“Let’s see it then.”
With one last dramatic, drawn-out sigh, I slide out of the booth and walk over to the guy by the bar.
He doesn’t seem to notice as I walk up, his gaze zeroed in on the hockey game as he sips a dark amber beer from a glass.
“Uh, hi!” I say a little too loudly, causing him to jump. He looks over at me, dragging his eyes down my body in a slow, pervy way that’s not at all gentlemanly. Completely unattractive behavior.
Great, add that to the list of things I’m already checking off about him.
“Hi,” he finally says when he’s done eyeballing me. “What’s up?”
I smile before pulling my lip between my teeth. “Not much, just you know, enjoying a night out.” I laugh, but it sounds a bit manic, so I clear my throat and spit out the first thing I can think of. “Are you a big hockey fan?”
He nods, smirking. “Yeah, what gave it away?” When he gestures down at the hockey jersey he’s wearing, I laugh again and shrug.
“Mmm, yeah, that was it. I’m not much of a hockey fan, but I really love Jean Béliveau. He was such an incredible player. Did you know he won the most Stanley Cups in history? Like, wow, what a fucking flex, you know? Not many other players can say that an—” Abruptly, I shut up when I realize that I’m once again rambling about sports and the guy standing next to me is looking at me as if I’ve grown two heads. “Sorry, I uh… really love sports.”
“Yeah, I can see that. That’s pretty rare. Most women don’t understand sports even if I give them a play by play,” he says, bringing the beer to his lips and taking a sip. The white foam coats the top of his lip, and he reaches up and wipes it away with the back of his hand.
Okay, gross. Ick.
All-around no. Absolutely the hell not.
I steal a glance at the table where Cillian’s sitting and see him watching us. He lifts a brow when he sees me staring, so I give him an eye roll and then turn my attention back to the hockey bro.
Who is becoming increasingly more unattractive by the second.
There is literally nothing, and I mean nothing, I hate more than a man who thinks that women don’t have a place in sports. That our brains are just too small to comprehend what’s happening when in actuality, they’re the ones with small brains. And little dicks. So jokes on them.
“You know who I love? Matthew Everett. He’s been such an advocate for women’s sports, and I really admire how much he believes in women. You know, we rule the world.” I laugh, batting my eyelashes at hockey bro. He blinks, the sarcasm going right over his head.
“That dude’s the worst player in the NHL. Straight trash. You’re telling me that’s your favorite player?” God, this guy is a prick. And he has broccoli in his teeth, and you know what? I’m not saying shit.
I scoff. “False. He had one of the best assists of the entire season last year, or did you miss that?”
“Yeah, when he wasn’t suspended. Sure, he had a good play.One. Of the entire season an—” He keeps rambling, but I’ve tuned him out because I can’t do this.
Not even to prove a point. Gross.
I turn and walk away mid-conversation, making a beeline back to Cillian, who’s staring at me with an unreadable expression on his face.
“It’s a no,” I say as I slide back into the booth, trying to erase the fact that I just spent the last fifteen minutes arguing with a guy who has the mental capacity of a toddler.
“Were you… arguing?”
My smile is dripping with sweetness as I say, “Of course not. We were just having a creative discussion. That guy is going to make some woman very happy one day but she’s not me. He’s not my type.” When I’m done, he stays silent, his jaw working.
“Guess that means you’ve got to keep trying then,” he finally says with a shrug, eyes flaring with something. Something that I wish I could read in the dim light of this bar. “The St. James I know isn’t a quitter.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes and instead give him another bright, blinding smile. “Yeah, you’re right. ButIthink this time I should be the one to pick the guy. Because you’re oh and one tonight, Cairney. I think I’m starting to get a pretty good read on the kinda guy I’m interested in. One who can really… you know… handle me.”
His gaze narrows, and I smirk, crossing my arms over my chest.
If Cillian wants to play the game, then I’m going for the try.
And if there’s one thing I hate more than being wrong, it’slosing.
CHAPTER 20
