Page 93 of Playing to Win
“It was in that moment,” Gwen says, and I can tell Derek is eating this up.
They talk about his play, while Ace and I sit there silently, sharing secret smiles, his hand still on my leg, his thumb still gently pressing against the throbbing spot between my thighs. A reminder that he wants me. That he’s into me, and all I can do is sit there and silently marvel over that little fact.
Am I a fool for wanting to pursue this with Ace? Maybe. I definitely am if we get careless and I put my job at risk.
The server returns with huge drinks full of red slushy liquid that she sets down in front of me and Gwen. I stare at the drink for a second before I look up at the server. “What is this?”
“It’s a Frosé. It’s a rosé slushy with extra alcohol. Limit two because it’ll get you drunk quick,” the server explains.
Gwen’s eyes go wide and she turns to me. “I drove here.”
We came to Logan’s in separate cars because I figured we might want to leave at separate times. Subconsciously, I wanted to leave with Ace because when it comes to that man, I’m a total ho for him.
“That’s what Ubers are for,” Derek says to Gwen. “You can leave your car downtown. It’ll be no big deal.”
“I don’t know…”
“Just drink it, Gwennie,” Derek encourages once the server has left us. “Come on.”
I pull my drink toward me and take a sip from the straw, wincing a little. Damn, that’s strong.
“How is it?” Gwen asks warily.
“Delicious,” I immediately say.
“Uh huh.” She studies the drink like it might strike out and bite her. “I don’t know.”
“Drink, Gwen,” Derek commands, just before he starts chanting.
Gwen-nie! Gwen-nie! Gwen-nie!
The other guys join in and start chanting. Even Ace and I join in and soon the entire back half of the bar is screaming her name and she’s turning about a thousand shades of red. I can tell she’s an equal mixture of mortified and a little bit thrilled, and finally, she pulls the drink toward her and takes a long sip from her straw.
And immediately starts coughing.
I rub her back. Ace pushes a glass of water across the table toward her and she grabs it, taking a long drink before she finally says, “I don’t really drink alcohol much.”
“What a way to kick off the night then,” I tease her. “Take it easy on that straw. Sip it slowly.”
“Will do.” She nods, glancing about the room before she turns to me, leaning in close to murmur, “Do you think Eric will show up?”
I back away from her, my face showing my surprise, even though, deep down, I’m not surprised by her question whatsoever. “I don’t know. Did you tell him to come by?”
“I did.” She nods, misery flickering in her eyes for the briefest moment before it’s gone. “I hope he does.”
“Are you into him, Gwyneth?” I keep my voice light and teasing because I don’t want to pressure her or freak her out.
“He’s an idiot,” she spits out.
“Most men are.”
“Oblivious.”
“They’re that too,” I agree.
“And he always thinks he’s right. Like he knows better than I do.” She shakes her head, reaching for her Frosé and taking a steady sip from the straw. “Just because he’s a man doesn’t mean he’s a total authority of football.”
“Agreed. You’ve come up with some pretty great ideas,” I tell her.
