Page 7 of The Wildest One

He let out another laugh. “Why … well, there are two reasons. The first, it gives me a chance to talk to you. As soon as I saw you, that’s all I could think about. How badly I wanted to chat with the gorgeous redhead.” His stare slowly dipped down my face.

Since I still couldn’t breathe, my body a tornado of tingles, I lifted a hand from my drink and gripped a chunk of hair, hoping I could let go of some of this energy.

But the longer he looked at me, the more it built.

There was no release.

There was just this steady increase of the most relentless throbbing.

“And the second?” I asked.

His teeth nipped his lip, the same one he’d licked. “That was one hell of a loss you guys suffered tonight. Thought a little booze might help ease the sting.” He clinked his glass against mine.

“I’m not going to lie—tonight was a real doozy.” I exhaled. “I was at the game.”

“I figured.”

“How did you figure?”

His stare moved again, this time down the front of me. “You’re wearing your team’s sweatshirt.”

“Oh. Right.”

I assumed his eyes would meet mine as I spoke, but they didn’t. They stayed on my body, and as they gradually lifted, I felt myself inhale.

“Jolie, I won’t hold it against you that you’re a Boston fan.”

“I won’t hold it against you that you play for LA.” I didn’t have a Boston accent. I’d somehow spent the last twenty years pronouncing all myR’s correctly, but for my response, I imitated the way my mom—a born and raised Bostonian—would say it.

“You’re funny.” He smiled and pushed down the hairs that framed his beard. “You fit and sound the part perfectly.”

“I’ve spent my whole life here. I even stayed for college. I know my city better than anyone.”

Of course, there were reasons I had stayed, none of which I would get into with him.

“Where did you go to school?”

“You mean, where do I currently go?”

His brows rose, and he leaned back from the bar, taking his drink with him. “You’re still in college?”

“I’m a sophomore at BU.”

“Jesus.” He paused. “What are you, nineteen?”

“Twenty.”

“I’d guessed you were young. I didn’t think you werethatyoung.”

“Young heart with an old soul.”

His gaze narrowed. “I get that sense.”

Since I was sure we’d reached the end of our conversation—there was absolutely no way this man wanted to continue talking to me—I wiggled the glass in the air. “Thanks again for the drink.”

The section in which we were standing was highly desirable, given that the bar was becoming packed, so I stepped away, walking toward Ginger, catching eyes with her, which earnedme the biggest grin. But when I was halfway to her, I sensed someone following me, and I turned around. Beck was only a few steps away, and this time, his stare was about level with my ass.

“What are you doing, Beck?” I focused on his eyes as they rose, my cheeks heating in response.