The selfie of her sucking on the lollipop was a pretty solid indicator that a nightcap would not just involve talking. When I ran into that woman in the hall, I assumed it was Brittany making her move and figured I might as well get it over with. I should’ve known better than to jump on that opportunity, since it would likely cause more unnecessary issues, but the cold meds and the drinks tonight are messing with my ability to make rational, well-thought-out decisions, hence my making out with some random woman in the hall.

Besides, bringing Brittany was a favor, orchestrated by my mother. Apparently Brittany’s date ditched her at the last minute and my mother thought it would be the perfect opportunity to swoop in and play matchmaker. Normally, I don’t bend to my mother’s whims when it comes to my dating life, but, a little over a year ago, the importance of family was pretty much thrown in my face all at once. She had a health scare, one that resulted in a battery of tests and lot of anxiety. It was during the middle of the championships, so I couldn’t come home at all while she was in and out of the hospital. To make matters worse, not long after that, my grandmother passed away. She was an incredible woman; her loss shook us all. She’d been very much the glue in our family. So, ever since I moved back to New York, my mother has been on me about dating and settling down. I have a lot of guilt about not being there for her when she needed me so I caved when she suggested the date with Brittany. It also got me out of the charity bachelor auction that she was going to volunteer me for, but I had to agree to a second date. According to her, Brittany comes from “good breeding,” which in the world I was raised in, is more important than it should be.

I understand that my mother’s views on relationships aren’t uncommon based on her upbringing, and there may have been a time when I would’ve probably shared her ideals. But I’ve spent the last seven years playing professional rugby, and it’s changed my views on a lot of things. Relationships, and how they function, or rather dysfunction, being one of them.

I don’t make eye contact with anyone as I maintain a brisk, but casual stroll toward the elevators. It’s taking more effort than I expected to stay on a straight path. People kept handing me scotch tonight, it was hard to say no, especially in this crowd.

Brittany’s too-high shoes prevent her from making a speedy escape. She walks like she’s on the runway no matter where she goes. It’s a little ridiculous. She reaches the elevator just as the doors open, so I have to pick up my pace. She keeps jamming the button, but I shove my arm in before the doors can close all the way and step inside.

“Thanks for holding the elevator for me.” I should rein in the attitude, but I’m annoyed at the negative turn in my evening. And the cold meds I took a few hours ago are already wearing off. I feel like garbage.

She makes a disgruntled sound, crosses her arms over her chest and stares straight ahead.

I don’t feel like dealing with this. I could manage when she was being flirty and alluding to things she wanted to do later. Now she’s being an overdramatic princess, and I don’t do overdramatic princesses. Although, I can understand her current discontent even if the hissy fit seems unnecessary. Mistake or not, I did stick my tongue in someone else’s mouth when I’m supposed to be her date.

I lean against the opposite wall as the elevator descends. “I’m sorry about that other girl. I thought it was you.”

“I’m not going home with you tonight,” she huffs.

I shove my hands in my pockets. If she still wanted to come back to my place, I’d have more concerns than I already do about her. There’s no fucking way I’d sleep with her anyway, because I like my balls where they are and I’m not interested in losing them to her father if he found out I screwed his daughter the first time I took her out. “That’s probably a good idea. I’m still not feeling a hundred percent.”

I have a business trip coming up in a few days and a meeting tomorrow morning. I don’t have time for this. I’m still in recovery mode from this cold and flu double slam I’ve been hit with and I can’t afford to feel like this when I’m getting on a plane in the near future.

“I can’t believe you thought she was me. I’m prettier than her, aren’t I?” She lifts her chin and sniffs, her offense clear.

That other woman is ten times hotter, but telling Brittany that would be me digging myself a deeper hole. Honesty isn’t always the best choice. I’m in such a bad mood now. “I didn’t get a good look at her.” It’s lame, but I’ve written off any more fun for tonight. In my head, I’m already in the shower, rubbing one out to the image of the woman I did kiss, not the one pouting in the corner.

Besides, Brittany really isn’t my type. She’s pretty, but she wears far too much makeup. In the few seconds I had to get a good look at the woman I made out with in the hall—and recognized the very serious error I’d made—I noticed she’s definitely gorgeous. Dark hair and green eyes, not too petite with curves in all the right places and a natural beauty that makes my nuts ache. And that’s saying something with all the medication I’m on. I’ve only had to rub one out twice this week. I’m that sick.

“Why’re you looking at me like that? I already told you, I’m not coming home with you.” Brittany huffs and glances at her reflection in the mirror, fixing out of place hairs.

I shake my head, coming out of my haze. I must’ve spaced out while she was talking. God, I feel like garbage. “I’m still going to make sure you get home safely.” Despite my frustration over the situation, I’m not going to leave her to find her own ride.

“I know how to hail a cab.”

I give up on talking and mentally review my checklist for the next few days. My suit is already laid out for my morning meeting—this Monday night engagement party isn’t helping me get the sleep I need. I have to be out of the house first thing, and then I need to get on organizing paperwork for my trip. Five weeks overseas is a long time, and I can’t afford to forget essential files. This trip is important. It’s my test to see if I can manage things without my father breathing down my neck.

The elevator dings and Brittany struts past me, flipping her hair over her shoulder, smacking me in the face. I let her walk on ahead. I’ve forgotten to call my driver, so I have to spend a few extra, awkward minutes with a pouting Brittany.