Victor (Chicago Blaze 3)

Okay, that was mean. I’m never mean. But now that I’ve gotten to know Victor, I feel a little possessive of him. If he starts seeing someone, I probably won’t get to hang out with him anymore. But it’s not just that that’s bothering me.

Truth be told, my crush on Victor hasn’t faded even a little since we became friends. If anything, it’s gotten stronger. The more I know about him, the more I like him.

It’s a problem, because he doesn’t feel that way about me, but Ryan does. And while I had fun with Ryan last night, I didn’t feel a romantic spark.

I stop walking and offer meatballs to the people around me, chancing a glance at Victor. He’s actually looking in my direction, and when he sees me, he says something to the blond woman and walks over to me.

“Hey, you,” he says, smiling.

“Hi.” I thrust my tray toward him. “Meatball?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

God, he looks good in those hockey pants. The players are all wearing their white pants and team t-shirts. I shouldn’t look anywhere near the direction of his crotch to see if there’s a bulge. That would be weird. And potentially awkward.

But…

“Are you looking at my crotch?” Victor raises his brows, amused.

My face flames. “No. I mean, I was, but…I thought you had something on your pants.”

“You mean in my pants?”

“Oh my God, stop.” I shake my head. “Do you want a meatball or not?”

“Do you?” His tone is teasing.

I lower my voice. “I will dump these meatballs on your head right now. Stop. If you want someone to drool over you in your little pants, go back to over to Anorexic Barbie.”

Victor’s lips curve up in a smile. “You’re jealous.”

“No, I’m not. Not at all. We’re only friends. And now that I see what kind of women you like, I see that I’m way too smart and…definitely not tan enough for you.”

“Not tan enough?”

My tone is nearly a whisper now, but it’s a loud one. “Those women are orange.”

Victor whispers back. “But how do you know I like them?”

“You were looking at them like…oh, you’re really hot.”

I’m hopeless. I can’t even argue without being awkward.

“Anyway,” I say, clearing my throat as I speak out loud again, “if you don’t want a meatball, I need to move on. Lots of meatballs on my tray to serve.”

He grins and nods. “I see that. And as a matter of fact, I think I do want a meatball.” He eyes my tray. “I just need to decide which one.”

“I had a date last night,” I remind him. “I’ve got my hands full in that area. So full. I’m not jealous of your friends over there.”

“Yeah, how was the date, by the way? Did Ryan offer you his coat when you guys were outside?”

“He didn’t wear one; he just had on a flannel.”

“A flannel?” Victor laughs and rolls his eyes. “Jesus, this guy is worse than I thought.”

“You don’t even know him.”

He takes a meatball and I turn to leave.

“Hold on, I want more,” he says, chewing the one he just put in his mouth.

I narrow my eyes and hold my tray out to him.

“Are you going out with him again?” he asks as he scans the tray.

“Ryan? Oh, definitely.”

Victor’s gaze immediately shifts from the tray to my eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah, we had fun.”

He lowers his brows and silently turns his focus back to the tray.

“It’s not that I’m not happy for you,” he says.

“You don’t seem happy for me.”

“I am. I just want what’s best for you, Lindy.”

“What do you think that is?”

“Someone who gets you and really appreciates how great you are.”

I sigh softly. “I’m not sure anyone fits that description.”

“I do.”

My heart pounds as he meets my gaze. I open my mouth to speak, then close it, sure I’ll fumble this moment. But then, words come out anyway.

“But you…you don’t like me that way. You said you don’t like me that way.”

“I said I wasn’t trying to get in your pants.”

“But that’s…isn’t that the same thing?”

A middle-aged man I don’t know comes up and puts an arm around Victor. “Vic, can you come over for some photos with the pageant contestants?”

“I’ll be right there.”

He gives me an apologetic look. “Can we finish this later?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Are you free after the game?”

I shake my head. “I have to work late.”

He nods. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”

I nod back, and he starts walking over to where a photographer is positioning a couple of the pageant contestants.

“What’s going on with you guys?” Ari asks, suddenly beside me.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think your date made him realize he wants you for himself?”

I can’t help but scoff. “I don’t see how that’s even possible.”

But then, I don’t see how any of this is possible. A couple months ago, I would’ve said even a conversation with Victor Lane was impossible, and I recently ate chow mein and watched Nightmare on Elm Street with him on his couch.