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I offer up a wave, and they all huff, turning away.
“I like her.” Hudson laughs.
“Who are we talking about?” Aiden walks up, handing me a glass.
“Me, of course. Not that you’re surprised. I’m quite likable.” I let my lips part and close my eyes as I sip my drink. The smooth taste tingles my tongue as it drifts down my throat. It’s exactly what I need right now. An instant elixir.
From the corner of my eye, I watch Aiden. He lifts his drink to his mouth but doesn’t take a sip.
I wonder if he limits the amount he drinks since he has a game tomorrow, or maybe he just doesn’t drink a lot, seeing his past. I should try that.
Both our parents are alcoholics. His mom said and did terrible things while drunk. His decision might be about control, but there’s no doubt some of the choice stems from her too.
She was always the hardest on him when she’d had liquor. Telling him how worthless he was. How he’d never amount to anything. I hate her.
As I take another sip, my brain drifts away from all that. The conversations around me revolve around hockey, which I’ll avoid. I’m not really interested tonight.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell the group. Aiden looks up at me with narrowed eyes. “I’ll be fine. I’m just checking my phone over there,” I say, motioning toward a window with fewer people.
He nods, and I head off, pulling my phone out.
I check my email first as it’s been a couple of days, and then I see a text from Emma.
Emma: You alive?
Emma: Hello! Are you alive?
Cassidy: Unfortunately.
Emma: Wow. That is extremely reassuring. You good?
Cassidy: Great.
Emma: Pulling teeth, I see. How’s...being the girlfriend?
I probably should have come up with a better lie because her knowing it’s fake feels like I’m breaking the NDA, but what choice did I have? Emma was not going to allow me out of her place without something.
I’m about to answer her when someone slides up next to me. I expect it to be Aiden, but when I look up, I find it’s another player. Billy, I think his name is. I’ve met so many guys that keeping their names straight is hard, but I don't want to know him based on his vibe. Something about him is slimy, and he hasn’t even said a word.
“What are you doing all alone?” His voice slithers up my spine, giving me the heebies.
My gut has never let me down. It’s typically right on with my first impressions, and right now, alarm bells are going off.
“Not sure how that’s any of your business.” I don’t bother to play the nice act. Something tells me this guy would run right over me if I did.
“Ahhh. I see,” he grunts. “You’re already sick of Slate.”
My head jerks back, caught off guard by his words. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
He leans back, all smug arrogance. It probably works on some women, but to me, it’s just sleazy.
“I can make you feel better.”
“Doubtful, thanks.” I turn to leave, and he grabs my elbow.
I yank it out of his grip, turning around to glare up at the creep.
“Are you always this much of a bitch?”
