Page 28 of Off the Mark
“I wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t hit on me instead of ordering,” I pointed out.
He dragged his thumb across his lower lip. “An honest-to-god rookie mistake. Only one I ever made.”
I tossed him a smirk. “Yeah, I haven’t missed this bravado.”
“Really? Because I’ve missed you.”
A smile burst across my face before I could suppress it. He tipped towards me, just a little. “Gotcha.”
“But we’re not playing the game,” I protested.
His eyes on mine were a distraction. “Aren’t we always playing some kind of game, Charlie?”
We were—thankfully—interrupted by the surly bartender, who poured two Yuenglings and slid them our way. I took a long, satisfying drink, feeling my shoulders relax. Then I peered over at Rowan. “How do you remember us playing that? It was years ago.”
He arched a single eyebrow. “How could I ever forget? Sometimes I’d think of the stupidest, most obvious jokes during the day, just to see if I could get you to break at night.”
“As if I ever broke,” I replied, chin high.
“Now that’s a bold statement for someone who just did.”
A strange glow settled in my chest. I lifted my gaze away from his and found the TV, which was set to ESPN, as any dimly-lit suburban bar TV should be. I couldn’t have pinpointed when Rowan and I had started it, playing the game where I attempted to maintain my slightly irritated disposition behind the bar while he lobbed cheesy, stupid jokes at me to get me to smile.
I would always fight it.
He’d only fight harder.
And if he failed in getting me to crack, I took a shot of whiskey purely out of spite. But if I lost? I’d give him one for free.
Sometimes we played during the last hour before closing. Sometimes whole weeks would go by—weeks where he was traveling for games or I was on the road, racing—and I’d catch myself missing his mischievous attention.
Other times, Rowan would be tossing out silly jokes to a pretty girl on the stool next to him while I poured drinks and tended bar, adding background noise to his casual seduction.
Because it was only ever that. A game to play with whoever was in his vicinity.
Rowan studied me over the top of his beer. “That wasn’t a joke earlier. I’ve missed you, Charlie.”
I nodded, fiddled nervously with my braid. “Yeah…yeah, I’ve missed you too.”
I turned on the stool, fully facing him now, and the reality of what I’d asked him to do—asked him tobe—rippled through me. It was always easier to ignore the raw power of Rowan’s attractiveness with physical objects blocking the way.
But not even an hour in and his hands had gripped my waist, his breath had caressed the back of my hand, his muscular thighs blocked me in. When Rowan popped into my head as the right man to pretend with, his natural charisma and our long friendship had been the deciding factors.
I hadn’t anticipated the way my body was going to hum with constant awareness ofhisbody.
He nudged my knee with his. “Talk to me about this miracle. Sounds like the bad girl of motocross needs a slight reputation adjustment?”
“Something like that,” I said, setting my beer down. “Before Bettencourt, when I was a privateer, I didn’t worry much about what the community thought about me because all I needed was to win. It didn’t matter if people believed I was like my dad because my reputation wasn’t directly tied to anyone else’s.”
I propped my chin in my hand. “I don’t mind thebad girlthing. Even a little bit of an edge helps me stand out in a sport getting crowded with big, branded personalities that attract huge fan bases. And, yeah, I’m not always the most pleasant to reporters. And I like to go out and have fun sometimes. Like, a handful of times a year. But every time I do, some rogue photographer catches me doing shots at a club, and it ends up all over the internet.” I indicated my bare, tattooed arms. “All the ink only makes it worse.”
Rowan’s eyes skated along my tattooed shoulders down to my tattooed wrists with a surprising affection. “Or all the ink only makes it better.”
My chest warmed again, so I swallowed another sip of cold beer. He did the same, gaze locked on mine while his throat worked.
“I saw a lot of this shit happen to guys on my team when I was playing baseball,” he said. “Once the media has this idea of who you are, they’ll sink their teeth into it and never let go.”
I nodded, twisting my glass back and forth. “Per Dempsey, I need to be on my best behavior at the next few events. With a boyfriend on my arm, preferably.”
