Power Play (Nashville Assassins Next Generation 2)

“That’s true. I bought a house for me and the ex, and she left. So now it’s Wes’s and my bachelor pad.”

“That sounds awesome.”

I shrug as I glance over at her. “I guess. It’s hard living in a house you bought for someone else.”

She makes a face. “I didn’t think of it that way.”

I nod. “Sucks.”

“Yeah, but at least you can eat carbs.”

I point my beer to her. “This is true.” I shrug. “I have an extra room if you want it.”

What in the ever-loving fuck did I just say?

Pretty girls make you stupid.

She widens her eyes. “I don’t feel that’s appropriate, and I’m pretty sure my dad would come after you, even if it was innocent.”

I chuckle. But one thing is for sure, it wouldn’t be innocent. Not even in the slightest. If she’s in my house, she’s under me. Or on top of me. One of the two, or both—shit, she’s gorgeous.

“You sure? We have carbs at my house.”

She snorts. “Believe me, I can be lured. But it’s highly inappropriate, Hoenes.”

Her eyes meet mine, and the fire in them has me not giving two fucks about being appropriate. “Is it?”

She licks her lips. “I think it might be.”

Oh fuck, I’m gonna kiss her. But before I can, she looks away. She reaches for a helping of nachos before finishing her beer. I’m tempted to grab her by her jaw and direct her attention back to me, but I hesitate. Is she blowing me off? I feel something. I think she feels it too, but I’m unsure.

Fuck, there is only one way to find out.

“We should get out of here.”

Okay, we’re going that route. Ballsy, Hoenes.

She looks over at me, her brow perked, but then she glances at her phone. “Oh. Oh yeah, I guess you’re right. It is late, and I have a meeting before morning skate.” She gets up quickly, almost falling over herself before throwing a twenty on the bar. Before I can do the same, she gives me a look. “You aren’t drunk, are you? You can drive?”

“Yeah, I can.” Sorry, Wes. Your spot is taken.

“Great. I just want to make sure you get home okay.”

Wait. “Huh—”

“So, yeah. I guess I’ll see you in the morning. Thanks for this. It was fun.”

And then she walks off.

Doesn’t even look back at me.

I blink once and then twice before I drop my head to the bar.

She blew me off. Again. Maybe it is time to take a hint.

Or completely ignore it once more and try again.

Am I pathetic?

Chapter Ten

Boon

I can’t keep from tossing and turning.

I drank more vodka. Nothing.

I masturbated. Nothing

I drank a little more, and still, I can’t sleep.

Nothing I do can keep me from thinking of her. A normal person would take the rejection and move on, but apparently I can’t. I don’t do failure well. I can’t stop thinking that maybe I wasn’t forward enough. Maybe I should have just kissed her. Maybe I should have just told her I wanted to take her to my place, feed her carbs, and fuck her brains out. I feel like she would have taken me up on my offer.

But maybe I’m delusional. Maybe now I’m romanticizing the situation. She told me twice it was inappropriate, but I wouldn’t listen. I’m making this more than it is, and now I’m lying here alone, feeling stupid and hating life.

I glance at the clock, and it’s close to two. I have to get up in five hours and go to the rink for morning skate. I don’t even know how I am supposed to face her and not show that I’m hurt by her rejection. If it is rejection. Jesus, I’m still romanticizing this, and it’s obvious there is nothing to romanticize. I’m pathetic. This is why I didn’t want to get involved with anyone or have a crush. This is why I don’t do relationships anymore. But apparently the universe isn’t listening to me because I can’t stop thinking of her.

I reach for my phone and click on my Instagram. I search for her and notice she follows me. I had no idea. I click on her profile and begin the social media stalking. I’m not proud. I scroll through her account, looking at every picture. It goes all the way back to when she was sixteen. The reason I know this is because she’s holding balloons of the numbers one and six. When I scroll back up, I see she has added to her stories. I see a picture of her lunch and then the nachos at the bar. When I hit the screen to click forward and a picture pops up of her in bed, I go hard everywhere. She’s wearing only a tank, her breasts high in the frame from how she is lying down. Her hair is all in her face and spread on the pillow. She looks distraught, unhappy, her lips pouting.