It was a super weird thing that I started doing when I was in high school, and it’d been something I continued to do when I got stressed out to this day.
Usually, I managed to use milk to dunk my cookies in.
Dr. Pepper had been out of necessity one day, and I’d found out that it was almost ten times better than milk, and I had to force myself not to do it since I knew it was a fattening habit that I definitely didn’t need.
“Wow, you’re actually here?” Sinclair said snottily, bringing my attention away from my cookie dunking to the door where he stood looking at me with a curl of his lips.
“Yes, I’m here,” I said, dropping the cookie into the trashcan beside my desk so he wouldn’t see what I was doing in my drink. “Can I help you with something?”
It wouldn’t do to have someone know my secret shame.
Sinclair’s face pinched.
“Absolutely not,” he replied jovially. “Just surprised me to see you where you belong for once.”
I clenched my teeth.
“In that case, if you don’t mind, would you close my door on your way out?”
I gritted my teeth when his eyes lit with humor.
“I met someone yesterday, and we bonded over our mutual dislike of you.” He continued as if I hadn’t asked him to leave.
“Is that right?” I asked, leaning back in my desk chair, my Dixie cup full of Dr. Pepper in my hand. “And who might that be?”
His eyes lit with an inner light that set me on edge.
“We didn’t know that we hated the same person, you see. We were just discussing our reasoning for being in a bar at the same time,” he smiled. “It was funny, because we both said your name at the same time. It was like fate.”
“And why, might I ask, was my ex drinking at a bar?” I guessed that was who he was speaking of, seeing as I was pretty sure nobody actively hated me but him. “And what have I done to you to warrant you discussing me like that with a practical stranger?”
I honestly didn’t care why he was drinking, or why Langston was drinking for that matter.
In fact, it didn’t bother me one bit that I pissed people off. What did bother me, though, was that I hadn’t done anything to either one of them to be pissed off at me for in the first place.
I was genuinely a nice person.
It wasn’t often that I pissed anyone off, let alone these two men.
Add in the fact that I’d instantly drawn the ire of a man who obviously meant a lot to Hancock, and I wasn’t in a good place.
“Well, I went to management, again, and mentioned your obvious love affair with a player, and they didn’t do a damn thing about it. Again.”
“Again?” I tested the word, finding an instant dislike for it. “You’ve gone to them before over this?”
“It specifically says in the contract that you’re not to fraternize with fellow staff or players.”
My mouth tightened.
I’d read that part of my contract, of course, but at the time it hadn’t occurred to me that I’d fall in love with a player. Who knew Hancock Peters would even give me the time of day?
“Piss off the star player of the team,” came an amused voice. “And you lose him. He has thirty other teams in the league that would kill to have him, and he has the money to break his contract. Do you really think they’ll be stupid enough to listen to your useless quibbling instead of letting their star player have what he so obviously wants?”
Sinclair stiffened and turned, and that’s when I saw Hancock staring at Sinclair like he was about to murder him. His godfather, Leslie Corvallis, was standing beside him, staring at Sinclair like he was a bug that he was about to step on with his dirty, steel-toed boot.
I stood up, bringing my handful of cookies and my Dr. Pepper with me.
“Hancock! Mr. Corvallis! Hi!”
Hancock’s lips twitched, and he turned his angry gaze to me.
His eyes took in my disheveled, harried expression, the cup in my hand and the cookies clenched in the other, and then clenched his jaw once more.
“I suggest you leave and don’t come back for a while,” Hancock murmured quietly. “And if I ever find out that you’ve harassed Sway again, you’ll be gone. Understand?”
Sinclair left without another word, leaving me with two obviously pissed off men.
“What is his malfunction?” Hancock growled.
“The real question is why the hell is Langston complaining about me at a bar?” I questioned. “I haven’t done anything to him. In fact, he was the one to break up with me. I haven’t seen him since the day you were sick with strep and at my house.”
Hancock sighed.
“I can hire someone to find out why he’s acting the way he is,” Hancock shrugged.