“To Carter and her amazing fuckin’ legs,” Parker echoes, his appreciation for her legs apparent in his tone as he slaps his cup down on the counter.
“Show a little respect.” My temper flares white-hot and the words are out before I can stop them, sounding more like a threat than a warning. “She’s your teammate.”
“Hey, man. No disrespect,” Parker says, a lazy grin spreading over his face. “I’m thinking about asking her out. I’m kind of digging the hard-to-get vibe. I mean, I know she’d never go out with this asshole,” he says, nodding at Coop, who clutches his chest like he’s wounded, “but I figure I might have a shot.”
Like hell. Carter needs a guy who—well, I don’t actually know what she needs, which is half the problem, but I know Parker’s not it.
I crumple my cup and toss it in the overflowing trash can. “Keep your dick in your pants unless you wanna ride the bench. Coach doesn’t want any funny business.”
Smith snorts and gives me the side-eye. “Who the fuck says ‘funny business’?”
“You really think Coach would bench me for taking her out?” Parker asks, skepticism etched in the lines of his face.
“You wanna find out?” I take a pull of my beer, doing my best to look impassive despite the irritation roiling in my gut. Parker and Carter? They’re all wrong for each other. Anyone could see it.
“Dude, you guys are bringing me down,” Coop declares, pouring another shot of whiskey and thrusting it into my hand. “This place is full of women dying to congratulate us on a hard-fought victory today. Can we please go enjoy the fruits of our labor and quit standing around with our dicks in our hands?”
Against my better judgment, I throw back the shot and follow the guys to the living room. We’re immediately swarmed with well-wishers who want to rehash the game. Smith and Parker slide in on the beer pong tourney, and it’s not long before a smoking-hot brunette drags Coop upstairs, her barely there skirt giving him a preview of what’s to come.
I can’t imagine what Carter would think of all this. I’m all for no-strings hookups, but I get the feeling she’s not a fan of casual sex. The idea of bathroom BJs would probably offend her sensibilities and leave her fifty shades of embarrassed.
It has a totally different effect on me.
An image of Carter with her thighs backed up against the bathroom sink plants itself front and center in my brain. It’s easy to imagine cupping her ass and lifting her onto the vanity, her sexy legs parting to allow me access. She lifts her chin, revealing the long line of her neck as her hair tumbles over her shoulders, and it’s the sweetest damn sight I’ve ever seen. I’ll bet she tastes like flowers and honey and sunshine and—fuck. Why am I thinking about Carter?
She’s off-limits. Way off-limits.
Hell, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even like me.
Okay, no big deal. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve had sex and teammate or not, she’s the woman I spend the most time with. It’s only natural she’d appear in my fantasy, right?
Doesn’t mean a thing. Except that I need to get laid.
I shake off all thoughts of Carter and grab another beer from the fridge. Then I plaster a smile on my face as I field a million questions about our championship odds, bowl games, and what I’m doing later tonight. The night is young and there are women everywhere, plenty of whom are looking to score.
It’s easy to tell which ones are DTF because they don’t waste time on small talk and get right to the point. Sort of like Kendall, who’s got my bicep in a vise grip as she rubs her perky tits against my chest. Her nipples stand at attention and she’s licking her lips like she’s remembering the taste of my cock in her mouth.
Six months ago—hell, six week ago—I would’ve jumped on the invitation. But I’m not feeling it. Not even a flicker of interest from my cock.
WTF. I glance down at my beer, which is almost empty.
I’ve never experienced whiskey dick firsthand, but this must be it, because come on, no guy in his right mind could look at Kendall and not get hard. She’s a knockout with shiny blonde hair, big brown eyes, and the kind of legs shaped by hours of spin classes.
“You played great today,” she says, batting her lashes and giving me the standard line.
“Thanks.” Here’s the thing, it’s easy to tell the jersey chasers from the real fans because they know your stats and they want to actually talk about the game. Like, in play-by-play detail. Kendall’s cool, but I doubt she knows I threw for over two hundred yards today, because she doesn’t know shit about football.
Hell, I doubt we have anything in common except a mutual interest in pleasure.
“Seeing anyone?” She practically purrs as she looks up at me, her seductive smile telling me everything I need to know. Kendall’s back in the game and looking to score.
“Nah.” I drain my beer and nod a greeting to one of Coop’s brothers. Poor bastard’s eyeing Kendall like she’s salvation, but he doesn’t stand a chance. She’s got a type and he’s not it. “You know the drill. No time for commitments other than football.”
Kendall laughs, her fingers loosening on my arm. “That’s what I like about you, Reid. No bullshit.”
“I try.” I shrug and take the opportunity to disentangle myself from Kendall.
