Page 99 of Faking the Goal

That's what has me fucking furious.

Not the money.

Not even the fact that he's trying to control me.

It's that he's willing to use her to do it.

By the time Cody texts later asking if I want to go out with him and the twins, I've spent hours trying to study film while replaying the same thoughts until I'm so pissed off I can't concentrate on anything.

Normally I wouldn't even consider it. We have a game tomorrow, and going clubbing the night before a game is about as useful to me as deliberately giving myself a hangover.

Tonight, I say yes.

I need a drink. I need noise. I need a few hours where I'm not staring at numbers in my bank account and wondering how long I can keep my father's hands out of Mom's treatment.

The club is packed when we get there, which is exactly what I want. Loud enough that conversation requires effort, crowded enough that there's always something else demanding my attention. We even spot a few players from the team we're facing tomorrow scattered around the place, including a couple of guys Cody recognizes from film.

We're being taken toward the VIP section when the twins and Cody slow near a crowd gathered around the bar.

"What the fuck is going on over there?" Liam asks.

Cody cranes his neck. "No idea."

Naturally, all three of them immediately head toward it.

I keep walking. Whatever drunk bullshit has attracted a crowd isn't interesting enough to fight my way through twenty people to see it.

Then the chanting gets louder.

"Taylor! Taylor! Taylor!"

I stop and look back.

For some reason, just hearing her name takes a little of the edge off the mood I've been carrying around all night.

Trouble's here.

I should probably keep walking.

Instead, I follow the guys.

By the time I reach them, Liam is laughing. "Holy shit."

"What?" I ask, moving closer.

Then I see her.

Taylor is bent backward over the edge of the bar, her upper back braced against the counter and her head tipped all the way back, red hair spilling down behind her. Lined up beside her are rows of shot glasses filled with two different liquors, one clear and the other a bright red that catches under the club lights.

The bartender grabs one of each and holds them over her open mouth before tipping both at the same time.

Taylor swallows them together, and before she's even finished, he's already reaching for the next two.

The crowd starts chanting louder.

"TAY-LOR! TAY-LOR! TAY-LOR!"

Another pair goes down. Then another. He just keeps fucking feeding them to her two at a time while she stays bent over the bar, swallowing every pour like this is somehow a perfectly normal way for her to spend a Thursday night.