I draw in a breath as Derek’s dark eyes wander over me. It’s uncomfortable. Like the exact opposite of how I feel when Bear looks at me, even though it’s obvious the physical apple didn’t fall far from the gigantic-man tree.
He glances at Tristan. “Well, isn’t this something? I’m finally getting a chance to meet your lovely stepdaughter.” His eyes shift back to me, and he holds out an enormous, thick hand. “Derek Pierce. Bear’s father. I missed meeting you at the wedding. And every opportunity since, it would seem.” His eyes narrow, his head cocking to the side.
Crap. He would bring that up.Tristan’s eyes are on me, too, and he gives a definitive jerk of his head toward his friend’s outstretched hand, like if I don’t shake it, I’ll regret it. Not that I’d be rude to someone I’ve never met before who is explicitly offering me his hand, but I suppose this is simply another instance of Tristan thinking the worst of me, like he always does. I don’t know what it is about me that he dislikes. Maybe I’m not close enough to a carbon copy of my mother. I have no freaking idea. I’ve always been my own person. I’ve had to be.
I tentatively hold out my hand, and like I assumed it might, his hand swallows mine whole. Not only that, but he shakes it for way too long by about five seconds.I counted.And maybe because I’m so overwhelmed by meeting this imposing man, I realize that I haven’t said a word, and hurriedly blurt out, “Lennon. Lennon Bell. And yes, Bear gave me the shirt.”
He releases my hand, squinting at me. He chuckles, looking me over again. “Yeah. You’re his type.”
I blink.
And he laughs, his eyes dropping to my hand in Mason’s. He leans in and whispers, “Don’t worry, honey. It’s all good. We aren’t stupid or naive. A girl living in a house with ten guys? I’d expect plenty of shenanigans. Just don’t get knocked up.”
My mouth drops open, and my face flushes at his words, but apparently, he doesn’t think a damn thing about it, as he’s already slapping Tristan on the back and walking away, their heads tipped together in quiet conversation.
“What did he fuckin’ say?” Duke grits.
I swallow down my disgust, deciding it’s far better to keep it to myself than cause an uproar in the middle of this semi-prestigious event with a bunch of people I don’t know. Besides, I don’t have any idea what Tristan’s reaction would be to his friend’s dirty thoughts. I turn toward Duke, putting my hand on his chest because I know it’ll distract him and quietly murmur, “Let’s not worry about it right now. I really want to watch Bear.” I look up into his eyes as I scrape my teeth slowly over my lower lip. “Please?”
Up close, I can see the way his jaw pops and twitches with the knowledge that I’m not going to tell him right this instant, but as I suspected, he’s very aware of where we are right now, what’s acceptable and what’s not. He bristles before he finally relents. “Fine. But you’ll tell me later.”
I exhale raggedly and meet his bold blue gaze with a nod, patting his chest. “Yeah. Okay.”
Mason comes in close to both of us. “Come on. Let’s watch the game.” He tugs on my hand, and I don’t miss the subtle nonverbal communication between him and Duke, messages passing between them with the flick of an eye and a jerk of the head. Neither one is happy with how this is going.
The next several minutes go by in a blur as Mason and Duke take me out to the VIP seating area. Trying to ignore all the talk around me, I go right back to watching the game. Funny how these rich, supposedly important people have the best seats in the house, yet they are being wasted on them. The majority aren’t even watching the game. Kinda dumb. Then again, I actually preferred our seats right down on the field. It’s a completely different experience up here. I’m not a fan, especially since I find all the non-football-related chatter to be distracting.
While our defense is on the field, Duke gets up from the seat beside me, mumbling something about needing to talk to someone. Mason gives me a furtive smile. “Sorry this went a little sideways. I think they have some of that cider you liked at the bar. You want one?”
My eyes flick to his. I’m only nineteen, and he knows it. “If you’re sure it’s okay.”
Mason nods. “I’m sure. They’ll give me whatever, and no one’s paying attention. We don’t have to worry too much up here. Besides, it’s like slightly spiked apple juice.” He chuckles. “I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise. Be right back with it.” He shoots me a smooth wink as he stands, then walks away to fetch the drinks, leaving me on my own.
My attention returns to the action where Bear comes off the field after a phenomenal play—or, I mean I think it was, anyway. It seems like we scored again, and everyone is cheering all around the stadium. The sound of the clapping and hollering is almost deafening. Bear looks into the stands where we were seated earlier, but, of course, we aren’t there anymore. I get up from my seat and wave, hoping he sees me. Sure enough, his gaze tracks upward until he spots me. Then, he stiffens.
Confused, I slowly lower my hand just as Derek Pierce’s arm drapes over my shoulders, his meaty paw grasping my bicep. Every cell in my body folds in on itself. The look on Bear’s face is murderous, and I actually feel Derek’s chuckle, rather than hear it. “My boy doesn’t much like to share. Just so you know.”
What. The. Fuck. I’m so thrown by his words, that I almost fire back with “Sure didn’t seem that way the other night,”but I don’t. Andew.Why the fuck would he bring up sharing in reference to his son when he’s the one with his arm around me. I shudder and shrug free of him, ducking under his arm. I back away. “I need to use the restroom. I’ll be back.” Perverted. Old. Man.Fuck.The look on Bear’s face. I hate that this could potentially distract him.
I dart back into the VIP hospitality room, then out the door, hurrying away so I can wrap my head around the many things Bear’s father had the balls to say to me.
My breath heaves, and my chest catches like I’m going to cry, only I won’t because that’s fucking stupid. He doesn’t know me well enough to deserve my tears. I turn a corner, blindly walking along corridor after corridor, going wherever my feet take me and not especially caring where I end up. Anywhere but in the vicinity of that awful man.
A vibration in my pocket has me pausing, and I duck around a corner where it’s quiet and I won’t be standing in anyone’s way.
Mason:
Hey. Where’d you go?
I have your drink.
Duke:
Stella?
What happened?
I chew on my lip as I stand motionless, staring at the phone screen, unsure how to answer. Had I imagined what he’d said? Taken something the wrong way?Fuck.I really don’t think so. I tap out a few quick texts, fully realizing that I haven’t answered either of their questions. But how do you say “Your friend’s father said a bunch of gross stuff to me, but I’m not entirely certain I understood him correctly, and I was way too embarrassed to stand there with him after that, but even more so, I didn’t want to give him a chance to say another word.” Yeah. How the fuck does one relay that long, run-on thought in a text?
