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I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Ezra and Maison are already pointing and grinning. Probably scheming on which one of them is going to hit on her first. I’ll sit back and watch this one play out. I don’t have the energy for drama, and I don’t chase girls.

Maison waves her over. Both Ezra and Maison can’t rip their eyes from her. I know who my money’s on. Maison keeps jerking his chin till she narrows her eyes as if realizing it’s her he’s calling. She walks toward us and stands in front of the couch, cutting her gaze over to me, then back to them, parting her lips slightly.

Yeah, sweetheart—there are two of us.

Maison smiles at her while I stare, trying to figure out where I know her from.

“What’s your name, sexy?” Ezra cuts in like a scumbag.

She darts her eyes to him, then back to Maison. “Olivia.”

Sexy voice, Olivia.

Maison leans back. “Olivia. Pretty name.”

She twirls a lock of her hair and smiles. And he’s got her—hook, line, and sinker. He nudges Ezra over. “Sit down, Olivia. Don’t stand by yourself in the dark corner. You’re too pretty to stand there alone. I’ll protect you from all the fuckers at this party who are staring at you.” He elbows Ezra.

“What the fuck, man,” Ezra grits out at and moves away from Maison. “This is my fucking house. I’ll stare at who I want.”

That’s part of Ezra’s problem—he’s too fucking eager.

Maison is as well, but girls flock to him, anyway. It’s like he puts out some sort of pheromone like a dog in heat. He gives them a playful smile, and they feel all safe with him. A short time later, their tongues are usually down his throat.

That’s something I don’t do. I haven’t smiled a day in my life. Girls seem to like me for a completely different reason.

She lifts her eyebrows and darts her gaze to me again, adjusting her purse on her shoulder. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she says. “I’m not supposed to be here; my friends would be furious. You’re part of the rival team.”

That’s it.

She’s the girlfriend of the fucker I punched out at today’s game. The hot blonde I always see in the stands when we play Douglas Cove.

Number eleven—their team captain—last name, Fitzgerald.

I don’t remember seeing her at the game tonight. So, why is she here at a New Ocean celebration party? I can’t help myself. “So, where’s your boyfriend, Olivia?” I lounge back with my hands around my head lazily. I keep my voice neutral.

She whips her head toward me, and her green eyes flash. “I don’t have a boyfriend. We broke up. I’m here because my friend was invited, and I didn’t want her to come here alone.”

Since her friend is not around, I can only assume she’s upstairs somewhere—invited by someone.

I cock my brow. “So nice of you.” She’s here for a reason. Girls from Douglas Cove don’t just show up to our parties.

Maison shoots me a back the fuck off look. “Don’t listen to him,” he says. “I want you here.”

Maison’s always the nice guy.

He leans forward and grabs her a beer from a stockpile he has at his feet. “Sit down, baby, have a drink with me and celebrate with the winning team.”

She smiles and sits down next to him, her tension immediately easing. She crosses her legs and runs her hands down her long, wavy, blonde hair, tucking it behind her heart-shaped face.

Fuck, she’s gorgeous.

Maison does his lip biting thing and puts his arm around her as she sits and leans a bit into him. “Were you at the game tonight?” he asks.

She smiles and nods. “I was actually. My friend and I drove in for it.”

She must have been hiding. I don’t remember her there. She’s always wearing number eleven and is in the front row. Maybe she and Fitzgerald really broke up.

“Did you see my goal?” he asks, rubbing his hand on her thigh.