Read False Start (Eastshore Tigers Book 2) for Free Online Page A

says, passing another pitcher of beer onto the table.
    “Nah, they just keep multiplying. Like bunnies,” Erica says with a wink.
    “I am not a bunny,” Trent says. “Tucker, you’re taking bio. What’s manlier than a bunny.”
    “There’s nothing manlier than a bunny,” Tucker says, matter-of-factly.
    “A jack-ass.”
    Mills finally says something, and I look up in surprise. His gaze is still fixed on his phone, but there’s a little smirk tugging at his lips that makes my heart beat out a staccato rhythm.
    “Whatever, dude. Donkeys are hung as fuck.”
    “That’s horses,” Erica says, patting him soothingly on the chest.
    “Can I get you a glass, hon? Or do you wanna cut ties with these guys now?”
    It takes me a moment to realize the waitress is talking to me.
    “I’m stuck over here now,” I say with a grin. “But I’ll just take a Coke.”
    “Put it on my tab,” Mills says distractedly.
    Not too distractedly, apparently. He must have been listening this whole time, between that and the jack-ass comment.
    “Oh shit, Mills’ got another man-crush,” Trent says.
    My heart stops, leaping up into my throat to strangle me. I knew this was coming. It’s impossible to hang around jocks and not hear things like this.
    I just hoped I’d be able to hide for one more night; to just enjoy being another one of the guys.
    “I thought you’d never get over Hawk.”
    Hawk. He has to mean Jason Hawkins, the QB who used to go here. Were they…? No, that can’t be right. Hawk was with someone else.
    “Your dad helped,” Mills says nonchalantly.
    “Did you just ‘your dad’ me, dude?”
    “Yep.”
    But there’s no half-drunk fist-fight. Trent doesn’t leap over the table and shove Mills to the ground. He just shrugs, and that’s the end of it.
    My Coke comes, Erica asks me about life in Connecticut, and nobody really thinks twice about that comment again. Some of the guys have to be uncomfortable, but if they are, they don’t show it.
    It’s not what I expected.
    I’m not drinking, but I start to feel a weird, pleasant buzz as the conversation keeps up, getting progressively louder the more the pitchers disappear.
    “Are you fucking kidding me,” I hear Mills suddenly say, startling me.
    “Your boys lost, huh? Told you it was gonna be a slaughter,” Trent says.
    “It was a shit call. Fucking ref wouldn’t know a technical if it bit him in the ass.”
    “Ooh, ass-biting. That I’d pay to see,” Erica quips.
    “What game are you watching?” I ask.
    I feel a little better about the fact that Mills was staring at his phone all night for a legitimate reason. It was self-centered to think he was avoiding me, but damn if it didn’t cross my mind.
    “Magic vs. Heat. Wasn’t more than a ten-point difference the whole game, then Dragic knocks Jennings to the court and the Heat pull ahead. Fucking bullshit.”
    “The Magic haven’t gotten a fair shake since Hardaway got injured in ’97. I always wonder how far they would’ve gone if shit hadn’t fallen apart.”
    “Before that. It started going downhill after Shaq left for LA.” Mills finally looks up at me, his eyes seeming a little darker in the dim light of the bar. “I thought you didn’t play basketball.”
    “I don’t,” I say, giving him a smile. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like watching it.”
    He nods at that, then regards me as he sits caddy-corner from me. There are still a few seats between us, but in that moment, it starts to feel like we’re the only two people at the table.
    “Didn’t think you’d be a Magic fan,” he says.
    I shrug. “I guess I’m not, but it’s hard not to respect them. They had one hell of a team back in the day.”
    “The day,” such as it was, happened before my time. But basketball was one of the things my sister and I bonded over. She always used to say she just watched for the “tight shorts and bouncing balls, if you know what I mean,” but she memorized stats better than anyone I