Page 50 of The Play Maker

Jeez. What a mood kill. Parties are supposed to be fun, and to let loose, but I don’t think Nathan has ever heard that word in his life. Which is ironic, since everyone loves him. He has the girls in a chokehold, not that he ever pays any attention to any of them.

I follow his gaze across the living room, and there’s Ryan, with one arm wrapped around Isabella’s waist, whispering something into her ear. She laughs, leaning into him like they’re the only two people in the room.

It’s kind of adorable.

Nathan, however, doesn’t seem to think so as he takes a slow, furious sip of his drink.

I let out a laugh. “Want me to go shove him into the fridge or something?”

He shrugs, his eyes still fixed on them. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

I pat his back. “What are teammates for?”

Before I can make good on that fake promise, Logan slides in at my side, with a red solo cup in hand.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Ryan licking Isabella’s ear again?”

“No one is licking anyone,” Nathan snaps.

“Yet,” I add.

Logan snorts into his drink.

“I hate both of you,” Nathan mutters, shooting us a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

Logan just winks. “You love us. Besides, it could be worse. She could be dating Cole.”

We all look around until we spot him—Cole—leaning against the back door, half hidden in shadow, hood up, hands shoved deep in his pockets, eyes burning a hole through the room.

Logan raises a brow. “Why does he look like he’s planning a murder?”

“Because he probably is,” I say. “Just a question of who gets it first.”

I follow Cole’s gaze and spot Aurora standing in the corner—tight dress, killer heels, swaying seductively to a slow R&B song.

“I’ve got a pretty good guess,” I say with a low laugh.

Logan lets out a whistle. “Oh boy. We’re all screwed.”

Those two hate each other’s guts. They can’t be in the same room without going at each other, which I don’t really mind. It’s entertaining as fuck watching them.

Logan downs the last of his drink in one long gulp. “Be right back,” he says, already slipping away.

I squint after him. “Where you going?”

He jerks his chin toward the kitchen, where some blonde in a denim mini skirt is flipping her hair and giving him the look.

I let out a laugh. For a rookie, he’s got game—more than I have tonight, honestly. It should make me nervous. I don’t want to lose to a rookie, but whatever. Let him have it.

“Need a wingman?” I offer.

Logan scoffs, shaking his head. “Nah. You’d drag me down.”

My jaw snaps open as he starts to walk away. “Your fucking loss,” I yell. “I’m a fuckingphenomenalwingman.”

He doesn’t look back.

Pfft. Drag him down? Lucky for him I’m not interested in that girl, or I’d swoop in just to prove a point. Rookie wouldn’t stand a chance.