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Typically, I hate the stares, the attention. But I fucking love how much this guy hates that he’s a fan of mine. Him and all his friends.
The bartender puts a glass of amber liquid in front of me with a single spherical ice cube. Taking a sip, the smokiness of it burns my tongue and throat in the most delicious way.
The guy has good taste, I'll give him that. If that wasn’t already evident by his ex-girlfriend.
Leaning down to his level, I keep my words hushed but clear.
“Unfortunately, Indy’s old friends are your friends. You’ll be around, I get that. But if you ever, and I mean ever make her cry again, I will do everything in my power to make your life a living hell. My face will pop up everywhere you go. You will see me in your goddamn nightmares. I will make myself a daily reminder that you fumbled the best thing you’ll ever have in your fucking life. Got it?”
He stays staring straight ahead, but I note the nervous flicker of his eyes.
“Got it?” I repeat.
He nods in confirmation, and I plan to leave him with that, but then he decides to open his fucking mouth.
“Aren’t you supposed to be the good guy of the NBA? I doubt stalking me would be good for your golden boy image.”
A condescending laugh escapes me. “Says the guy who camped outside of my place of work to talk to a girl who wants nothing to do with him. But let me make this clear, when it comes to her, I have no issue ruining my reputation. I will burn the world down to protect her and I’ll proudly wave the match, so everyone knows I’m the one who did it.”
I pop off the bar to go find Indy, but then I add one more thing. “You know that jersey you’ve got with my last name on it? When you see it hanging there in your closet, let it serve as a reminder to you, that soon enough, it’ll be her last name too.”
I clink my glass with his because sometimes I’m an asshole, and then I go find my girl.
She’s off by herself because her friends have no reason to spend time with her if I’m not around to distract her from, so I sneak up behind her while she’s wearing that forced smile and speaking to guests.
As soon as my palm slides around her waist, her hand is on mine, fingers linking together.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” the older gentleman she’s speaking to cuts in. “Ryan Shay. I’m a huge fan of yours. I cannot wait until you’re back on the court. The team needs you.”
I wear my professional smile once again. “The guys are doing great without me.”
“Well, that’s because you’re on the sidelines, still running every game.” He chuckles a hearty laugh. “Don’t let us down, son. We need to make it to the playoffs. It’s been too damn long and I’m getting too damn old.”
“Yes, sir. I’m going to do my best.”
“Excuse us,” Indy cuts in. “I’m going to steal my boyfriend for a bit.”
Boyfriend.
She pulls me away and straight towards the exit.
“Boyfriend, huh?”
“Oh, you don’t like that? Would you prefer something else? My honey? My boo? Or how about my lover? Everyone”—she turns around and pretends to announce to the crowd behind us—“I’m going to go get railed by my lover now!”
I shift her shoulders, ushering her towards the exit. “Okay, you’re not allowed to give nicknames.”
“So only you’re allowed to hand out nicknames?”
“Well, yeah, mine are good.”
Blue.
Ind.
Baby when we’re in bed.
Mrs. Shay is another I’d like to add to the list in the future.
