“Well, damn, if Mrs. Giraldi isn’t looking smokin’,” he mutters, watching Hannah as closely as I do.
White-hot jealousy surges through my veins. “Don’t even think about it. Plus, she won’t be Mrs. Giraldi for much longer.”
I think anyone who watches the news, both sports, celebrity, or otherwise, knows that Hannah filed for divorce. I also know, as a witness who is being called for the criminal trial against Shane, that her soon-to-be ex-husband rejected a plea deal, and then tried to have the charges dismissed. I haven’t spoken to Hannah, just a text here and there in the week or so since we spent the night in the front seat of my truck, but I have a feeling that’s what pushed her over the edge. It has to be a huge slap in the face for the man who did that to you to attempt to act like it never even happened. I want to wring his neck with my bare hands every time I think about that night. But at least Hannah was finally driven to end their marriage.
Both for her benefit, and of course personally, I’m pleased. She deserves so much better. And selfishly, I want her to be mine. I want her to pick me, take a chance on the clear chemistry and connection we have. I know I have to take it slow, I’ve been taking it at a glacial pace as it is, but this is one more obstacle hurdled.
Clark’s eyes flash to the side of my face, but I’m watching Hannah. It’s probably the first time he’s heard me stake any kind of claim on her, and I’m not one to ever disclose romantic feelings. Honestly, I’m not one to date, or show much interest in it. I’ve had flings here and there over the years, a woman on a road trip or two, but nothing has lasted for more than a few rendezvous.
“Col!” I shout across the bar, and a couple people turn their heads.
She turns my way, waving a hand in greeting, and then says something to Hannah before they make their way over.
“Hey.” She kisses my cheek and then turns to Clark with a professional but friendly nod.
Sometimes I forget my cousin is our general manager and doesn’t love to mingle with players outside of work. Then again, she fell for one, so maybe Colleen is just trying to remain impartial from here on out.
“You all grabbing some dinner?” I ask Hannah, as I lean in to hug her.
She doesn’t initiate it, I do, but she also doesn’t back away. The embrace practically has sparks coming off it as I enfold her petite body in mine. I wish I could hold her to me for longer, and as we pull away, her hand grazes down my side. I feel like she’s branded me.
The tip of her nose is red from the cold. “Colleen finally convinced me to come meet her for dinner after work. Since the girls are with my sister tonight, and she didn’t mind the extra hour of aunt duty, I decided to be a real adult for once.”
“I’m glad you did.” Is it strange that I’m smiling like a goofy maniac at her? “So, this is what work Hannah looks like?”
I can’t help the way my eyes move up and down her body. I swear, she’s got a blush creeping over those high, olive cheekbones. Her hair is down except for some swooped up fancy braid at the side, and she looks both adorable and edible. Like the girl next door whose bedroom window I’d like to sneak through.
“I had to dig in the back of my closet, but some of my pre-baby clothes still fit.” She blinks at the ground, and I realize she’s trying to be confident, but her nerves are getting the best of her.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I move off my stool, offering it to her, and guiding her with my hand at the small of her back. “You look incredible. You always do. Can I hang your coat?”
Hudson’s is packed, since the Thursday night special is always all-you-can-eat ravioli, and there is barely an open seat, let alone a table. I don’t mind standing, if it means I get to hover around Hannah. Again, every instinct in me is primal, and I have to check myself. This woman doesn’t want men prowling around, but she brings something out in me.
“Thank you.” She smirks sexily, fluttering her eyelashes as she shrugs out of the coat and climbs onto my empty seat.
Holy shit, is she flirting with me?
Colleen walks off for a second, excusing herself to go talk to a friend from high school, and when I look around, Clark has struck up a conversation with two millennials a couple barstools over. I roll my eyes, because they’re falling all over themselves to talk to him, but am happy I get a few moments alone with Hannah.
“How was your Thanksgiving?” I ask, flagging down the bartender to buy her another drink.
She realizes what I’m doing. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.” I stare into her eyes, trying to make my intentions known.
“Oh. Okay.” She smirks, a flirty little expression. “My Thanksgiving was good, actually. Small, different, but good. The girls helped cook the meal and they had such a blast, it was adorable. How was yours?”
The bartender, who knows me not only from our school days but because I’m in here so much, takes our order and begins pouring her Moscow mule.
“Same old. Big family. Cheers.” I raise my glass to hers when we both have a drink.
“To?” she asks, leaning into me a bit. “You know it’s bad luck to drink with no toast.”
We’re in close quarters, one of her thighs practically thrust between my legs as I’ve wedged myself between her barstool and the one occupied next to it. The heat bouncing off of our bodies is reaching a fever pitch; I’m not even half a drink down and I feel drunk.
I’m not positive, but I’d say Hannah is trying to get me to confess something? Commit to something? It’s like by her asking me to toast to something with her, we’re playing a game of who will admit their feelings first.
“To new beginnings and exploring connections.” I smirk, hoping she catches my drift.
It’s in that instant, as Hannah tips her drink to her lips but never breaks eye contact, that Colleen rushes over in a fit of panic.
And promptly bursts our entire flirty, coy bubble. “Shane just walked in.”
12
Walker
It must be out of an unconscious need to steady her reeling mind, but Hannah grabs my arm that’s resting on the bar.
My eyes stay trained on her face, and I read the sheer panic darting through those big blue eyes.
“No.” Her gasped word is a plea.
Without second-guessing myself, I take the hand gripping my arm and fold into my own, lacing our fingers together. We’re back in the same moment as the night in the parking lot, her clinging to me and me trying to save her from any threat or monster.
“You have the restraining order, right? We can ask him to leave.” Colleen keeps her voice low, trying not to make a scene.
Clark has come back, probably noticing our teammate having walked into the bar, and he’s not dumb.
“Should we get out of here?” he asks, his eyes urgent.
Slowly, so as not to draw attention to our foursome, I direct my gaze over Hannah’s left shoulder; her back is to the door. Shane has walked in with two guys from the local CrossFit gym, I recognize them from some events they’ve attended with him. They’re beefy, brawny, and all three of them look like they’re out on the prowl. He hasn’t noticed us yet, hasn’t noticed that his soon-to-be ex-wife is on the premises, and I’d like for it to stay that way.