Chapter 2
The guy who steps up to the bar is exactly the type Roxy goes for.
Tall. Broad shoulders stretching his team jacket.
Dark hair, strong jaw, the kind of face that probably gets pussy thrown at him daily.
His eyes sweep over me, catching on the tattoo on my bicep before moving up to my face.
They’re dark brown, almost black, and there’s something unsettling in the way he looks at me.
Perfect. Just the kind of dude to push her buttons.
I wipe my hands on a towel and step closer, flashing him a smile.
“What can I get you?”
He leans his elbows on the bar, and I catch a whiff of his cologne, all woodsy and musky.
“Heineken Zero.”
“Sure.” I grab a bottle from the fridge and pop the cap off. “On the house. Congrats on the win.”
“Thanks, man. Appreciate it.” He raises the bottle, his lip curling into a smirk.
“Not drinking tonight?”
“Not during the season. Gotta stay sharp.”
I glance over at the table where half his team is already doing shots, pouring liquor down each other’s throats. “Looks like your teammates are taking a different approach.”
“They earned it. It was a close game.” He takes a long pull from the bottle. “I’ll celebrate when the season’s over.”
“Disciplined. I like it.” I lean against the bar. “So you’re the responsible one of the group.”
“With drinking, yeah. Other stuff?” He winks. “Not so much.”
There it is. That cocky confidence I expected. The kind Roxy finds irresistible. This is my cue to point him in her direction.
I glance over at Roxy, who’s leaning across a table taking orders, her ass on full display in those tight jeans. “See my coworker over there?” I nod toward her. “Red hair. Maybe she could be your celebration tonight.” I lean in, lowering my voice. “I hear she’s got a thing for athletes.”
He follows my gaze, his eyes sweeping over her from head to toe before coming back to me. Something flashes there, but it’s not the predatory look I expected.
“What are you, her pimp or something?”
I laugh it off. “Nah, man. Just looking out for her. She’s been having a dry spell.”
Before he can respond, someone down the bar shouts for a beer. I grab a glass and start pouring.
Fuck. Maybe I went in too hard. That was smooth as sandpaper. Now he probably thinks I’m a creep. I should’ve just let nature take its course.
I move down the bar, serving other customers, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. He doesn’t head back to his teammates. He just stays there at the bar, nursing his drink.
Maybe all’s not lost.
After pouring a few more drinks, I make my way back to his end. “Sorry about that. Don’t know why I said that. I was just—”
“Trying to get me to fuck her?”
Damn. He’s blunt.
“Something like that.”
“She’s hot, I’ll give you that.” He takes another sip. “But does she know you’re out here offering her up to random dudes?”
I laugh, but it comes out forced. “We’re just messing around. Got a little competition going. That’s all.” I wave it off. “Forget I said anything.”
“Competition?” He sets the bottle down, leaning in. “Now you’ve got me curious.”
I should’ve kept my mouth shut. Nine out of ten guys would’ve just gone for the easy lay, but of course, this one has to be difficult. Getting all inquisitive and shit. Making me explain myself like I’m a fucking moron.
“Stupid bet,” I say, grabbing a rag to wipe down the already clean bar. “Seeing who can go the longest without hooking up.”
He lets out a short laugh. “No shit?”
“No shit.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Must be killing you.” His eyes flick down to my crotch for a split second. “You seem like a guy who gets a lot of action.”
I shift my weight. “I do all right. But you know how it is. Three weeks in, and things are starting to get… tight.”
“I bet.”
“But I’m in it to win at this point. I’m not a quitter. As a football player, I’m sure you get it.”
“Yeah. I get it.” He picks up the bottle again, swirling what’s left inside. “So you want me to make her lose?”
“That was the idea.”
He’s quiet for a second, studying me. Those dark eyes feel like they’re looking right through me.
“And you think she’d go for me?”
“Are you kidding? Look at you.” I gesture at him. “You’re every girl’s wet dream.”
“Damn, dude. Talk about inflating my ego.”
“You know it’s true. I bet you have to fight them off.”
“Sometimes.” He cracks a smile, and it changes his whole face. He goes from intense and intimidating to boyish and charming. “But what if I’m not interested in helping you win?”
“Then why are you still standing here asking questions?”
His grin widens. “What if I’m more interested in helping you lose?”
The sounds of the bar fade, and my brain screeches to a halt. “Sorry, what?”
“You heard me.” His eyes travel down my body, slower this time, lingering on my chest, my stomach, the bulge in my jeans, before coming back up. When they meet mine again, there’s something hungry in them.
He extends his hand across the bar.
“I’m Brock, by the way.”