She looks up at me and says, “I am?”
“Yeah, when you lie, you look away or chew on your lip.”
She glares at me, her eyes darkening. “So you think you know me, eh?”
“Not all of you, but some, and I know you think of it because I do every time I see you.”
Looking away, she shakes her head. “I don’t want a boyfriend, either.”
Confused, but a little intrigued as to why she said that, I ask, “And why is that?”
She moves her hands through her hair, and her eyes are glassy as she says very offhandedly, “Because I got my heart broken by this fucking douche back in Arkansas.”
Oh, I’m an asshole. She’s drunk and I need to stop talking, but this may be the only time I can get in. Find out even a little bit about her, show her she can trust me. “Oh yeah? How?”
Leaning on her hand, she looks up at me through heavy-lidded eyes. “He, Seth, fucking used me, Jeez, I’m drunk.”
“So am I,” I lie, but I’m only tipsy. “As you were saying?”
“Yeah, he used me, and get this, he forced me to have sex with him even though I didn’t want to. But I loved him, so maybe he really didn’t force me. Eh, I don’t know. I just didn’t want to have sex and he made me. So yeah, I don’t know. Ugh, I think I’m gonna be sick.”
As she hiccups, I can only stare at her. Whoa, what? “Did you kick his ass?”
She shakes her head. “No, I cried a lot but I think it’s ’cause he used me to use my dad to get into the league.”
“Who is he?”
“Seth Bracksom,” she says, leaning on the counter. She leans on her hand and looks up at me as I take a mental note to find this dickfuck and beat his ass once I’m in the league. Hell, I might even call Jude to take care of it for me. Reaching out, she takes my bicep and says, “Mandie says that I didn’t love him. That I’ve shown more emotion toward you than him. You evoke the anger in me.”
I laugh. “I’ve noticed.”
“But also, you do something else. I don’t know. It’s weird. I don’t hate you, you know? But you just get under my skin and make me feel. I don’t like that.”
“Sorry?” I say, and she starts to giggle, lying completely out on the counter. It might be time to walk her back to her dad’s. She obviously doesn’t drink much, but then again, this is how it’s supposed to be on your birthday.
“Eh, no worries,” she hiccups before covering her mouth. “I think I’m gonna throw up this time,” she says through her hand.
“Want me to take you to the bathroom? Hold your hair?”
She shakes her head, but then braces herself against the counter. Not looking at me, she says, “No, I might kiss you if you do.”
I grin. “Don’t worry, I’d tell you no. I don’t like throw-up breath.”
“Good to know,” she says and then she gags. “Be right back,” she says and walks off. Setting my beer down, I follow behind her and watch as she enters the bathroom, slamming the door shut. Leaning against the wall, I tuck my hands in my pockets as I replay our conversation.
Get her off the ice and in a chilled-out environment, and you have a different Baylor. It’s kind of crazy but nice. I don’t like what I’ve learned though. She has no luck. She already feels like no one wants her because her mom left her behind, and now she loses friends and is used by some dickfuck? It’s kind of shitty, and I can’t blame her for feeling the way she does. I think if she’d just trust me a bit though, let me in, I think she’d see that I’m insanely loyal.
But do I want her to let me in?
Do I want this?
I mean, I have my family to worry about. Do I really want to add her to that list?
When I heard her tossing her cookies, I grin.
Yeah. I do.
She’s already on the list and has been for a while.