want.”
I needed to know. Or I needed him to know. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I hated that gnawing sensation eating me alive from the inside out.
It didn’t take me long to spot the crew of Tucker, Houston, Ramsey, and Garrett at Rumba. They were sequestered in a corner, gathered around a table cluttered with pitchers of beer and empty glasses. I searched their little crew for any sign of any groupie types and felt relief pour through me when I realized it was just Rush guys. Cullen, Houston, Ramsey, and Garrett all looked cozy together, settled and happy, and that spark of envy flared to life all over again. I should have been happy for them. Happy for what it meant on a larger scale, but all I could think about was that I was never gonna have the same, that I couldn’t. That Tucker and I…how the fuck would something like that ever work out between us? Would he even want more between us? And why the hell was the enormity of what we would never be hitting me like a ton of bricks right now? Memories of Tucker next to me were wound up in twinkling Christmas lights, and a fresh wave of irrational frustration surged through me as I approached.
“Damn, look at the Rush licking their wounds. You’re the most morose-looking motherfuckers I’ve seen in a while, and that’s saying something. Especially you.” I arched a brow at Tucker.
Was it the best choice of lead-in to a team that had just lost? Probably not, and I realized that as Tucker looked me up and down with a shrug before flipping me off at the same time Houston’s brother Garrett squared his shoulders and made like he was about to get out of his seat.
Way to read the room, Patrick.
“Why are you such an arrogant prick?” Garrett sneered. “Does that come with being a trust fund baby, or are you trying to make up for some other deficiency?”
Garrett eyed my crotch meaningfully, and I smirked.
“Why don’t you ask your boyfriend?” If I was gonna go down, I’d go down in flames. Defiantly, like I always had.
“Watch it,” Ramsey growled.
As Ramsey stood, Houston stepped between us, turning to me. “You come over here to harass the guys?” He shook his head. “Bad form.”
Over the top of his shoulder, I caught Tucker’s steady gaze, impenetrable to me in the moment.
I met it and held. “Maybe I just came by to say hello to my favorite rivals. Buy them a drink as a token of a game well played.”
Cullen snorted. “Fat fucking chance unless you’ve had a lobotomy in the last couple of months. Since when have you ever been gracious?”
It stung. I had a split-second flash of our freshman year in college, Cullen, Houston, and me laughing and cutting up after practice. Even then, I think we all suspected we were good enough to go all the way.