Page 7 of Game Changer (Hidden Attractions #2)
“Look.” He leans forward in the booth, resting his elbows on the table. “If you won’t make it to one of my games, why don’t you come out to one of the youth football practices? I’m an assistant coach, and the kids would love someone else to watch them and give them advice.”
“You want me to advise kids?” I have nothing to offer them is what I want to add. I bailed on playing college ball out of fear of leaving my comfort zone. Fear of being a disappointment to everyone. Kids have nothing to learn from me. If anything, they should do the opposite of what I’ve done.
“They’re a wild bunch, but they’re also a hell of a lot of fun. They make you realize why you fell in love with the game to begin with.”
I can’t remember why I fell in love with football.
I know it was my passion, but at some point between getting on varsity and graduation, everything felt so serious.
It felt like my future was riding on every game I played, and that was a lot of pressure I didn’t know how to handle. I lost sight of the reason I started.
“Is this some ploy to get me to try out for the team? Because it’s not going to work.”
He uses his fingers to make a cross on his heart. “No games. Just watching kids have a blast. And if you feel there’s any advice you can give, then by all means, speak up. It’ll be nice having an extra set of eyes out there.”
I groan. “Fine. I’ll agree to one practice if you stop with the fucking puppy-dog eyes. They’re creeping me out.”
“So they worked? Cool. I’ll text you the address and—”
Two menus are abruptly slapped down in front of us.
The waitress’s arms are crossed over her chest, and her foot is tapping impatiently. “What the hell do you want?” The question is directed at Mark, who doesn’t seem fazed by the woman’s attitude one bit. It only seems to fuel his good mood.
“Tabi has claws today, I see,” he muses.
“You do realize my name isn’t spelled like the cat , right?
Or did all those football collisions knock loose a screw or two?
” She swipes at a bead of sweat trickling down her forehead.
Not that I can blame her, it’s stifling hot in here.
Maybe that’s Happy Endings’ key to living up to its superstition—making people so dehydrated that they’re thirsty for just about anything.
“I assure you my head is exactly where it needs to be. Ethan, do you know what you’re going to drink?”
Tabi looks at me as if she’s just suddenly realizing there’s another person at the table, and a silent apology passes between us. There’s a tiny apron around her waist that she pulls a notepad out of, gazing at me expectantly as if that weird-ass interaction didn’t just happen.
“Um, I’ll take a Michelob Ultra so long as it won’t get spit in or anything.”
Her lips tilt into a grin. “No worries. The only drink that will be spat in is Mark’s.”
“Which is why I only order bottled beverages.” Mark winks and passes her back the menu.
“You come here often?” The place is practically deserted for an early afternoon.
I know that the ratings for this place are poor, and their food ratings are even worse.
I highly doubt this is an establishment that has a dish Mark craves, but when his eyes slide from Tabi’s wide-set hips and linger on her full chest a beat too long, I suspect it’s a person he craves and not the food.
“He’s here every Saturday, Monday, and Friday afternoon.” She narrows her hazel eyes at him. “The only shifts I work.”
Mark places a palm over his heart as if he’s flattered. “That’s a little conceited of you, Tabi. I can’t help it if your shifts are on the days I don’t have practice. I get hungry.”
“And you’re just desperate for frozen fries and day-old burger patties?” she asks.
“What can I say? I’m a sucker for freezer-burnt takeout.”
Tabi huff s in defeat and stalks off to the other side of the restaurant, and while Mark’s gaze lingers on her retreating back, I respectfully look the other way.
The waitresses at Happy Endings might have the skimpiest uniforms known to mankind.
A pair of black booty shorts and a neon-pink crop top with a palm tree logo make no sense when their only location is in Arizona, but who am I to judge?
They’re the most popular bar on campus for a reason.
“You never ordered your drink,” I say.
“Don’t need to. Tabi already knows my order.”
“And are you and Tabi . . . ?”
He snorts. “Fuck, no. She’d gut me before I could make a move. So would her father.” When he realizes I’m still confused, he adds, “She’s the coach’s daughter. Aside from that, she’s my least favorite fan.”
“Why?” Mark is a lot of things. Funny, easygoing, smart. But he isn’t mean, and he isn’t a fan of fucking around with women to make them respond like Tabi just was.
“It’s complicated between us. You know Ronnie took me in when I was in high school, so he’s the only reason I’m playing for State now.
If he wasn’t the coach, I’m not even sure I’d have gotten a full ride.
” He shakes his head as if attempting to get back on track.
“Anyway, Tabi’s his only daughter, and he didn’t exactly ask her permission for me to move in with them.
She’s got a lot of resentment toward me.
I get it. However, I’ve always loved getting beneath her skin. ”
“Hate to break it to you, but it doesn’t seem like the feeling’s mutual.”
His eyes glisten with mischief. “That’s what’s so fun about it, but anyway, enough about me. I’m surprised you came today. You aren’t the type of guy who drinks beers on a Monday afternoon.”
I’m not, but today is an exception when I’m dying for something to make me forget Maya and that neon-pink thong.
The image has been burned into my memory for two days now, and it took all my willpower not to give in to the temptation of another memorable night with her.
I’m not that kind of guy, though, and I couldn’t even pleasure myself when it felt wrong.
She was drunk and flirty like she always gets when she’s under the influence, and my only job was to ensure she made it home safely.
Maya isn’t mine—she made that clear five months ago—so even thinking about her ass is off-limits.
“Drinking isn’t my thing anymore,” I admit. “But certain circumstances call for—”
“Hey! Who ordered the—oh! Oh my god. What are you guys doing here?” Maya fucking Garcia is holding a tray with a beer and a bottle of water on it, looking godsent in her skimpy uniform.
Her long black hair is in two French braids that cascade down her back, and her face is glowing and perfect when her brown eyes latch onto Mark.
She’s purposely avoiding eye contact with me, but I can’t say I blame her.
Especially if she remembers our last interaction.
“Damn, when did you start working here?” Mark asks. “I didn’t even know you’d transferred to State.”
She grins proudly. “It’s my first semester. I did the community college thing for two years, graduated from the cosmetology program, and now I’m pursuing a bachelor’s in business. How about you? From what I hear, the team has a good shot at the championship this year.”
“Possibly. You know I never like to get my hopes up. Being too conceited is a recipe for failure.”
Finally, her eyes slide to mine before she averts them to the tray. “Who, uh, ordered the Michelob?”
“Me.” I clear my throat when she sets it down in front of me, and I swear I drink half the damn bottle before she places the water in Mark’s hand.
I hate how awkward things are between us when it never used to be this way.
We had good banter and even better chemistry, but it seemed like when we finally gave in, it only made things worse.
For whatever reason, having sex complicated things, and although I don’t regret that night, a part of me wonders if we’d still be close if we’d never slept together.
“Do you guys want anything to eat?” she asks.
“No, I’m all right. Thanks.” I’ll pass on freezer-burnt food.
Mark grins before he says, “You can ask Tabi for my order, and you can also tell her putting another waitress at our table isn’t slick. She’s not getting away that easily.”
Maya arches a brow. “Well, you’ll be pleased to know I’ll be working night shifts on the weekends, so she’ll be all yours again next week. She’s training me before classes start.”
Don’t get me wrong, I’m an advocate for women wearing whatever the fuck they please, but it doesn’t sit right with me that she’s going to be wearing that Happy Endings uniform at night.
Will she bring a change of clothes? I know she doesn’t have a car, so how the hell does she plan on getting home? She’s not going to walk , right?
God, I have no reason to be protective. She isn’t mine to worry about, but I can’t help it. A piece of my heart will always belong to her, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Believe me, I’ve tried.
Mark stutters. “I don’t want her to be all mine , I just meant—”
In typical Maya fashion, she rolls her eyes and gives him a little wave.
“Save the lies for someone naive. See you guys around. Oh, and Ethan?” My eyes snap to hers, noting the way her cheeks are redder than they were a few seconds ago.
“This shade of pink is a close second to my thong, don’t you think? ”
Fucking hell.
Her flirtatious remark is my own fault. I don’t know what I was thinking when I held her back from putting her dress on. I just, god, I missed her. I love staring at her. And it’d been months since I’d seen her.
I deserve that. I’ll admit it.
I had no business stopping her.
With her hips swaying, she disappears into the kitchen, leaving me utterly dumbfounded. Her teasing and sexual innuendos have always been part of our banter and humor, but that was before we had sex. Now her flirtatious remarks only bring a twinge of longing.
Is she flirting with me as a friend or as something more? Or is it payback for the way I behaved? She certainly wasn’t opposed to leaving her dress off, but that doesn’t mean she wants me. Does it?
Fuck. My head is already throbbing.
I won’t be able to survive mixed signals from her.
Not when I’ve been certain that she was the only girl for me since the second I lost my virginity to her.
It sealed the deal in my eyes, but then she ghosted me.
Now I feel like an idiot for mentally signing a dotted line on us while her signature remained vacant.
I shift uncomfortably in the booth as I try to adjust the semi in my jeans, and Mark says, “Well, now I know why you wanted to drink on a Monday afternoon. Should I get another round for you?”
“ Please ,” I grumble. “And while you’re at it? Make it a double.”