Intercepted (Page 16)
“Oh, sweetie,” I mimic her. “Trust me, I’m not bitter. You saved me from making a big mistake. Actually, you know what? Find me later, I’ll buy you a drink.”
When Brynn was doing my makeup before I came, we ran over lots of different scenarios in my head. This was the third one. I bitched and moaned when we started, but now I owe her a huge apology. Because without our practice, there’s no way I would’ve been able to come up with that comeback and sound as genuine as I did. And the look on Ava’s face when she doesn’t get the reaction she wants out of me is so satisfying.
“You’re so full of shit. I’m the only reason you’re here and you know it,” Chris cuts in, putting the spotlight back on himself. Typical.
“I’ve missed your overinflated ego, but now that you’ve refreshed my memory, I should be fine without you for a little while. But I’ll come find you later if I need another reminder.” I turn and make my final steps to the bar. My confident, bitchy facade fades with every step, and when I reach Naomi and Dre, they already have a tequila shot waiting.
Without a word to either of them, I bring the tequila to my lips and throw it back, savoring the burn as it travels down my throat and warms my stomach. Good thing I like it because before I can reach for the lime, another punch is thrown.
“Marlee. We didn’t know if you’d come tonight. I was so sad to hear about you and Chris,” Courtney says from behind me. I know she said she was sad, but it sounds a lot like gloating to me.
I make sure my bright smile is secure on my face before turning to her. “And miss a night with you, Court? Never! Besides, Mrs. Mahler was so happy I made this event such a huge success. I would’ve hated to disappoint her.”
Beside me, I hear Naomi snort and see Dre shaking with laughter. Courtney aims her narrowed eyes at them before shifting them back my way.
“This was a group effort. I know you aren’t a part of the Lady Mustangs anymore, but no individual takes credit for a group effort.”
“Trust me, Court, I know. Nobody in the Lady Mustangs would dare steal the spotlight by, say, using a glittered gavel or making sure they’re the only one to talk at events or for publicity interviews.” I glance at the time on my phone. “Which, speaking of, isn’t it almost time for you to go onstage to welcome everyone?”
Never mind.
I’m the queen of bitchiness.
“This is why you were never welcomed into the group, Marlee. Because we could all see who you really are. A groupie.” She flips her long blonde curls over her shoulder. “Who shows up at a team event a week after they were dumped in a dress two sizes too small and more makeup than a stripper on a Saturday night?”
I know I should be offended, but I can only focus on one part of her evil villain speech.
“Strippers wear a lot of makeup? I knew about glitter and stuff, but not the makeup. And why more on Saturday nights? I’d think Mondays and Fridays would be just as busy.” I look to Naomi and Dre for their opinion. “Right? Don’t you think they’d get a lot of action at the beginning and end of the work week?”
“Play obtuse if you want. It’s obvious why Chris left you, and just know every single person in this room thinks you look desperate and pathetic tonight.”
Damn. Obtuse, desperate, and pathetic? I wonder if she’s hiding a mean girl’s thesaurus in her clutch?
I’m trying to think of any kind of comeback when someone else beats me to the punch.
“Not everyone. I think she looks gorgeous.” The hairs on the back of my neck stand in recognition, and I don’t even have to turn around to know who is talking. Which, as it would turn out, is something I’ll be forever grateful for. Instead of looking over my shoulder, I get to watch as the color drains from Courtney’s face, and her jaw almost hits the floor. “Kevin’s looking for you, Court.”
At the mention of her nickname, the shock disappears so quickly, and if I hadn’t witnessed it with my own two eyes, I would’ve never believed it happened. Her narrowed eyes focus back on me for a second, like I’m the one who called her the name. Then, like watching an ugly caterpillar transform into a beautiful butterfly, her snarl turns into a million-dollar smile, and her posture improves so much, I’m worried I might get taken out by her nipples. “Thanks, Gavin.” Even her voice is different! Like a bad imitation of Marilyn Monroe, and although I definitely don’t like her, even I cringe with embarrassment for her.
She turns to walk away, and for some reason I might never know, I yell after her, “Finish talking later, Court?” Her faltering steps as she sets out to find Kevin is the only clue she heard me.
“Mr. Pope to the rescue again—” I turn to offer him a drink, but when I face him, the only thing going through my head are thoughts about how fine this man is. Because sweet lawd, he’s fine.
His hair is short on the sides but longer and combed back on the top. He could maybe do with a shave, but the scruff on his chin looks so delicious, all I want to do is lick him to see what it feels like under my tongue. His bright blue eyes are watching me as I try to remember what I was going to say, and the crooked smile that crosses his face as seconds pass by without me saying anything tells me he knows what I’m thinking. But all that smile does is draw my attention to the deep V at the top of his full lips, which acts as an arrow to the almost hidden dimple in his chin.
Are sexy chins even a thing? Or is Gavin just that hot?
He’s super fucking hot.
“You all right there?” His voice snaps me out of my trance.
“Yup. Fine, I’m totally, one hundred percent fine. Totally, completely A-okay.” When I’m finished rambling, his grin is no longer crooked, now it’s full-blown cocky . . . and still hot.
Dammit.
“Got it. You’re fine.”
“Whatever, Pope. I was going to ask if you wanted a shot with me, but now I’m just asking Naomi and Dre.” And like the mind readers they are—or friends aware of the tequila crutch I use in uncomfortable situations—when I turn to them, Dre hands me a lime and points to the shots lined up on the bar.
But instead of three, there are four.
For a second, I think they might’ve been genius enough to order two for me, but my dream is squashed when I see Dre hand Gavin a lime. Which is really too bad, because if this is just the beginning of my night, I’m going to need a lot more liquid courage than I had anticipated.
Twelve
One other small detail Naomi failed to tell me when she convinced me to come to this godforsaken event: I still have to walk in the show.
Here’s something not many people know about me—I have terrible stage fright. The only reason I agreed to do this before was because Chris was going to be next to me, being his normal, obnoxious, spotlight-loving self, and I was going to float down the runway beside him and nobody was going to notice me. But, seeing as Chris and I aren’t together anymore, my plan has been shot to hell. Now, not only do I have to walk alone, but Courtney put Chris and Ava right in front of me. Guess who loves girlfriends now?
Waiting backstage, the feeling in my feet comes and goes from the absurd/bordering-on-dangerous number of shots I’ve consumed over the last hour. My breathing is ragged, partly from nerves about walking in the spotlight, partly from how tight the leftover dress Courtney handed me is. And, of course, I’m stuck staring at my ex-boyfriend’s hand plastered on the ass of the woman he cheated on me with.