Loads of snickering from the team. I hand off the pitchers and announce with a laugh, “First of all, you all know I’m hung like a horse because all of you have blown me. And second if you hadn’t been such a pinky-sized dick in the first place, Mott, she would have been more receptive and your throats wouldn’t be as dry as you made her.”
The guys hoot, the nearby ones shoving Mott’s huge body.
He snickers, “Yeah, right,” announcing louder, “Cocker is losing his touch! Undefeated with women no more!”
With my glance flicking to the waitress I smirk, “Just watch. I’ll break her down.”
Tony throws a thick arm around a girl named Bethany, a dirty-blonde with man-made breasts, heels and a spray tan. She’s looking at me like she’d switch sides if I crooked my finger. He doesn’t know this, and if he did, probably wouldn’t care. This is not his future wife. But he’s got the grin of a man who’s going to get laid as he challenges me, “Bet you money you won’t be able to get her!”
Pouring into my mug I eye him. “When the most careful wallet on the team wants to bet me, I know something is up.”
Grunts of agreement from other Falcons.
Tony smirks, confessing why he’s so sure he’d win. “I know her.”
“Yeah? What do you know.” It’s more challenge than question as I take a soothing gulp of local craft brew.
“Had a couple classes with her in college. Those legs are closed, my friend. Even your slick moves won’t loosen that vise. She doesn’t like jocks. Goes for musician, hipster types. Skinny jeans, tats, eyeliner, the works.”
Rhami mutters in a voice for our group’s ears only, “Guess she likes to be the man in the relationship.”
Lots of chuckles travel ‘round, but me, I’m even more curious about this girl now. Is what Tony says, true? She likes weak men? The spark in those eyes didn’t say that to me. And those curves are craving hands that know how to make them shudder with pleasure. I believe women—no matter how strong in spirit and in public life—want a masculine touch in the bedroom.
Hell, my sister…perfect example. Never thought I’d see her with who she picked, but her choice serves my theory. And my cousin Hannah married an MMA fighter after all the pussies she tried to muster excitement for. And now she does everything to keep him excited. Never seen her happier, and don’t think I ever could.
As my gaze follows the waitress back to the service station, tray thirsty for a refill, her eyes haven’t flit my way once. They stayed focused on her goal. And I just found mine.
Bet she doesn’t like jocks because of the stereotype that we’re dumb. When her mind opens, so might her legs. I’m half-hard just thinking about it.
I’m going to melt that icicle.
Tony sees my interest, charcoal eyes glinting. “Thousand bucks says that she won’t catch your throw.”
The boys all whoop and howl.
Sarcastically I smirk, “Yeah right.”
Mott, Tony, Dion, Rhami, and all the others grin, holding up their mugs. I think it’s to the joke so mine is raised, too, but when Mott says, “To Cocker losing,” I scan their faces.
“You really think this is happening, and I’d lose?” Scanning the group I see the girls temporarily attached to my teammates, for the first time noticing how interested in this bet they really are. So I touch my chest. “Ladies, sorry you have to witness our debauchery. We’re a bunch of horny primates. And while I’m at it, would any of you care to switch over to my side?” Holding out my arms in invitation I glance to my crotch and smirk, “Rumors are all true.”
While the girls consider it, the Falcons yell, “No fuckin’ way!”
“Cocker, you asshole!”
Tony mutters an irritated, “Don’t listen to him, Bethany, I’ll show you a good time.”
On a shrug I drop it. “You know I could. I know I could. That’s all I’m saying.”
Mott grumbles, “Horse Dick.”
From behind my mug I grin, “Ah, don’t pout. You’re bigger than average.”
CHAPTER 4
WREN
“Bold move,” Mike chuckles as I tap fresh drink orders into the computer.
From the corners of my eyes I ask, “What are you talking about?”
“Snubbing our very own star quarterback.” He jerks his chin toward the horde of testosterone. “And the only reason we’re making so much dough today.”
I return to typing. “His friend called me Sweet Tits, Mike. I don’t have to take that from anybody. Carla even said so.”
“You think she meant them?”
“I think she included everyone who acts like a Neanderthal,” I mutter, tapping one last Orpheus beer in before punching send. Pulling out the song I’d begun to write on a napkin, from my pocket, I read it and change one of the lines quickly while I wait for my drinks. Looking up I ask, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Mike opens beer bottles with flare, caps flying. “Stop writing music and focus.”
“I’m focused!”
“Then stop jeopardizing my bank roll by treating the Falcons like dumb jocks. And you’re not fooling anyone. You’re the only girl here pretending to be immune.”
“You must be high. This is no act.”
“Hey Wren, give me a fuckin’ break, would ya? I’m a dude and even I can see Eric is one handsome motherfucker.”
“You forget I’m taken and don’t care.”
“I’ve seen your boyfriend. He’s a dork.”
Tossing a dirty towel at my co-worker, I laugh, “Don’t talk about Peter like that!”
“He is!”
“You see that string of drink tickets? Those mojitos won’t make themselves.”
Chuckling, Mike rips the paper from the printer and gets to work, hands moving so fast it reminds me why I like him back there with me on Friday and Saturday nights.
I took this cocktail-server shift from Eleanor because it was her weekend with her kids, and their dad took them to Six Flags last Sunday. She
