Twisted Collide: The new sports romance in the Redville Saints series
Twisted Collide: Chapter 5

“Come here often?” I ask as the gorgeous man slides onto the stool next to mine.

The line is absolutely ridiculous, probably one of the worst pickup lines ever, but in a situation like this, ridiculous is necessary.

As I said, I need a distraction, and he’s perfect.

“What?” His voice is smooth like honey, a sound that makes your mouth water with the promise of how good it will taste.

“I said, come here often?” I rest my chin on my fist, tilting my head to the side. He blinks at me, mouth opening and shutting. “It’s a pickup line if you must know,” I retort, not even trying to hide my sarcasm.

His chuckle is a deep, rich sound that makes my knees feel weak. “Now that’s one way to do it.”

I shrug, taking a sip from my drink. “I figure I can cut to the chase. That way, we both know what I’m angling for.”

Who am I? I’ve never been quite this forward. But when in Rome or, in this case . . . my version of hell.

“Are you even old enough to drink?”

I’m not sure how I feel about that comment. It sounds like a brush-off if I’ve ever heard one.

“Well, seeing as I was already carded, it would appear so.” I lift my glass to get my point across.

He studies me closely, but I can’t read him. It’s unnerving.

“Are you always this blunt?” he finally responds.

I roll my eyes. “Are you always this grumpy?”

He just stares at me, and I wonder if he’ll respond when he finally does. “Actually, yes,” he admits.

It makes me giggle. Great, not only did he just call me young, but here I am, giggling like a schoolgirl. Talk about cliché.

“Wow, was that hard to admit?”

He cocks his head as if to think about his answer and then says, “Not really.”

That makes me full out laugh this time. “Now that we have that out of the way, and we’ve yet to establish if you come here often, I think I’ll change direction and see if I can get some answers from you.”

His lips purse, but he allows me to continue. “What brings you here?”

“What brings you here?” he fires back.

I smirk. “Oh, avoiding my question with a little deflection. I can tell I’m going to like you.” I turn toward the bar and wave down the woman for another drink. “I came for the expensive booze and the minibar snacks in my hotel room. Now it’s your turn.”

“I needed a distraction.” His low voice reminds me of a storm brewing in the background. A feeling I know all too well.

“Rough night? Or rough day?” I ask on a sigh.

“Both, and you?”

I nod in understanding because, same. “Me too, actually. A better word might be soul-crushing.” I shrug. “Maybe we’re kindred spirits.”

“It does seem that way.” He lets out a grunt.

Silence engulfs us, and perhaps my night of distraction isn’t meant to be. It appears that I got ahead of myself. Just as I’m about to order another drink and then duck out, disappointed with my tail between my legs, the bartender returns with another drink for the broody stranger.

“I hate crappy days,” I murmur, mostly to myself.

He raises his glass and takes a swig. “I’ll drink to that.”

I raise mine in the air, not one to leave another hanging, and take a gulp. “I also hate spiders.”

He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, likely thinking I’m insane. This whole night, I’ve been nothing if not random. But why not? I don’t know this guy. I’ll likely never see him again, so I might as well be myself—something I don’t do often.

I hide behind a massive wall that I’ve built to protect myself. I’d rather live in my bubble, convincing myself everything is wonderful. The world might be on fire on the other side, but in here, I’m safe.

“I think every person hates spiders,” he muses, inspecting his glass before taking a pull of the amber liquid.

“I hate waking up in the morning. God, do I love sleeping,” I say, continuing with the random bits of information. Might as well get the small talk out of the way, just in case he’s game to take this somewhere else.

He runs his hand through his hair. “I’m indifferent.”

“Interesting,” I say, pursing my lips, trying to appear unimpressed.

“Not really all that interesting.” He turns toward me, face pinched as though he’s about to impart the biggest secret. “I hate pickles.”

“Blasphemy,” I say, barely a whisper.

He chuckles, shaking his head.

“I hate charm bracelets that have no charms.” I wiggle my wrist, showing him the empty silver-plated chain to prove my point.

“Any reason you’re charmless?”

I shrug. “It was a gift, and the original charm fell off. I guess I’ve never gotten around to replacing it.”

He peers from my wrist to his own. A beautiful and very expensive watch clings to his. “I hate watches.”

“Story there?”

“They’re pointless. Everyone has a cell. They’re basically a way for men to show off their wealth.”

He does have a point, pun intended. There’s really no reason for them at all.

My eyes lift to the television above the bartender’s head, a clip of some hockey game playing on the screen. I’ve never been a fan. I replace it boring, if not a bit violent.

“I hate hockey,” I say, looking down into my half-empty glass.

The stranger next to me chokes. “Hockey?”

My finger runs around the rim of my glass, wiping the liquid away absently. “Yes. I replace it to be a stupid sport.”

“Stupid?” he says, one side of his mouth tipped up.

“Stupid.” I nod my head for good measure.

“I’m not much of a fan myself.” He looks at me. “I’m curious why you seem to loathe it. You appear to hate spiders less.”

I chuckle. “No. Spiders top the list, but hockey is a close second.”

“Why?” he presses.

“It’s the dumbest sport ever.”

“I’m not sure I’d go that far—”

“Nope. It’s terrible,” I say, cutting off his defense of the sport. “All you do is watch a bunch of grown-ass men chase rubber around a ring. Pretty lame if you ask me. And don’t get me started on the fighting.”

“Don’t knock the fighting. That might be the only thing worth watching.” He grins, and I return it with one of my own.

“I’m not a Neanderthal,” I say, motioning for the bartender, who appears to be ignoring me.

“Wow, you really do hate it.”

I lift my shoulders. “What? You said you hated it too.”

“No, I said I’m not a fan.”

Not like that’s abnormal. I feel like hockey is an acquired taste. People tend to love it or leave it; much like golf.

“Semantics.” I roll my eyes. “I also hate baseball.”

“Is there a sport you like?”

I think about that question for a moment, not wanting to speak without thought. In the end, I realize sports are just not my thing.

“Not really,” I say. “But hockey takes first place for the most hated sport of all time.”

“Noted.”

I tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Anything you hate as much as I hate hockey?”

He sucks on his teeth before sighing heavily. “Parties.”

My eyebrows knit together as I try to unravel this man. “Is it the crowds? Or the socializing?”

“A little bit of both.”

“You’re a grumpy introvert.”

He lifts his wrist and looks at his watch. “Wow, ten minutes, and you already got me pegged.”

“You’re practically an open book.”

He’s quiet for a second before finishing his drink and gesturing to the bartender for another. “Another of whatever she’s having, too.”

“Would you like to start a tab?” she asks with a little too much honey in her tone, considering she’s been lukewarm at best with me.

“Yeah, let’s do that.” He turns back to me. “If that’s okay with you?”

“I’m all in. I’m definitely okay with hiding out and drinking right here for the rest of the night.”

“Now that seems like a long and complicated story.”

“It is. I imagine it’s about as long and complicated as whatever brought you here.”

He chuckles a bit darkly. “If that’s true, then we might as well get the bottle.”

I lean closer to him, my lip tipping up into a smile. “Now that’s a good idea. Which one do we get? Whiskey or tequila?”

The stranger lifts his glass and takes another swig of his whiskey. He grins. “Whiskey, of course.”

“Wow, you’re either hardcore or just old.” I grimace, and he laughs, so I start to laugh. The bartender returns with my fresh drink, not whiskey, and I take a sip. “So, how about an agreement? No talking about what brought us here.”

He thinks for a moment, then nods. “That I can do. Anything else off-limits?”

“Sports.”

“Well, we already established you hate them all. Anything else?”

“Not unless you have something to hide,” I respond with a smirk.

“No mention of real life.”

“Real life? What does that mean? Doesn’t that fall under the previous off-limits number one?”

“Not really. Number one is more or less the catalyst to arriving here. I mean, no talking about work.”

I raise my glass, moving it closer to him in a cheer. “Now that I can agree with. No talking about work or anything serious. And no sports.” My glass collides with his before he pulls back and lifts his brow.

“Well then, what can we talk about?”

“We don’t even have to talk about anything if you don’t want. I’m more than happy to just keep you company. Drown my emotions, and then . . .”

“And then what?” he says with a note of challenge.

I shrug. “See if I can make you less grumpy.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “I like the way you think . . .” His eyes narrow. “I don’t know your name.”

“Isn’t that more fun?” I tease, not really caring either way.

He stares at me, and I feel like butterflies erupt in my stomach. The way he looks at me is unnerving. Like he’s undressing me with just the way he looks at me.

“Okay.” His one-word answer gives me pause for a minute, but then his lips spread, and damn. Lord, is this man handsome.

I tilt my head and take him in.

I shouldn’t do this.

But I want to.

Come tomorrow, my life will change. I’m not stupid. I’m well aware I won’t be able to hide in this hotel when the sun rises.

I’m surprised my mother hasn’t already called me. Actually . . . I reach into my purse and grab my cell, then touch the side until it powers off. No distractions. No mention of the real world.

The stranger narrows his gaze at my phone.

“I don’t want to speak to anyone tonight but you.”

For a second, he continues to watch me, then he removes his own phone from his pocket. Once he’s powered it down, he puts it away and lifts his glass to clink it to mine again.

“And what were those cheers to?” I ask before biting my lower lip.

“To an interesting night.”

“To an interesting night,” I agree before adding my own. “To putting aside the past and the future and enjoying this moment.” He meets my glass again with his.

Both of us drink.

I’m not sure what brought either of us here tonight, but it doesn’t matter. I’m excited for the first time in a long time, and that’s all that matters.

Tomorrow, I’ll deal with the consequences of my actions. I’ll take whatever my mom throws at me, and then I’ll go to my father’s, but for tonight, I’ll be free.