Wildcard: Volume Two (Wilcard, #2) by Missy Johnson Page A

lot of fun and usually up for anything. This is especially true of girls on the East Coast. I’m surrounded by beautiful women wearing tiny bikinis and nothing else. Seriously, they might as well be naked with the little amount they’re wearing. I’m getting plenty of attention as I stand there, observing, but for once I don’t care.
    Because I can’t get her out of my head.
    Turning, I walk toward the entry of his apartment complex. It’s a courtyard of modern apartments that rise six levels. Right away, I’m reminded of that old American soap Melrose Place , and I half expect Heather Locklear to round the corner. I cringe. I’m not sure which I should be embarrassed about more: the fact that I remember that damn show, or that I can actually name Heather Locklear.
    I walk through to apartment sixteen. It’s on the second level of the building farthest from me. This is the first time I’ve visited Josh since he and Charlotte moved to this neighborhood. I press the doorbell and wait.
    Josh answers the door with a sympathetic smile.
    I scowl at him. “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want you feeling sorry for me.” I push past him and stroll inside.
    He laughs and shakes his head. “Hello to you, too.”
    “Charlotte here?” I ask, dumping my bag on the floor. I walk over to the couch and slump into the seat. I hope I’m making it pretty clear that I’m not in the mood for small talk.
    “She’s at a photo shoot. Drink? Beer? Coffee?”
    “A coffee would be good.” A beer would be a bad idea, considering I’m pretty sure I’m still affected by last night’s solo drinking effort. I yawn and pick up my phone, checking my messages for the umpteenth time in the last hour.
    Nothing . I toss it aside, my anger at her lack of contact growing yet again.
    “Have you heard from her?”
    “Nope,” I growl.
    “Right,” says Josh. “Then forget about her, okay? I don’t want to hear her name come out of your mouth for the rest of the day.”
    “Suits me fine,” I mutter.
    “How’s the injury?” He raises his eyebrows, a smirk playing on his lips.
    I scowl at him. That’s his idea of a change of subject? “It’s getting better.” I narrow my eyes.
    “Any idea when you'll be playing again?”
    “Why?” I fire at him. “Are you worried?”
    “As if,” he scoffs. He sits on the arm of the chair and laughs. “You do realize that you’ve slipped out of the top twenty? Dude, I’m one win away from beating your rank.”
    “Mate, I’m injured.” I laugh. “That’s seriously the highlight of your career? Beating my rank because I can’t play ? That’s pathetic.”
    “I take what I can get. I know I’ll never be number one. Beating you—injured or not—feels like a sweet victory.”
    I shake my head, but let him have his moment.
    “Let’s go out,” he declares, standing up. “There’s this new bar down by the beach that’s really nice. It’s also really excusive.”
    “Yeah, then why do they let you in?” I smirk.
    “One of the benefits of dating a supermodel,” he shoots back. “Come-on. All you’re going to do around here is whine like a little girl.”
    I roll my eyes, but stand up and follow him because he’s right. As much as I don’t feel like going out, I think it’s something I need to do. I need the distraction. That’s the whole reason I’m here after all, right?
    ***
    I exit the taxi and follow Josh into the bar. Right on the beach and complete with a huge balcony overlooking the water, it’s not surprising that this is one of Miami’s current hotspots. The architecture of this place is amazing. Bold colours, clean lines, and loads of natural light are what it’s all about, and it works.
    There are beautiful women everywhere, and I’m aware of the attention Josh and I are receiving as we are led to our table. Inside is just as spectacular as the exterior. I love this place already. It’s a nice change from the overcrowded, sad pubs I’m used to back in