Game for Trouble (Game for It 2)

The Hawks went on to win it, no surprise. Their defensive line was one of the best in the league, and they held the opposing team for those last two minutes, winding down the clock until victory was theirs.

Yet another defining moment in Nick’s career. The media bombarded him with questions. ESPN interviewed him. The local channel’s head sports guy kept him on the mic for almost five minutes. He felt like a fuckin’ superstar.

He felt empty.

Watching Sheridan smother Jared with kisses made him realize that what he really wanted was his woman back in his life. For good. He was tired of the fight. Tired of letting her go without protest. Sick and damn tired of giving up too damn easy. For once, he was gonna fight for what he wanted. Who he wanted.

And he wanted Willow.

He’d always wanted Willow.

Chapter Fifteen

“This party is off the chain!”

Willow barely restrained her eye rolling and smiled at the drunk woman gyrating in front of the bar. “A drink, miss?”

“Hell yeah! Give me another one of those bed head drinks!” The woman wouldn’t stop screaming, but maybe that was because the music was so damn loud. Willow had a headache, and they were barely halfway through the bachelorette party for Amanda Whitmore.

Willow waved her hand at Colby, the kid she’d hired to work for her on the weekends. He was her resident bartender, considering he had extensive experience leading boozy parties at his fraternity.

No joke. She hired him for his frat party experience. The kid could handle drunken women with ease.

“What’s up boss?” He grinned, looking quite pleased as he scanned the room. It was wall to wall with people, the majority of them attractive women in their twenties, and Willow was sure he thought he’d landed smack dab in the middle of heaven.

“Make this lady another bed head cocktail.” Willow leaned in close to Colby so only he could hear her. “And make sure you use half the alcohol it calls for. She’s beyond hammered.”

“Got it.” He nodded and went to work making the drink, engaging the loud woman in small talk.

Willow watched the people, her head sweating as she pushed the synthetic hair away from her face. She still couldn’t believe she was wearing the damn wig. Somehow Amanda had convinced her father that their new venture needed a small line of novelty-type wigs, and somehow Phil Whitmore had convinced Willow to wear one. More like begged her to, since he believed it would help business if she wore a product from the newly opened Wig It.

So here she stood, hot as hell in her requisite black outfit she wore for the more formal events, her black glasses on and her thick hair tucked beneath a neon pink wig that curled around her face and made her cheeks look fat.

Shit. The lengths a woman went to for a paycheck.

The countersigned paperwork for the lease on the building had arrived just before she left for Vegas, the lower lease price included and everything, just as he promised—reminding her that yes, he was a good guy. And yes, she was an idiot for letting him go.

At least work had been keeping her so busy she went home every night exhausted and collapsing into bed. Didn’t leave her much time to dwell on how much she missed Nick.

Her heart ached just thinking his name. She missed him, but she refused to contact

him. Besides, he was just as busy. And he was probably on a plane by now on his way home to see his mama for the holidays.

She rubbed her forehead, the fake hair making it itch. She’d give anything to chuck the stupid wig and flush it down the toilet.

“The party is a smashing success, don’t you think?”

Willow glanced up to find Phil standing in front of the bar, a big smile on his face. “I can’t believe how many people came,” she said.

“I must agree. After all, it’s right before Christmas. But I think they all like the idea of getting away for a quick Vegas weekend before the family insanity starts.” He winked at her, and she smiled in return. “Plus, they’re all eager to check out our new business. We’ve already pulled in a steady amount of sales.”

She couldn’t freaking believe it. The wigs were cheesy and the extensions weren’t the best quality, but they were actually sort of fun. Like her pink hair, she supposed.

“Thanks for wearing the wig,” he said for about the tenth time. “I know it’s hot.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I tried to get Mandy to wear one but she refused.”