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“Oh, yeah? And what are the rules when it comes to bunnies and hockey studs? Please, enlighten me, oh wise one.”
I barely catch that twitch again.
“They know there are no strings. No attachments.”
“So, you don’t need my services tonight?” I ask.
His features tighten as his expression heats, pulling me into that blue-eyed gaze. By services, I meant that he didn’t need my help keeping the females away. But he seemed to get a different, more illicit meaning from my statement. I don’t mind the misinterpretation.
“Depends on which services you’re talking about.”
I look away before I suffocate inside his gaze. I spot the blonde who was pawing him before watching us through narrowed eyes from across the room. She doesn’t look happy that I’ve stolen the captain’s attention away from her.
“It seems like one of your women failed to get the memo about attachments. She’s silently staking her claim from across the room and murdering me with her eyes,” I quip, mostly to divert his attention.
Ollie follows my gaze over his shoulder. “She might not like it, but she knows the score.”
The bartender chooses that moment to acknowledge me, and I order water.
“Make it two,” Ollie says.
“You got it, Ollie,” the woman says with a bright smile.
Of course he’s on a first-name basis with the staff.
Ollie shifts, moving to my side and no longer caging me against the bar. “You need to stop messing with Carlson,” he orders, nodding thanks to the bartender when she drops off our drinks.
I take a sip of it, the ice shifting with the movement, and glare at my best friend’s brother. “And you need to stop telling me what to do.”
“He isn’t a good guy,” he insists.
“So you say.”
Ollie’s jaw tics in frustration.
It seems that I’m pushing everyone’s buttons tonight. Good. I’m tired of Ollie thinking he has the right to order me around. He isn’t my brother, and he’s not my keeper. I’m an adult, and I can make my own decisions.
“About thirty minutes before you got here, he was coming out of the restroom with that brunette over there.”
I follow his eyes to where Connor is standing with Ricky. A curvy brunette has joined them. She’s smiling coyly at something one of the guys just said. Connor reaches out and fingers a chain around her neck.
My teeth clench as the sight hits me straight in the chest. But it isn’t jealousy. It’s my pride taking a direct hit.
Is Connor trying to make me look like a fool?
But Ollie isn’t done yet. “And I overheard him bragging about you … saying tonight is the night he’s planning to take you back to his place and seal the deal.”
I don’t react when he says this. I keep my expression level. And truthfully, I’m not surprised. Connor has been giving me serious douchebag vibes for a couple of weeks now. It doesn’t surprise me that he’s made this—me—into a game. Someone to be conquered rather than cherished. But he’s pretty to look at, and he’s lighthearted fun, which is the only reason I haven’t completely cut him off yet. He doesn’t matter to me though, not really. And if he wants to play, I’m ready to participate. I’ll string him along and never give him a piece of the pie. Not even a taste.
Ollie’s already watching me when I pull my attention back to reassure him.
I pat him on the chest. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
I can tell the older Burnham sibling doesn’t like my answer. He’s used to everyone bowing down to him as if his word were the law. But that’s okay; he doesn’t have to like it. He just needs to back off and trust me to handle things for myself.
Ollie stiffens when Connor steps in front of us. Unlike me, Ollie has no desire to play games with Connor.
Connor reaches down and grabs my hand. Ollie tracks the movement, and he grits his teeth when I don’t remove myself from the wide receiver’s grip.
