Page 33 of Total Shutdown

He never has two pints on a night out, but again, I think better than to admit I previously noticed that little fact about him.

“IPA?” I ask, maintaining my sweet smile and nodding at the brand stamped on his glass.

“Sure thing,” he replies, reaching into his pocket—no doubt for his credit card.

But before he has time to hand me his Amex—and I assume it is black—I’m across the room with my bag and standing at the busy bar, a couple of people down from Archer and Darcy as they continue talking.

Five minutes later, I’m still waiting on service. There’s a ton of people here tonight, but I swear some of them get served before me.

Lifting my arm, I wave my card in the air, determined to attract a bartender’s attention.

“You look like you could use a little help.”

When a tall shadow crowds me from behind, I close my eyes slowly. I’ve succeeded in my bid for attention all right, just not in the way I wanted.

SAWYER

To my left, I’ve got my center getting into it with his girl. Straight opposite me, I’ve got my goalie flirting like crazy with my center’s sister. And in my hand, I’ve got my empty pint glass, ready to smash beneath the force of my palm.

Why?

Because standing maybe twenty feet away and with her back to me, I’ve got a pink-haired twenty-six-year-old Collins getting hit on by a good-looking guy who, I’m guessing, is a similar age to her.

I clocked him the second Collins reached the bar. Initially, he was sitting at a high-top table with some friends, but the minute he noticed her, he seized his opportunity.

At first, he was behind her, crowding her space and whispering something into her ear like a creep. Now, he’s standing by her side, leaning against the bar and pretending like what she’s saying is the only thing that has his attention.

For the past ten minutes, I’ve reminded myself I have no say over what she does, who she sees, and which bed she chooses to sleep in each night. I have zero hold over her whatsoever.

If she hates the attention this dude’s showing her, she’s doing a damn good job of hiding it. I’m not idiot enough to know Collins enjoys sex, maybe even the occasional fling with a guy. And since last November, it’s only gotten more painfully obvious that she’ll never be short of options.

Guys way younger than me—and likely more confident to make their move—will forever be at her disposal. It’s not just the way she looks tonight in that hot-as-fuck dress she peeled off in front of me, nor is it the casual waves in her hair and striking makeup that draw the guys in. It’s her demeanor. Her badass attitude and total self-control that make them—and me—putty in her hands.

He probably thinks he’s breaking down her walls and getting to know her on a level that swings the pendulum in his favor for tonight—perhaps even a date, if he’s lucky.

But he isn’t.

I doubt Collins Mackenzie has ever let a guy see the real her—a tornado could never be that vulnerable.

Could she be vulnerable with me?

“You okay there, buddy?”

I glance toward Jack’s voice, lifting the glass to my lips and forgetting it’s empty.

Kendra’s eyes dart to Collins, and she offers me a look that screams sympathy.

A sharp tug pulls in my chest, and I set the glass down on the table, exhaling silently.

“All good, just running over plays from this morning’s practice,” I lie.

Neither of them buys my bullshit, and honestly, neither do I as a long stretch of nothing passes between us.

“Fuck it.”

In a single motion, my chair is across the dark wooden floor, my empty glass in my hand, and I swear to God, I hear a low cheer from Jack as I make a beeline for Collins.

“All okay, Baby Girl?” My voice is gruff but assured as I set my glass beside her and pray she doesn’t kick me in the balls for the nickname.