Mott says over the din, “Yeah, Cocker, what took you so long to grow some balls? Or are they too blistered they crawled back up in ya?”
Everyone guffaws!
Eric glances to the bar, searching for and finding me. As our eyes lock he lights up and gives me a wink. I swear to God I’ve never felt so special, so happy, in my whole life.
But people need drinks and I’m on the clock. While he makes the rounds of stardom I go back to working, my hands moving fast and light.
When he left my apartment yesterday morning after two days in my bed, kitchen sink filled with delivery cartons and plastic silverware, his hand was a disaster, not to mention the rest of him. We took what felt like twenty-baths filled with chamomile tea we boiled on my stove. Swathed ourselves in numbing cream he had delivered from a physical therapist the team employs for player’s injuries. And while we tried not to have sex we didn’t always succeed in abstinence despite the fact that the redness stopped us mid-coitus more than once. I think if it had been a romantic few days, that might have been fun. But the laughter and the agony we shared trying to combat his foible of handing me a grouping of poisonous leaves to blow my nose with, then rubbing it all over his pants which then rubbed all over me, was way more bonding than some sweet words and heavy petting could ever have accomplished.
From virtual strangers to his human compassion forcing him to tell me the truth, to our attraction losing the leash that held it at bay, to lovers, and finally to something even more concrete than that…to friends.
Eric Cocker no longer feels like an abstract idea of a jock stereotype to me. He’s tangible—kind and thoughtful, sidesplittingly funny, incredibly protective, masculine and cocky as hell, panty-meltingly sexy, and maybe a little sweeter than he’d like to admit.
“What’re you thinking about, Wren?” Eleanor asks as she loads her tray with the drinks I just made. “Or do I even have to ask?”
With a private smile I tell her, “It’s not what you think.”
“Oh?” Her eyebrows lift.
“I was wrong about jocks. They’re more complicated than they first seem.”
Rolling her eyes yet happy for me, she heads into the crowd, throwing, “Duh!” over her naked shoulder, tank top tight in the hopes of alluring Dion Lewis to her bed again. She didn’t tell me that, but I know that lipstick is her come-and-get-it shade.
“Were you watching,” I hear from my left.
Turning at his familiar voice, I see Eric on the other side of the counter, in a v-neck T that fits him to perfection. His hazel eyes are on fire, lopsided grin adorable.
Feigning boredom I ask, “Who are you?”
He roars with laughter and jumps mermaid-style on the bar, his torso stretching across and knocking over empty glasses. I grab his face and kiss him, making out like this in front of everyone as word spreads, applause following.
Eric grins and presses one last hard kiss on me, dropping back to his side of the bar. He glances around, nods to the masses, then cocks an eyebrow my way. “Can I get a beer or what? Fuck, the service in this place sucks!”
With a lift of my eyebrow I dryly say, “Drop your pants and see if you can say that.”
He whoops along with all those close enough to have heard.
CHAPTER 29
WREN
I know I’m smiling way too much.
So happy and carefree.
My dry humor and detached snarky-bartender attitude are gone as I ask the pretty, dirty-blonde, “What can I get for you, Bethany?”
She’s a regular on game days. I saw her go home with Tony Sanchez the day I met Eric, and Eleanor confided in me that she was toying with another player last season. We’re not judging, we secretly admire her. If she has a thing for extremely large men who are the best in their field, party down, I say.
She slyly leans in and whispers, “I guess he gets the thousand bucks after all, huh?”
“Excuse me?”
People are pressed in around her, deep in conversation and not paying attention. Everything feels normal except I have no idea what she’s talking about, and the glint in her eyes is confusing me. We’re not friends, but it feels like she thinks we are.
“Not that he needs the money,” she smiles, “but you know how guys are. Dare them and they’ll do anything. Especially if you add money and everyone watching, right?”
“I’m sorry, you lost me. What are you talking about?”
“The bet. Tony bet Eric he couldn’t fuck you.”
My heart evaporates. “What…?”
Leaning closer she goes on to say, “I would have told you earlier but I thought there was no way he’d succeed after Tony said your legs were closed all through college. You guys went to school together, didn’t you?”
Numb I cut a stunned look to where Eric is laughing with Mott and Tony. He glances to me, his smirk set on his face as he gives me a nod. Tony leans in and says something in his ear and Eric’s lips curve into a grin, looking away from me as they all toast.
The cleavage-heavy messenger hammers the nail to my coffin one last time. “But did he really have to announce it on live television? I mean, the wink…come on. That was in really bad taste to soil your reputation like that, especially after you’d made it so clear he was the slut and not you. Remember that night, you guys here on the bar, him on that table? He’s such a sneaky bastard, right? Disgusting! So I just had to tell you. Us girls have to look out for each other, right?”
I dart out from behind the bar and push my way to the back exit because this is definitely an emergency. In the alley I bend over, grab my hair, the back of my calf, and hurl. It’s
