“I’m so sorry,” he says as he stands from my lap. He holds on to my shoulders, bending down and making himself eye level. “Are you okay? Let me get you another drink.” He slides a thumb over my cheekbone. “You’re far too pretty to be covered in—” “Get your fucking hands off her.” Ryan shoves Connor. “Fuck you! You could've hurt her.” I’m front row to watch Connor laugh as the ref blows the whistle and awards Ryan with a technical. “Oh, bullshit!” Ryan protests. “He’s diving into the crowd for no goddamn reason! The ball was already out of bounds.” “Technical foul. Chicago. Number five.”
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