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He nods. “Yeah, and I think Suki is there too.”
“Where are they?”
“Some bar on Beaker Street. But they’re meeting us at McGill’s in twenty.”
McGill’s is a bar not far from the stadium, where the team tends to congregate after a win when we don’t care about the attention we garner.
We wait for the others to finish showering and then head out as a group. Most of us walk through the front door of the bar about twenty minutes later. Cheers erupt from the patrons when we’re spotted, but I’m glancing around, looking for a brown-haired girl who I’m guessing is going to be trouble tonight.
“They’re over there.” Ollie points across the place, which is currently packed.
Three familiar women are sitting in a corner booth, surrounded by a group of athletic-looking guys. We start plowing our way through the crowd, though it isn’t hard because most people automatically move out of our way.
“Ollie!” Mads screams when she sees us. She pushes her way out of the booth and jumps into his arms.
I shake my head, wondering how the two of them ended up together. They’re opposites. Mads is loud and crazy, whereas Ollie is quieter and more controlled. But they seem happy together. I guess opposites really do attract.
My eyes find Emerson’s from her spot between two men like a laser beam focused on its target. Her smile is lazy and relaxed, like the drinks she’s had so far are doing their job.
My gaze drops further south, and my jaw nearly drops to the ground when I see how she’s dressed. She looks less like a doe and more like a vixen tonight. She’s wearing some little black top that’s fitted, scoop-necked, long-sleeved, and ends just beneath her breasts. Her belly is slim and toned. The material hugs her curves and gives just a teasing glimpse of her ample cleavage. I can’t see the lower half of her, but I’m anxious to change that. I’d bet money that Mads dressed her tonight. Emerson usually chooses loose-fitting things. Something less overt. I suspected she was hiding that banging body beneath her clothes all this time, especially when she paints in that sexy, wide-neck top that always falls off her shoulder, teasing me with glimpses of creamy skin. But I wasn’t envisioning this. She’s stunning.
She tucks a strand of wavy chestnut hair behind her ear, and I’m struggling to keep my expression neutral. Especially when the guy next to her leans in close and says something. There’s a weird feeling inside my chest when her eyes shift to him because I liked them focused on me. I realize now that I’m starting to want her attention a little too much. Especially now that it’s been stolen by someone else. And I wonder if it’s my competitive streak leading the way … or if it’s her.
“Doe,” I say, winning her gaze once again. I crook a finger impulsively and beckon her closer. “I owe you a drink.”
“Doe?” her friend Suki says, and I can hear the humor in her voice. But I ignore her.
It’s loud in here, but Emerson hears me. The guy next to her frowns and places a hand on her forearm to keep her in place.
“She already has a drink, mate,” he says. He speaks with some kind of accent. British maybe or Australian.
My gaze hardens. “And who are you?”
“Who are you?” he challenges me.
“I’m the guy she lives with.”
I know the words insinuate more than just a roommate situation, but I don’t back down. Fortunately for him, this guy does.
The stranger’s gaze whips to Emerson as his hand drops to his side. “You said you didn’t have a boyfriend.”
“Oh, you did, did you?” I taunt her.
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” She rises to her feet and climbs over him and another guy. “But he does owe me a drink.”
I grab her arm to steady her as she drops to the floor next to me. She’s wearing jeans on the bottom half with rips in the legs. The denim hugs her tight ass. She looks hot.
“No boyfriend, huh?” I ask as I start to lead her through the crowd.
My hand instinctively drops to hers to keep us connected. Her skin is warm when I lace our fingers together, and mine starts to tingle where we are touching. It’s such a strange thing to be holding her hand. It’s been so long since I’ve held any woman’s hand. But it feels weirdly natural at the same time.
“What happened to Eli?”
“Eliott,” she corrects with a scowl.
I knew his name; I just like to push her buttons.
“And we broke up.”
