Page 40 of Scoring Lessons

While the rest of the team was on the floor dancing, I sat in the VIP section with Owens.

He checked the time on his phone then rested his head against the back of the booth with a heavy sigh.

“What time are you leaving?” I was already planning my escape, but I needed the grumpy goalie to give me the window to do so.

“I was supposed to leave an hour ago,” he grumbled as his eyes remained glued to the dance floor. I followed his line of sight and found Valentina García—his childhood best friend and Senior Marketing Specialist for the Strikers—was dancing with Olivia.

Even under the dim wash of neon lights, I could easily track the slow sway of Olivia’s hips. The hem of her dress caught the light each time she turned, and I felt the rhythm land somewhere low in my stomach, thrumming slowly and dangerously.

Every so often, a guy would try to approach her and dance with her, but she was oblivious to it all. Like she didn’t care who noticed.

That might’ve been the worst part of it all. Because that was all I could do. No matter how many times I dragged my eyes away, they kept finding her again.

“Does he know?” I barely heard the question Owens threw my way over the music.

I didn’t stop looking at Olivia as I shouted, “What?”

“Does Anderson know you have a crush on his sister?”

My head snapped toward him so fast my neck protested. “I’m sorry,” I said, leaning closer like the bass was the problem, “I must have misheard you. The music’s loud as hell.”

“You heard me,” Owens replied flatly.

I let out a laugh that sounded nothing like me. My pulse thudded hard against my throat, but I forced my shoulders to relax and my face into something neutral. I took a deep inhale, hoping the sudden surge of air would make my lungs stop burning. “Are you drunk? Because you sound insane, Nicolas.”

He arched a skeptical brow. “Not once in your life have you called me by my first name, and you think I’m the one who sounds insane?” He shook his head, the disapproval clear all over his face. “What do you think you’re doing, Hayes?”

My heart didn’t calm down, but the beats turned quieter, like it was trying not to get caught in my overgrowing web of lies.

“Sitting in the VIP section of a stuffy nightclub⁠—”

“Cut the bullshit. I have very little patience for it right now.” He dared to glare at me like I was the problem. Truth was, he had very little patience for, well, anything. He wasn’t one to sugarcoat things. But he also didn’t care about anyone (except for his best friend).

I thinned my lips.

The fact that Owens, out of all people, dared to say something that preposterous out loud was shocking, to say the least. He was the guy who never meddled in anyone’s business.

“Says the man who’s helping his best friend plan a wedding while actively hating the fiancé of said friend.” He had no leg to stand on when he was actively participating in the most ridiculous thing I’d ever fucking heard. It was no secret Owens wasn’t a fan of Valentina’s soon-to-be husband.

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I was curious to know how their dynamic was going to change once she got married.

“As long as he makes her happy, that’s all I care about,” he forced the words out with as much emotion as I expected from a man like him. He was difficult to read, but there was no mistaking the way his jaw ticked or the way his eyes flashed with a flicker of some sort of emotion I couldn’t pinpoint. “Besides, we’re not talking about me.”

“Since when do you like meddling in people’s business?”

“I’m only trying to save your life here. Anderson will kill you.” He pushed a finger against my chest. “Whatever you’re doing, knock it off.”

I raised my hands in defeat. “I’m not doing anything!”

He scoffed. “Yet.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, asshole.”

I needed to get out of his sight as soon as possible before I said something stupid out loud, but when I tried to stand, he stopped me.

“Hayes, just please”—his eyes settled on the girls for a moment then on me—“be careful. You’re in a vulnerable space right now. You both are.”

I raked my fingers through my hair with a sigh. Fuck. I’d been so inside my head with work—with life in general—even my friends were noticing how beaten up I was. Every crack I’d tried to mend over the years was becoming a bigger problem. The worst part? I had no idea how to fix it.