“Ok, you two can duke this out, play Rock-Paper-Scissors—I don’t care—but either way, one of the two of you is going to represent this team for the charity date at ACH next Friday night. So, pick which one. You have sixty seconds.”
Pax looked at Quil as if to say, “What the hell did you just sign me up for?”
Quil was quick on the draw. “He’ll do it.” He moved to stand, and Madi pointed her pen back down to the chair. “Oh, c’mon, he would love to do it. Wouldn’t you, Pax?” Quil gritted his teeth at him.
Pax shrugged happily, loving the intrigue, the young and naïve man clueless to what he was volunteering for. “Sure. Why not? What do I gotta do?”
“Yeah, tell him, Mrs. McFadden.” Quil scoffed, and Madi narrowed her eyes, shutting him up.
“It’s simply a date.” When Pax’s brows rose, she elaborated, “The single ladies across the state will donate money to the hospital to be entered to win a date with you.”
“That’s it?” Pax snorted in surprise. “Dude, you’re such a pussy.” He shoved at Quil.
“Fuck off, Poseidon.” Quil shot him a bird before rolling his eyes.
“Pax, this is important. No sexual relations. No kissing. Just a good old-fashioned date. Remember, you represent the organization. You’ll be a perfect gentleman and graciously take the winner out. Make it enjoyable, make her feel appreciated. I’m assured it will be females only.”
“Oh good…I mean, I am from California, which automatically makes me more open-minded than you conservative southern folks, but I draw the line taking a man out on a date.” He shook his head and crossed his arms over his broad chest.
Madi’s brow arched. “Are you done?” she sassed, and Pax blushed dejectedly. “As I was saying: you represent the organization, so I’ll expect your best behavior—otherwise you’ll be running laps until you pass out and I’ll fine the shit out of you.”
Pax stifled a laugh at her serious tone. “Aye aye, boss. You’ve been hanging out with Zeus too much, I see. He’s rubbing off on you.”
Quil looked at Pax fearfully, baring his teeth, as if waiting for Pax’s head to get blown off by the hollow-tipped bullets Madi was suddenly shooting from her eyes.
“I can’t keep food down. I’m exhausted no matter how much sleep I get. I’m not allowed enough caffeine, and I constantly balance between the desire to screw my husband and wanting to kill him. Tell me, how would you feel?”
Pax bowed his head; a puppy being scolded for peeing on the rug. “Sorry I said anything,” he mumbled. “Sooo…back to the date. I guess most these broads will be old and rich, so I shouldn’t have an issue about wanting to fu—er—screw any of them, huh?”
Madi just grinned deviously. She wouldn’t elaborate that this charity event wasn’t just for the rich and famous of Atlanta but a community-wide collaboration between the team and the hospital. It would raise money for the children’s hospital while garnering more interest in the football team and players. People could donate anything from pennies to thousands and each time they did, their names were put into a raffle pot where one would be drawn out randomly as the lucky winner. She’d just let him believe what he wanted to. After all, all he had to do was show up, go on the date, then go home afterwards. No strings. No catches.
How hard could that be?
SNEAK PEAK AT PASS INTERFERENCE
PROLOGUE
Paxton “Poseidon” Guthrie laughed and patted his teammate’s shoulder as they entered the doors of the exclusive gentlemen’s club, RISE.
It was one of the classiest, most luxurious strip clubs he’d ever been in, and he’d frequented many in his twenty-five years on the planet. Brilliant Chandeliers cascaded from the ceiling and the curtains were gold and black; even the poles were shimmering, along with the masked dancers. Damn, so this was what $5,000 a year membership bought a man, huh?
Quillan Layton seemed to be just as impressed as he smirked over at Pax, his thick brows rising.
It was Monday night, practically their “Friday.” They’d been watching game film all day and got out of meetings by four. It had been Pax’s idea for a night on the town and who could pass up an opportunity to come to one of the most infamous gentlemen’s clubs in Atlanta? Especially when Quil had an invite he’d never cashed in. Plus, he owed Pax big time for the charity event he was doing come Friday night, all because Quil had pussied out on Madi.
They were escorted by one of the hostesses to a table closest to the center stage where a woman in a deep purple and silver wig and matching mask danced on the pole. She had a great body from what he could see. It was covered in thin lace that matched the rest of her “costume.” She winked at Quil, and Pax rolled his eyes.
Quil had that broody, broken hero look—the one the ladies just swooned over. Tall, dark, and handsome—or so they’d said. Pax was a sandy blond, blue-eyed California boy with a gold tan and a build as solid as a Ford F-150. He could lift tires as big as Quil without straining. He was a linebacker who crushed quarterbacks for a living. Pax was…totally getting passed up by the hot stripper for Quil.
“Dude, what the fuck!” Paxton mumbled under his breath. “Every damn time.”
Funny thing was, Quil wasn’t even interested…or so it always seemed. And Pax could understand. Quillan’s wife died last year and he was now raising a seven-year-old little girl alone thanks to her drug addiction.
“Uh, no thank you,” Quil answered as the stripper whispered into his ear, running her hand along his jaw then down his chest to his ink-sleeved forearm.
Pax was close enough to hear her say, “Don’t worry, stud. I’m clean.”
It wouldn’t have mattered if she was clean and housed a platinum-coated pussy, Quil wasn’t gonna touch a stripper. He hadn’t thus far anyway.
