“Hey, fucker. I thought you might have left.” Tyler strolled up, holding a drink in each hand. He had no intention of offering me one. He was just double-fisting.
“This is Bailey, Noelle, and Zara.” I gestured to each with my beer. “And this is Tyler, one of our goalies.”
“Nice to meet you.” Tyler flashed them a grin. He sidled over to Zara and Noelle, ushering them a couple of steps away and striking up a private conversation. He’d probably seen me talking to Bailey and done the math before coming over. He was a damn good wingman, but that wasn’t what I needed at the moment. I wasn’t sure what I needed, actually.
I returned my attention to Bailey, who was batting her lashes, waiting for me to speak. She was fucking gorgeous—in the way that told me she’d still be gorgeous the morning after.
Not that it mattered; I didn’t do sleepovers.
Hooking up with her after decimating their team tonight would add major insult to injury. Unless I was looking to pave the way for a full-on line brawl next time, I should run in the other direction and never look back.
But I’d never been good at doing what I was supposed to.
“Do you want to dance?” I asked.
“Let’s get a drink first.”
I glanced down at my fresh beer and her half-full drink, but I knew better than to argue. After the chilly reception I’d initially received, she’d warmed to me, and I didn’t want to ruin it.
Bailey grabbed me by the hand and turned, threading her way through the crowd as I trailed behind. We squeezed through a group of people clustered in front of the bar. She stood up on her tiptoes and leaned over the counter, looking for the bartender. Her miniskirt rode up, revealing her long legs, defined calves, and did I mention legs for days? I was a leg man, and hers were fucking phenomenal. They’d look incredible over my shoulders.
She was hot as hell.
Unfortunately, after seeing how unsteady she was walking over to the bar, I had a feeling she was drunk as hell too.
“So…” Bailey turned back to face me and stepped closer. Yup, her eyes were glassy. She traced a slender finger down my torso, coming to a halt above my jeans. “Does your offer still stand?”
I wished I could say yes. I really, really did.
“That depends,” I said, studying her. “How drunk are you?”
I had a few hard limits—like taking advantage of drunk girls. And I had a feeling she was well past the point of tipsy.
She made a face like I’d insulted her. “What, are you gonna breathalyze me?”
“Should I? You seem pretty wasted.”
“Maybe a little.” Bailey swayed on the spot, confirming my suspicions that she was significantly more intoxicated than she had been during our earlier encounter. Grabbing the edge of the bar, she braced herself, looking down at the surface. “Okay, maybe more than a little. That last shot is hitting me hard.”
“Do you want a glass of water?”
“No, I think I want to leave.” Her lips folded into a frown. “I’m getting tired.”
Pretty sure “tired” was code for the spins, but I wasn’t rude enough to call her out.
“Your friends look a little occupied.” I nodded in their direction, where Tyler and Zara were dirty dancing in the corner of the dance floor, accompanied by Noelle and our third-line center, Gabe. “Should I go break it up so they can leave with you?”
Bailey glanced over and paused, brow crinkling. “No…I don’t want to ruin their night.” She hiccupped. “I’ll get an Uber.”
In other words, she’d rather ruin my night than Zara and Noelle’s, because there was no way I’d let her leave by herself. I’d be surprised if she even made it home.
“You can’t leave here alone.”
“Sure I can,” she said, grabbing her purse off the bar. “Watch me.”
I shook my head. “I’ll come with you.”
“Because you want to get me into bed?” She gave me a coy smile and tripped over her own feet. I caught her elbow, steadying her.
“No, because I want to make sure you don’t die.”
She shrugged, tossing her long blond hair over her shoulder. “Eh, works for me.” She pulled out her phone and typed a quick text. A moment later, from over on the dance floor, Zara checked her phone and glanced up, looking in our direction.
Bailey waved at her friends, pointing to the exit and mouthing, “Bye.”
Noelle shot her a questioning look, gesturing as if to say “what gives?”
Bailey waved her off and gave her a thumbs-up, which seemed to pacify her.
“They’re okay with you leaving with me?” I asked.
“Oh, I told them who you are,” she said. “If anything happens to me, they’ll know who did it.”
Drunk logic for sure, but whatever worked.
OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER 6
OceanofPDF.com
NOT TONIGHT
Chase
Was Bailey always this clumsy, or was this a by-product of how much alcohol she’d consumed? Either way, I had to catch her three times before we managed to exit the club, one of which was a close call after some drunken idiot plowed into her.
We finally made it to the coat check, got our jackets, and burst out onto the street. The din of downtown traffic and cool evening air greeted us, a welcome reprieve from ear-splitting cheesy pop remixes and the scent of sweaty bodies inside. Bailey bit her bottom lip and lingered by the door, hesitating like she was suddenly having second thoughts about leaving with me. But letting her go back into the club in her state was far riskier; she’d be a sitting duck for any creep who came along.
“Let’s walk,” I said, nodding my chin. “The fresh air will be good for you. I can order a ride on the way.”
Ironically, this was the outcome I’d been angling for earlier—going home with her—only minus the fun I’d hoped to have after.
But now that I thought about it, the optics of this situation weren’t great. Taking Derek James’s sister home when she was drunk off her ass would look pretty incriminating, even if my intentions were good.
“Okay.” She trailed beside me until we reached the corner, and I hit the button for the pedestrian crossing signal. A cacophony of horns and sirens echoed in the distance while we waited. The Walk signal illuminated, and I took a step out into the street.
Bailey held up a hand. “Wait.” She closed her eyes and swallowed audibly. Still frozen to the spot, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly between pursed lips.
Please tell me she wasn’t going to puke.
I stepped back up onto the sidewalk. “How much did you drink, anyway?”
She opened her big hazel eyes. Her impossibly long lashes fluttered as she blinked, trying to focus on me. “I dunno.” She shrugged, furrowing her brow. “Two vodka sevens and two shots of tequila? No, three shots. One had something else. Malibu, maybe?”
“You don’t drink much, huh?” I asked.
“What makes you say that?”
“Just a hunch.”
“Not really,” she admitted. “I turned twenty-one yesterday.”
Which means Morrison dumped her on her birthday. No wonder she was so drunk. Nice touch, dickbag. Not that I was surprised.