“Oh no,” I mumble to myself, horrified. I’ve never seen him here at night, and on a Friday when he has a game this weekend.
Everyone stares at him, some glancing to me for my reaction.
Eric holds up his arms and announces, “I am hot as fuck!”
The crowd goes nuts, laughing and applauding.
With an announcer voice like he’s at a circus, he flexes his biceps in a tight, solid navy blue t-shirt. “Are these not the sexiest biceps you have ever seen promoted without any modesty what-so-ever?”
More laughter, the cheers riotous.
“The left one’s better!” some guy calls through cupped hands.
Acting shocked Eric throws his forefinger in the air. “I better get to work on that!”
“You’re gorgeous!” a girl yells at him.
“Thank you, Melanie, you should know. You cut my hair.”
“That’s right, and I do a damn good job!”
I have two choices.
Hide.
Or fight back.
Stamping my foot on the bar I command his attention, and wipe my hands like I’m ready for the battle. Mimicking his circus announcer style I say, “Atlanta, I stand corrected. I had not noticed before but now I can see that his muscles have been carved to perfection, have they not?”
The girls go nuts, all for his benefit.
Eric raises an eyebrow, eyes dancing as he waits to see my angle.
“And admired they have been by as many as half the females in this room, I’d wager to guess. Ladies who here has seen this man’s muscle….naked?”
I left the ’s’ out on purpose and Eric cracks up as about twenty girls hoot, some doing wolf whistles.
He spreads his arms wide. “Lucky ladies all!”
Fighting back a grin of my own I shoot my finger high in the air. “So sayeth the man himself. But let us ask the women how they feel?”
They go so crazy, cheering and hooting, so much so that more than a few boyfriends glance down, eyeballing them with shut-the-fuck-up looks.
Bowing slightly I say, “So I concede, Sir Cocky, that you are indeed as attractive as you think you are.”
A cacophony of appreciation from the males in the crowd for my slamming him with my wit.
Breathing on his knuckles Eric wipes them on his chest in a dramatic fashion. “Thank God that’s settled.” People laugh. He ramps it up a notch, “I mean as long as we’re clear that I’m hot as fuck, I can now sleep at night and take our team to the fucking Super Bowl!”
Oh shit.
The bastard got the men back on his side.
Everyone cheers for him and just him.
He laughs, and motions for quiet. “Seriously though guys, let’s drop the rumors. Wren and I did not fuck. She’s faithful, and she shot me down. That’s the truth, and if I hear any gossip otherwise, you’ll answer to me. I’m not joking around now. It’s done. It’s bullshit. Bury it and move on.”
A bar filled with people hungering for drama, and a good time, don’t know what to do with a raw-honesty moment like this. There’s lots of shuffling and muttering.
Eric cocks an eyebrow, his voice deepening. “We done with the shaming? The bullying? We done?”
That gets them.
Everyone nods.
Taken aback, and feeling vulnerable now, I start to climb down, motioning to Mike to turn the music back on in a hurry.
But Eric calls out with a fresh smile, “And one more thing—if she wanted to fuck, I’d be totally open to it.”
Everyone goes nuts again, relieved with his levity, laughing and releasing all that unwanted tension.
I jump onto the rubber mat and wipe my hands on my jeans, knowing the rumor has been sufficiently slaughtered, and I’m safe. Not only that, but Eric went out of his way to help me, and that feels damn good. Like I’ve been vindicated.
The Bennett girl says, “Wren?”
I look over, stilled by the genuineness shining from guilty eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I was jealous.”
Her friends are dumbfounded, staring at her, eyes flitting to me.
I offer my hand and she shakes it.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to leave. Thank you for apologizing.”
She nods, accepts my cocktails that I retrieve and extend to her. They head away as a group, mood completely altered.
The guy who ordered the Creature Comforts and Red Brick, mutters, “Two most powerful words you can ever say.”
His friend asks, “What’s that?”
“I’m sorry.”
CHAPTER 12
ERIC
M aking my way through the nighttime crowd I’m greeted like a hero only this time it’s not for playing football. It’s for the show Wren and I just put on.
Everyone is dressed casually, like me. When I left the apartment I gave no thought to this t-shirt Ethan gave me last Christmas, or the ripped jeans I’m filling out pretty damn well. But after all that talk about my appeal I’m feeling more self-conscious than usual. And a little bit like an asshole.
Those laughing eyes catch my approach, and her conversation with a customer, a guy named Taylor, pauses for a hot second. I went to high school with him. He glances over his shoulder and lights up upon sight of me. “Cocker! Been a long time, man. Season started off with a win last weekend! Feelin’ good or feelin’ the heat?”
“Both,” I grin, slapping his drunk back. “You know my friend Wren here, Taylor?”
She rolls her eyes, a smile sneaking out as she heads to the Orpheus tap. I can tell I shocked her by telling everyone to back off like I did. She’s not sure what to make of me, how to act—if she should thank me or behave like it never happened and move on.
Taylor grins, “Everyone here knows Wren! She’s been working nights for a couple years now.”
I know by the way she’s holding herself that she’s listening to our conversation, even though her hands are busy. Taking advantage of it I ask in as loud a voice as his. “Oh yeah, you know her boyfriend?”
“Met him once but this isn’t his hang.”
“No?
