I Bet You(47)

He goes down like a sack of bricks, and his beer flies through the air before shattering on the concrete floor. Shards of glass shoot everywhere, and beer splatters on the wall behind Connor.

My stick falls out of my hand. “He’ll never have babies.” Ryker is next to me in an instant, and I look up at him. My mouth opens and closes. “Holy shit. You think he’s okay?”

“I don’t know. Let’s go see,” he says, a grim look on his face.

We walk over to them and dread fills me.

Connor’s friends are bending down, and there’s a flurry of activity from the staff as they walk over to where he’s still on the floor. A girl in a 50s-style pink dress and apron is carrying a broom and a dustpan and focuses on getting the glass swept up while a managerial-looking lady is bent over Connor.

It’s not until we’re right in front of the scene of the crime that I realize I’ve grabbed Ryker’s hand at some point. He glances down and then looks at me, his eyes questioning. He lets my hand go.

Connor is pulled up by one of his buddies and the manager. His hat is cocked sideways and there’s a red spot on his cheek, and I wonder if he landed on it.

He maneuvers to stand, his face pale as he winces.

“You okay, man?” someone calls out from a neighboring table.

“Hit me in the upper leg,” he mutters, looking around at the circle of people who’ve gathered. “Damn. Hurts like hell.” He cranes his neck toward the pool tables. “Who shot it?”

My eyes flare and I barely keep myself from squeaking.

“Not sure,” his buddy says.

The manager pulls up a chair for him and says something about getting some ice and an accident report.

I lean over to Ryker and whisper, “At least his manly bits are okay.”

He nods.

Connor eases down in the chair then looks up and sees us, his eyes bouncing back and forth.

I wave at him.

“You should go check on him,” Ryker says, and I nod and take the few steps to Connor’s side.

I pat him on the shoulder. “Hey…you. Are you okay?” He blinks as if confused, and his eyes go from me to Ryker, who’s behind me in the background. Connor comes back to me and takes in the jersey and high heels I’m wearing. “You’re wearing Ryker’s jersey.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t know you were here.” He pauses. “You told me you were busy all week.”

I nod, choosing to not comment on that. “Are you going to be able to walk?”

“Yeah, yeah, just…it got the drop on me, ya know?” He laughs as one of his friends claps him on the back.

He grimaces and rubs his inner thigh. “I’m fine. Probably just a bruise. Where did that ball come from anyway? Did you see?”

Great. We’re back to that again. I bite my lip.

One of his friends points to the far back table where we were playing. “I think it came from that direction.”

I laugh. “But you’re okay, so that’s good, right?”

He nods. “So, you guys came together?”

“Just as friends,” Ryker says as he takes a step forward to join us. “I found her in the rain with a flat tire.”

“Oh.” Connor’s head turns back. “That sucks.”

I nod.

Ryker continues. “As a matter of fact, I need to run, but I think Penelope wants to stay.”

I scowl and turn around to stare at him. “What? No, I should go too.”

“I can take you home,” Connor says. I turn back to him, and he’s got a hopeful look in his eyes. He pauses as I frown. “Only if you want to stay…maybe we can play a game after I sit here a bit?” He chuckles in a good-natured way, and I feel horrible all over again for being the shooter.

“I think I’m done playing pool,” I say.

“Oh,” Connor says, his voice unsure. “We can grab some beers?”

“No, I really think I should go—”

“Yes, she’ll stay,” Ryker interjects, cutting me off.

Color rises in my cheeks, and I turn to him as Connor is distracted by one of his buddies who’s come over to hand him an ice pack.

“I can answer for myself, Ryker,” I hiss.

“Don’t be stubborn,” he says.

“You’re the stubborn one.”

His teeth grit as we stand there and look at each other. “You should stay.”

“Why?”

“Because you need to be with Connor.” There’s an uncertain look on his face as he takes his eyes off mine and looks at him.

I’m distracted as Connor seems to catch his breath and stands up. He talks to a waitress and points over at me.

“I’m going, Penelope,” Ryker says adamantly.

“Wait—”

Connor joins us, his gaze on me. “Come on, the waitress said she’d get us a table before they’re all gone. You staying?”

Before I can say yay or nay, Ryker has pivoted around and stalked away from us.

He pauses near the door when Archer calls his name and says something. Ryker says something back and the crowd that hears him goes silent, their glances bouncing between the two football players. I inch closer to see what’s going on, part of me wanting to see if Ryker is okay, but before I can, he’s gone, slamming the door so hard behind him that the glass wobbles.