I try to be sly about sitting near Jet, but as we take up a corner spot reserved for us, Jet goes to sit on the very end, which means I have to take the other side of the L-shape we’re in … next to his brother.
Taking a deep breath, I act casual and slide in next to Matt.
I haven’t been this awkward around him since I first found out who he was to Jet. For the first six months of our friendship, I walked on eggshells around Matt, not knowing whether or not he was aware of what I’d done with his little brother.
A waiter comes and gets our drink order so we don’t have to go to the bar, and the guys order pitchers of beer to go around.
A few guys walk by, eyeing each and every one of us. I suddenly know how lobsters in tanks at restaurants feel.
Maddox leans forward a few seats over to get my attention. “Hey, Canada, looks like you and Jet have ample chance of getting some tonight.”
My eyes widen. “W-what?”
He waves in the general vicinity of a table of guys across the room. “Lots of potential.”
Oh, right. A chance of getting some from other people. Not each other.
My gaze catches on Jet whose eyes are locked on me, but he quickly looks back at Lennon beside him and nods as if he’s listening to whatever Lennon’s saying.
Matt and Noah start talking about Wade and the baby with Maddox and Damon, but I tune them out.
The busy dance floor catches my attention. The live band on stage sings some song I don’t recognize, but it’s happy and bouncy.
Drinks arrive, and as I pour myself a glass, a tall, buff-looking guy inches closer to our table. When I turn to look at him, he spins on his heel and goes the other way. He looks over his shoulder and pauses but then keeps walking.
I’ve seen this happen before. This isn’t build up the courage to go hit on someone hesitance. It’s someone wanting to ask for an autograph. But with three of us in the NFL and two in the NHL, there’s no way to tell who he wants.
Matt leans in close to me. “What or who are we laughing at?”
I tilt my head in the direction of the guy. “I think one of us has been recognized. Guy at my four o’clock. Muscle shirt, tight pants.”
Matt checks him out and grins before turning to the others. “All right. Let’s place our bets, boys. There’s a guy trying to build up the courage to come over here. Which one of us is he gonna ask for an autograph? I’m going with Soren seeing as they’ve already locked eyes.”
“I’ll take Matt,” Maddox says.
“Talon and or Miller,” Damon says, “because they come as a package.”
“You want to do what with my package?” Talon yells.
Miller rolls his eyes. “We’ll take Ollie then, I guess.”
Lennon laughs. “Egotistical athletes. The logical choice here is Jet.”
Like a pack of dogs being told we’re going for a walk, we all cock our heads.
The guy doesn’t give me a chance to put my bet in because, apparently, he has built the confidence to go for it.
And, shit. Lennon is right.
He bypasses all of us and goes straight to Jet. “You’re from Radioactive, yeah?” He’s Australian.
Jet smiles and nods.
“I thought it was you but couldn’t be sure, and ...”
It’s not as endearing to see a two-hundred-pound muscle-type fanboying as I thought it would be.
“Can I buy you a drink?” the guy asks.
Jet holds up his beer. “Got one, thanks.”
“A dance?”
He’s persistent, isn’t he?
Jet seems uncomfortable as he glances around the table, looking at everyone but me. Then he downs the rest of his glass and stands, and all I can do is watch as he takes to the dance floor with the Aussie guy. He’s handsy, and I try to read anything in Jet’s expression that tells me he doesn’t like it, but his smile doesn’t appear fake, and his hands are all over the guy’s chest.
I keep drinking my beer and try not to act like a jealous asshole while they dance for two entire songs. At three and a half minutes a song, that’s seven minutes. Six minutes too long for my liking.
Word of Jet’s presence must’ve spread, because when the third song kicks in, the opening riff is one I’d recognize instantly.
It’s our song.
Not “He’s Mine,” the one that started my whole obsession with Jet, but “Hat Trick Heartbreak.” It’s the song he wrote about me, about us, and the last time we saw each other.
The lead singer of the band speaks into the mic. “We have the one and only Jay from Radioactive in the house!”
The small crowd on the dance floor cheers, but Jet’s gaze meets mine. Just like nearly every time we’ve locked eyes, he quickly averts his as if he was never looking in the first place.