Power Play (Nashville Assassins Next Generation 2)

And then there were two. I look at Wes, and he shakes his head. “You’re so sensitive.”

“I have nothing to be sensitive about.”

“Exactly. So why are you worried if she likes you or not?”

Shit. He’s got me there. “I’m not. I don’t care.”

“Sure, you don’t,” he laughs before finishing off his beer. “Hell, if you’re wondering, go ask her. She’s just sitting there all by herself. I heard she’s very single. Maybe ready to mingle?” he asks with another damn waggle of his brows. “I’m leaving.”

“Where’re you going?” I ask, trying to stall him.

“A date. Remember those? They go well, you make it to bed with a sweet woman, and life is fanfuckingtastic? Maybe try it.” He then cocks his head toward Posey. “Maybe with her. I think she might like you.”

“For real? Why do you think that?”

He grins as he gets up, throwing money on the table. “I don’t. I just wanted to see how you’d react. I got my answer.”

Son of a bitch. I want to throw a breadstick at him, but he’s allergic to gluten and I’d rather not kill him tonight. I already feel bad he has to drink fake beer. It’s basically piss water. I move my fingertips along my real beer. I still have half of my drink and half a plate of food left to eat. I lick my lips and glance over to where Posey is sitting. She has a glass of wine in her hand as she leans back in the chair, swinging her leg. She looks so classic. Like she belongs in a twenties bar with all kinds of men begging her to swing dance with them. Hell, I’d probably be one of them.

If you’re wondering, go ask her.

Should I? I watch her for another second and notice that her cheeks are filling with color. It must be from the wine. I’m insane to think anything other than professional thoughts about her, but it’s hard. Before I know it, I have my beer and my plate in my hands and am walking over to the bar where she is. When I’m almost to her, she looks over at me, her brows rising as I stop beside her. “You waiting on someone?”

She looks around. “Me?”

“Yeah, who else? There is literally no one here but you.”

She looks over to the table where I was sitting. “Where did everyone go?”

“Home, but I still have food left.” I get tired of waiting for her to answer me, so I set down my food and beer and sit down. “I’m gonna sit with you.”

She scrunches up her face. “Why?”

“Because I’m pretty sure you don’t like me, and I want to know why.”

Wow. Guess we’re not beating around the bush, huh, Boon?

No reaction. She’s stone-faced as she eyes me slowly. She brings her glass to her lips and says, “I like you just fine. You’re a great player, very talented, and a good team member.”

So generic. “I mean as a person.”

Her brows come in. “As a person?”

“Yeah, I think you don’t like me. Did I offend you?”

“No…” she says slowly before dropping her wrist against her knee so that her glass hangs in her fingers. I find her position extremely sexy. “I don’t feel one way or another about you. You’re a player on our team. Who you are doesn’t affect me.”

“Wow, that’s really rude.”

“Or indifferent. That’s what I was going for, at least.”

“Came off rude.”

She smiles. “If I say it with a smile, does it come off indifferent?”

“No, but at least it doesn’t sting as bad.”

She seems taken aback, but she doesn’t apologize. “So, you want me to feel a certain way about you?”

Well, shit. “No,” I say quickly. “It’s not that at all. I just want to know why you pound me for a purposeful pass but then don’t give me the credit when I do exactly what you wanted.”

“When?” she asks, and she actually looks confused.

“Tonight!”

She chuckles lightly. “You mean that sloppy pass that ended in a sloppy goal? That was not full of purpose. That was full of luck.”

I am utterly speechless. I just blink as I stare into her blue depths. They aren’t as light as they were earlier, more of a darker color now. It’s as if she is giving me a smoldering look. Surely not, though, since she feels not one way or another about me. “I worked my ass off for that pass.”

She nods. “Absolutely, you did. But it wasn’t purposeful. You got lucky, which is why I didn’t compliment you on it. Mac made a goal out of shit, so he was praised.”

If she didn’t come across as genuine, I would just assume she’s a bitch. But for some reason, she feels she’s right.

She’s not.

“I felt all the purpose.”

She grins. “Well, I didn’t. You’ll get there.”

I just keep blinking. Before I can stop myself, I ask, “Why didn’t you congratulate my goal? You did Brooks and Mac.”