Page 101 of Faking the Goal

It's Xavier Manning.

The goalie on tomorrow's opposing team.

He and Taylor are cozied up at the bar like this isn't the first time they've been around each other. Xavier's hand brushes along her bare arm, and instead of moving away, she looks up at him through her lashes with a slow, teasing smile. Then she hooks a finger beneath his chin and tips his face up as she says something that makes him laugh.

My knuckles are starting to ache from how hard I'm gripping my whiskey, my jaw has been clenched so long my molars might be ground into powder by morning, and every time Xavier touches her, this hot, aggressive restlessness crawls farther beneath my skin until sitting here doing nothing starts feeling physically fucking impossible.

I don't remember deciding to get up.

One second I'm watching them from across the club, and the next I'm making my way toward the bar with absolutely no fucking idea what I intend to do when I get there.

By the time I reach them, I've managed to come up with one.

Whiskey.

Perfectly normal reason to be at a bar.

I take the empty spot a few feet from Taylor and signal the bartender. She doesn't notice me, too busy talking to Manning, and I don't exactly announce myself.

I'm just getting another drink.

That's all.

The fact that I'm close enough to hear them now is purely fucking coincidental.

"So you're really gonna make me leave Florida without giving me a proper welcome?" Xavier asks.

Taylor laughs. "You've been here, what, six hours?"

"Exactly. Terrible hospitality." He leans closer to her. "Come back to my hotel later. We could pick up where we left off last time."

Manning presses the side of his cold glass against Taylor's bare thigh, and she jerks at the sudden chill with a gasp before dissolving into a giggle. She swats halfheartedly at his wrist, but he only grins and leans closer.

"I seem to remember we were pretty damn good at keeping each other entertained."

Say no.

The words start repeating in my head before I can stop them.

Say no.

Taylor looks up at him through her lashes, still smiling as she takes the glass from his hand and helps herself to a sip.

"Hmm. You do make a pretty convincing argument."

My teeth grind together.

"So come with me."

She gives his glass back, dragging this out like she has no idea she's currently shaving years off my fucking life. "I'll think about it."

I'll think about it?

What the fuck kind of answer is that?

Not yes.

But sure as fuck not no either.