OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER 4
OceanofPDF.com
AIR TRAFFIC CONTROLLER
Bailey
An hour later, I was crammed into a borrowed miniskirt and standing in a nightclub. That I was wearing heels and makeup for the second night in a row illustrated just how drastically my life had gone off the rails.
“Oh my god. That’s disgusting.” I slammed the empty shot glass on the bar, shuddering. The acrid alcohol lingered on my tongue and burned as it traveled down my throat.
Noelle laughed, handing me my drink. “It’s just tequila, B.”
“It’s awful, is what it is.” I frantically sipped my raspberry vodka seltzer, trying to wash away the horrid aftertaste.
“Sorry,” Zara said, tucking a lock of auburn hair behind her ear. “I forgot you’re not a big drinker. Next round, we’ll make it something easier, like blue balls.”
“Blue balls?” I recoiled. “That sounds even worse.”
“Nah. It’s Malibu and a few other things. But it’s delicious. Doesn’t even taste like alcohol.”
“If you say so.”
Loud bass reverberated through my body, and I swayed on the spot to the DJ’s remix. They had dragged me to a new club called XS on the other side of town. Because it was technically considered Falcons’ territory, it was the kind of place I would usually avoid—which made it the perfect place to drown my sorrows. There was no way Luke would be here. None of the team would be. And tonight, the anonymity felt like freedom.
As the alcohol kicked in, warming my veins, thoughts of tonight’s game and yesterday’s devastation faded into the background. Maybe drinking did make my current situation more tolerable.
Zara propped herself up on the bar, resting her elbows on the top and surveying the crowd methodically. “I think you need a rebound, Bails.” She raised her brows, watching me as she sipped her rum and coke through a yellow straw. “You know what they say: the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”
I adjusted my black skirt, which rode up every two seconds. It belonged to Noelle and was about three inches too short for my liking. “Zara, it just happened.”
“Exactly.” Noelle nodded emphatically, her aquamarine eyes serious. “Beat him to the punch.”
My stomach lurched at her unintentional implication that Luke would also be moving on with someone else in the near future. Maybe I did need that blue balls shot after all.
“No way. With the way my luck is going, I’d end up going home with a serial killer.”
“Maybe Luke is the cause of your bad luck.” Zara shrugged. “When was the last time you two did it, anyway?”
It had been longer than I cared to admit. He’d been busy with training and classes, and I’d been juggling a heavy course load. I’d told myself it was a slump, but the truth was, sex had become more of a chore than anything.
Thinking back, I couldn’t remember the last time we’d actually done it. Maybe after the party at Paul’s parents’ lake house in August? That was over a month ago, but that was normal, wasn’t it? Couples had ups and downs. Even if some of the downs lasted a while.
“I don’t know,” I lied. Heat filled my cheeks. “Awhile.”
“Exactly. And it’s probably bad juju for Luke to have been the only”—she gestured vaguely to my pelvic area, biting her magenta bottom lip—“passenger.”
In spite of myself, and likely because of the tequila, I laughed. “My vagina is not an airport terminal, Zar.”
“What’s this, now?” a deep voice cut in from behind me.
I turned and jumped, startled to find Chase Carter’s imposing figure leaning against the bar behind me, amusement stamped on his gorgeous face.
Agitator for the Falcons, leading the league in penalties drawn last season, and the second-to-last person I wanted to see.
Clearly, he heard the whole thing, right down to my vagina comment. It had been a shit-tastic week, so I wasn’t even surprised. Maybe I would get hit by lightning next.
“Speaking of rebounds,” Zara muttered under her breath. “Hello.”
I ignored her and shot Chase a withering glare. “Don’t worry about it.”
He raised his brows, widening his dark eyes in mock innocence. “But I’m dying to hear more about takeoff and landing.”
Noelle giggled and Zara snort-choked on her mouthful of rum and coke, coughing uncontrollably.
“Oh my god.” I rolled my eyes, turning back to face my friends.
“Sorry,” Zara gasped, pounding her chest with her fist.
“How are the runway conditions tonight?” Chase pressed.
I scanned the bar area for potential weapons, coming up woefully short. “Do you think it would be considered first-or second-degree murder if I kill you with a cocktail stirrer? One could argue it was spur of the moment if I used a weapon of convenience. But I have thought about it for a long time.”
Chase took a step closer, the corners of his full lips tipping up into a smirk. “And why would that be? We don’t even know each other. Or do we?” He tilted his head, studying my face. “You do look kind of familiar. Have we…？”
“No.” I made a face. From what I’d heard, it was no surprise he couldn’t keep track of his conquests. “God, no. I meant because everyone from Callingwood hates you.”
“Is that so?” The facade cracked, and he broke out into a full, smug grin, not even trying to hide his enjoyment.
My level of annoyance was reaching an all-time high. This guy was six feet and three inches—so the sports news community reported—of solid muscle, but the biggest one was his ego.
He was such a shit-stirrer.
Zara, now recovered, watched us but didn’t intervene. Noelle’s eyes bounced back and forth like she was witnessing a heated tennis match. Neither of them knew who Chase was and, lacking the proper context, had probably fallen under the spell of his good looks.
Rumor had it most women did.
Actually, the word on the street was that women fell under the spell of more than just his looks. Namely, his mythical, magical penis. According to legend, he seduced a beautiful adjunct professor in his freshman year, and she was so distraught when he ended things that she transferred to a college on the West Coast. Then he slept his way through the BU spirit squad and half of the women’s hockey team before working his way over to the rest of the campus co-eds and a handful from my school as well.
Because while I may have hated him, not everyone at Callingwood was as loyal to our sports teams.
And despite Chase’s personality, which evidently left much to be desired, I’d been told they all came back wanting a repeat performance because—allegedly—he was that good.
Not to mention nice to look at.
The bartender appeared, and Chase rested his forearms on the bar and ordered another drink. I shifted back to face Zara and Noelle, eager to escape. “Why don’t we go dance?”
“Sure.” Zara bopped along to the music. “I love this song.”
Thank god. I grabbed her by the hand, intent on dragging her away, Noelle trailing behind.
“Hold on.” Zara came to a sudden halt and set her drink on the bar. She fumbled in her purse, emerging with her phone. Her face scrunched as she studied the lit-up screen. “My mom is FaceTiming me. I’ve gotta take this. Watch my drink for me, will you? I’ll be right back.” She gave my arm a squeeze and darted off to the bathroom.