Behind the Pitch, a novella: Seeking Serenity 1.5 Read Free Page B

bloody mess. Right, apologize, go home, have a nap.
    Then the wanker Morrison opened his mouth. “Autumn, I wanted to make sure Fraser apologized for last night.” I hadn’t asked him to speak for me and so I didn’t disguise the look of disgust that told this bollocks he annoyed me. He was speaking to this McShane girl like he was the conquering fecking hero and I was the idiot cabin boy come to collect the rubbish. Arsehole. He returned my scowl with one of his own, wiping away that stupid smile I’m sure he reserved just for this girl. “Anyway, Fraser, don’t you have something to say to Miss McShane?”
    Damn. Right. My mouth should have been opening, should have been saying something like “apologies” or “I was an arse,” but Morrison’s narrowed, beady eyes were glistening and I had to pull my hands into fists to keep from throttling him. Finally, I looked at McShane and some of the tension left me. Just some, mind. She watched me too closely and I had to thrust my thumbs into the waistband of my shorts to keep my fisted hands still. I didn’t like her scrutiny, the hard glower of her eyes fanning over me like she was considering slapping me.
    “I’m meant to say I’m sorry for maulin’ you last night and I shouldn’t have been so rude.” She lost the frown and I did my best not to smile. It’s amazing what a bit of an accent and mild tongue rolling does to American girls. No, seriously, it’s fecking amazing. It had been a good, active summer. The frown completely left her face and her cheeks flushed. Yeah, I knew what she was thinking, but then Morrison crossed his arms and I shoved any ideas I had about McShane away. Still, she had to know that I’m harmless, really. Except for the summer. No bloody excuses for that. “Also, I was an arsehole, but in my defense, I was pie-eyed as shite.” I had to fist my hands again when Morrison slapped the back of my head. That arsehole, I swear. Right, okay, dammit, he’s the captain. Be calm, Fraser. “That is to say, I’m sorry, miss. Won’t happen again.”
    She made me stew a bit, rested back on her desk, those big, gray eyes again moving over me like she thought I was either an utter arsehole or some addled simpleton. I don’t make a habit of being uncomfortable, certainly not around women, but the way McShane watched me had my back up. What was she thinking? Why wasn’t she saying anything? I needed a quick “Sure, mate, fine, no problem,” and I was out of there quick and sudden. But she kept staring and it began to hack me off. My trainers squeaked against the floor when I rubbed them. Why the hell wasn’t she saying anything?
    “You’re new here?” she asked, as though it wasn’t abundantly clear that I was an expat.
    “Nah, born and raised in bleeding Texas. What do you think?” Another slap to the head from Morrison and that time I had to stretch my shoulders to keep from throttling him.
    “Fine. Whatever. I’ve heard your apology.”
    Great. So much for making amends. McShane rustled about in her bag and then Morrison launched into a tirade right in my fecking ear.
    “You better fix this, asshole or I swear…”
    “You’ll do what, exactly? Besides, it’s not my fault she’s pigheaded,” I whispered back to Morrison when he jabbed my arm.
    “Go fucking apologize. If she tells the president…”
    I jerked away from the captain, tired of his bossing. “Look, are you gonna go tell that president lady about last night because that would really fuck us over for the season and—” This time I caught the movement of Morrison’s hand moving, backed up, squared my shoulders. “Captain or no, do that again and I’ll fecking end you.”
    His reaction was immediate and I matched him, looked down at this bollocks like he was a pouncy git. Which he was. My fingers itched for him to touch me. One shove and I’d have him, and this McShane girl would be my witness. I would have liked nothing more than to take Morrison down.