She swallows audibly. “Stay with me, please.”
I grin. “Always.”
The crowd is thick in here. The lights are low and the music is loud. Unless someone is right in front of you, it’s hard to tell who anyone is. I don’t like that.
Bree has my hand in a death grip and keeps shooting me looks that say, I don’t belong here!
I squeeze her hand. Yes you do.
“Do you want a drink?” I have to lean down and ask in her ear so she can hear. It feels more like a club in here than a home. I’m going to kill Derek.
She frantically nods yes, and her hair tickles my lips. I maneuver us into the kitchen where we find Derek and Jamal along with the largest selection of liquor I’ve ever seen. Enough to get our whole damn team in trouble.
Jamal spots me first—whisky in hand, mid-pour into his red cup. He promptly sets it down and takes one extra-large step backward then points an accusing finger at Derek. “Told him not to.”
I swing my gaze to Derek, who is shooting a look at Jamal. “I thought you said it would be low-key.”
Derek flashes a mischievous grin and stretches his arms out side to side. “I tried, but the people overpowered me.”
Jamal laughs. “Nope. He’s lying. I saw the guest list, and he definitely invited all these people on purpose.”
I scan the party and am able to make out several of the single guys from our team. All drinking, all encircled by women I don’t recognize. Sure, they’re not really doing anything wrong yet, but the night is still young, and we have practice in the morning. My blood pressure hits the ceiling. Why are they all acting like this? Does no one else care that we’re in the playoffs? What if one of our starters gets drunk and ends up in a fight? What if the cops get called? What if that leads to a suspension? I was okay with Derek throwing a small, chill party, but this feels negligent. Downright reckless.
“We have practice in the morning, Derek. If you overserve everyone—”
“Nathan.” Bree interrupts me with a light hand to my chest. My brain registers this touch like a trigger sensor on the game Operation. My skin buzzes where her hand is resting, and I’m afraid my nose is going to light up red. I look down, and her soft smile immediately wraps around my racing heart and soothes it. “Let’s just relax for a little bit. Don’t worry about the guys. They can make their own choices and deal with their own consequences if they get into trouble. Tonight, just let yourself have fun.”
Wait, is that an option? For four years, I’ve been the level-headed guy. The one who makes sure everyone is doing exactly what they should be. I’ll admit, it’s tiring.
Bree pats my chest lightly. “Let’s grab a drink and then maybe you could show me around?”
I stare down at her wondering how in the hell she just did that. I could feel that tightness starting to grip my chest, that smothering sensation settling down on me again. An out-of-control panic was tiptoeing up to me, then one touch and a few soft words from her pulled me back to my body. I feel safe with her. My thoughts feel quieter.
Jamal hands her the drink he just made and mouths Thank you like she just saved him from a fire-breathing dragon. Derek runs away like a coward. Yeah, you better run, fool. I spot a guy over Bree’s shoulder looking her up and down and backing up again in a way I don’t like one bit. His eyes say disgusting things, and it’s natural instinct for me to bottle up my rage and clench my fist at my side, unable to do anything about it because I’m just Bree’s friend. But then I realize—we’re in public! For all intents and purposes, Bree is my girlfriend right now, and all bets are off.
I slip my hand around her waist and feel the crease of her hip against my palm. I make eye contact with the guy and make sure he knows this possessive touch is a middle finger to his face. Not tonight, buddy. Eyes off. Habit has me waiting for Bree to shoot a glare up at me for touching her like this. When I see her eyelashes lower, registering the touch, and then she cozies in closer instead of pulling away, my pulse doubles.