Pulling up to the sports bar on the Lower West Side, she drew in a deep breath and stepped out from the taxi into the crisp October air. It would be an understatement to say she wasn’t looking forward to tonight.
Gavin saw Emily the moment she walked in. It was impossible for him not to. Even among the frenzied crowd, she shone bright, like a blazing star illuminating itself in a dark sky.
His dark sky.
The invisible wire tightened around his throat, rendering him nearly breathless. She looked incredible—clad in a black skirt, sexy knee-high boots, and a tight green sweater that enhanced every curve that God himself had graced upon her. Gavin had never known a woman so beautiful. He’d sunk himself into work the past several weeks, trying not to think of her. His intentions were to obliterate her completely from his thoughts, but the more he had tried, the more she took root in his mind.
She wasn’t supposed to be there tonight—at least, that’s what Trevor told him. Now, as he watched her weave through the ocean of bodies in the sports bar, it suddenly felt as though his heart was slamming its way out of his chest. His body pulsed with energy, colliding with his desire, want, and need for her. The connection and pull she extracted from him—even from the first time he’d laid eyes on her—still amazed him. In the seconds before she and Dillon approached, Gavin’s voice of reason piped up, telling him to let it go and be done with her. But, as much as he wanted to listen to it, his head was already in overdrive. She was the recipient of all his pent-up emotions—for she alone stoked all his fires. She was nothing short of agonizingly addictive to him. Gavin’s eyes found hers, but she looked away, essentially ignoring his very existence. After shaking hands with Dillon, Gavin watched as she walked over to Trevor.
“You made it,” Trevor hooted, leaning in to hug Emily. “Feeling better, I assume?”
Backing away from him with a weak smile on her face and a cough to top it off, she answered, “No, I don’t feel better, so you might not want to hug me.” Trevor smiled and pulled her into his chest despite her warning. She looked up to him. “Trevor, I’m serious. I’m as contagious as they come right now.”
He squeezed her tighter and laughed. “Em, I have enough alcohol running through me right now to kill off any fucking germs you might spread.”
Managing a laugh, she returned his hug. “Alright then, but you asked for it.” He smiled at her. “Happy birthday, big man. What’s the number tonight, the big three-zero?”
“Not quite. The ripe young age of twenty-nine,” he answered, snaking his arm around Fallon’s waist. He flicked his eyes down to her. “And what a year it’s gonna be.”
Fallon leaned up to kiss him and then looked at Emily. “I’m a lucky girl.”
“You are a lucky girl, and he’s a lucky guy, too. Don’t forget that,” Emily smiled. “I love the new color.”
Fallon fluffed her crimson hair to the side. “Do you? I’m not used to one color at a time.”
“I do. It’s becoming of you.” Emily looked around. “Where’s Olivia and Tina?”
“Apparently, you’re not the only one sick in Manhattan tonight,” Trevor answered. “Tina didn’t feel good, so Olivia took her home.”
Emily nodded and settled in a seat next to Dillon. He was ordering a few shots and steadily on his way into deeper alcohol oblivion.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Trevor continued, “I’m gonna go get my sweat on with my hot lady here.”
Emily watched as Trevor and Fallon disappeared onto the dance floor.
Over the next half hour, Emily and Gavin exchanged nothing more than the occasional apprehensive glance. She listened to him and Dillon talk about baseball. The Yankees had made it into the playoffs, and game three was currently being displayed across several large flat-screen televisions throughout the bar. Their rival—go figure—was the Baltimore Orioles.
Emily had to smile at that.
Unable to numb her anxiety with alcohol because of the medication she was on, she endured the situation as best as she could—paying no attention to either man. As she accepted a glass of ice water from the bartender, her cell phone lighting up in her purse caught her attention.
Pulling it out, she noticed it was a text from a number she didn’t know: I must admit…you play the game very well…
With furrowed brows, having no idea who it was, she texted back: Who is this?
After a few seconds, the reply: However…your “birds” have no clue how to play the game…so it all evens out…
Snapping her head up in Gavin’s direction, her heart skipped a beat. Though he was perched on the opposite side of Dillon, he was in Emily’s line of sight. Staring at her, his smile was wide and inhibited. She flicked her eyes in Dillon’s direction. It was obvious that he was paying no mind to her or Gavin, clearly more intoxicated than when they first arrived. He was in the midst of a conversation regarding the game with another patron as they laughed and shared a few shots together.
Another incoming text vibrated her phone: Take a look at the score…
Nervous, she looked over at Gavin again.
Smiling, he leaned his chin in the palm of his hand and gestured to one of the televisions with his bottle of beer.
Quickly averting her eyes to the screen where it was highlighting a Yankees lead by five, she let out the breath she was holding. She looked back to him where yet another smile broke out across his face.
Emily texted back: How did you get my number?
His reply: Admit that your birds don’t have a chance against my Yankees…and perhaps I will release that information…
Coughing, she cocked a brow and looked at him.
He smiled and casually shrugged.
“The nerve,” she mumbled under her breath as she texted him back: I will do no such thing…
Her eyes shifted to his again. With a perplexed look on his face, he smiled, and she watched as he swiftly ran his fingers across his screen.
He texted: Then you’re left with your original assumption of my personality…I’m a stalker, and you’re my beautiful prey. Boo.
Shaking her head at the true wiseass he really was, curiosity got the better of her: Fine, my birds aren’t playing their best tonight…
Sighing, she heard Gavin let out a full throaty laugh.
He replied: I’ll make it simple…your team S-U-C-K-S. And since you wouldn’t admit that your birds have no chance against my beloved Yankees, I have the sudden urge to make you…beg. Kinky, right? I’ll be waiting for your response…
Taking a sip of her water, she scoffed. “He’s seriously lost his mind.”
She watched as a superior smile washed over his face.
She began to text him back, letting him know she wouldn’t beg for an answer, but he sent another: I decided I’m in a generous mood tonight since my team is whipping some serious ass. Forget about you begging me…which I know you would’ve…text back the magic word, and I will relinquish the information you so desire. Clue…it starts with pretty…