Chapter 6
“So you’re the last one from your team,” Roxy says, leaning across the bar with a grin.
The place is nearly empty now, just a handful of stragglers nursing their last drinks. Brock’s migrated to the bar, arms resting on the wood. He’s switched from Heineken Zero to tonic water with lime.
I work my way down the bar, wiping surfaces, collecting empties, stacking coasters. All the end-of-shift stuff you do when you want to look busy but you’re really just listening. Trying to hear every word over the low thrum of the music.
“I always am,” Brock says. “The guys need their sleep. I’m more of a night owl.”
“Is that right?” Roxy’s using her flirting voice, all smooth and honeyed. “Guess that makes you the fun one.”
“I don’t know about that. It’s just hard to wind down after a game.”
“I get it. All that adrenaline.” She’s got her elbow on the bar, leaning in, giving him a perfect view of her tits. “It has to go somewhere, right?”
My hands clench around the rag. She’s laying it on thick—the classic Roxy approach.
Brock sips his tonic. “I find ways to channel it.”
“Hmm, I bet you do.” She runs a finger along the neckline of her top. “You seem like a very... focused person.”
He raises an eyebrow. “That right?”
“I’m pretty good at reading people. Comes with the job. And you... you strike me as the kind of guy who’s very determined.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Just an observation. But I happen to like guys like that.” She wets her lips. “They know what they want, and they don’t let anything get in their way.”
I’m not sure if I imagine it, but for a split second, his eyes flick toward me before landing back on Roxy.
“Can’t argue with that.”
“And you’re not drinking tonight.” She points at his glass. “So you’re disciplined too. A dangerous combination.”
“Gotta stay sharp for the season.”
“Smart.” She smiles. “What position do you play, anyway?”
Shit. Why didn’t I ask that? He asked about my tattoo, showed an interest in me, and I just... didn’t ask anything back. Too self-absorbed, as usual.
“Quarterback.”
“Figures.” She lets out a little laugh. “The leader of the pack. The one calling the shots.”
“Someone’s got to.” He swirls the ice in his glass. “Not always easy, though. A lot of pressure.”
“Yeah? I bet you handle it well.”
She’s good. Really good. She knows exactly how to flatter a guy, stroke his ego, make him feel like he’s the only person in the room.
I’ve seen her do it a hundred times. But I’ve never stood on the other side of it, watching her work on someone I…
someone I what? I don’t even know how to finish that thought.
I just know my jaw is tight, and I’ve wrung the same bar rag ten times in two minutes.
“So, quarterback.” Roxy leans a little closer, twirling a strand of red hair around her finger. “You always this hard to get?”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“Then what would you say? Because I’ve been giving you signals for the past twenty minutes, and you’re just smiling and sipping your water. Are you just not interested, or do I need to spell it out for you?”
“Damn,” Brock says, letting out a low whistle. “You don’t mess around, do you?”
“Look, I’m not usually this forward. But my shift is almost over, and I really want to fuck you. Okay? So I’m just gonna put it out there. Are you coming home with me or not?”
I drop a glass.
It shatters on the floor behind the bar, glass spraying everywhere. The crash makes both of them turn their heads.
“Shit,” I mutter, dropping to my knees to clean it up. “Sorry. Clumsy.” My hands shake as I sweep the shards into a dustpan.
“Need help?” Roxy calls over.
“I got it.”
Their conversation continues above my head, but I can’t make out the words over the buzzing in my ears. All I can see is the image of Brock on his knees, looking up at me. I sweep faster, glass scraping against the floor.
When I stand and toss the dustpan, Roxy’s got her hand on Brock’s forearm, leaning in.
“—so, what do you say?”
I need to stop this. Right fucking now.
My eyes fall on the kegs lined up against the back wall.
“Hey.” I cut in before I can stop myself. “Big guy. Feel like making yourself useful? Got some kegs that need to be taken down to the cellar. Could use the muscle.”
Roxy turns to look at me, green eyes narrowing into tiny, furious slits. What the actual fuck, she mouths.
“Calvin,” she says. “He’s a customer. I’m sure he doesn’t want to—”
“Nah, it’s cool.” Brock slides off the barstool, downing the rest of his tonic water. “Happy to help.”
Roxy watches him follow me toward the back, arms crossed, looking like she’s about to chuck something at my head.
I can’t blame her. A few hours ago, I was trying to throw him at her. Now I’m actively cockblocking her. She must think I’m insane. Maybe I am.
Brock and I get our hands on one of the heavy kegs and maneuver it toward the cellar door. I kick it open with my foot, and we work it down the narrow stairs, the metal clanging against the concrete with each step.
The cellar is small and cramped, spare kegs and crates of supplies stacked against the walls, barely enough space to move. We set the keg down, and I turn to face him. A single bare bulb casts harsh light across his face.
“What are you doing up there?” I ask, my voice rougher than I intended.
“What do you mean?”
“With Roxy.”
“What about it?”
“You’re not actually thinking about going home with her, are you?”
“I wasn’t, but now I’m confused. I thought that was your whole plan. Get me to hook up with your friend so you win the bet.”
“Yeah, but that was before—” I stop myself.
“Before what?” He steps closer.
“Before we—” I gesture between us. “You know.”
“Are you a little jealous, Calvin?” He’s got that damn smirk again.
“What? No. Of course not.” I back up, hitting the wall behind me.
“Because you were the one who said it was just about getting off. No strings.”
“I know what I said.”
“So then what’s the problem?” He’s right in my face now. His woodsy scent fills my lungs. “You worried I’ll tell her what happened in the bathroom? I won’t. I’m not a jerk. I can keep a secret.” His eyes drop to my lips. “Especially when they’re this good.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what?”
“I just—” I run a hand through my hair. “You didn’t get anything out of it.”
“Yes, I did.” His voice drops low. “Watching you fall apart like that was more than enough.” His dark eyes lock on mine, and I feel a pull deep in my stomach. “But if you’re feeling indebted…” He reaches out and takes my hand, pressing it against the bulge in his jeans. “I’m not gonna say no.”
“Fuck,” I breathe. “You’re hard again.”
“Yeah.” He pushes into my touch, a low rumble in his chest. “That’s what you do to me.”
My hand moves on its own, tracing the length of him through the denim. He exhales slowly, jaw tight, his eyes never leaving mine. I can feel the heat of him through the fabric, the throb of his pulse against my palm.
“Calvin.” My name in his mouth sounds like a warning.
“What?” I squeeze gently, and he makes a low sound in his throat that goes straight to my dick.
“You keep doing that, and we’re not going back upstairs.” He plants a hand on the wall next to my head, caging me in.
“Maybe I don’t want to go back upstairs.”
“Yeah?” He lowers his head, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my lips. “What do you want then?”
“I—”
“What do you want, Calvin?”
I could kiss him. The thought flashes through my mind. His lips are right there, parted slightly, inches from mine. What would it feel like? To press my mouth against another guy’s? To taste him?
But that’s too much. Too intimate.
Instead, I drop to my knees.
The concrete’s cold and hard beneath me. I look up at him, my hands already at his belt, fingers working the buckle.
“Let me return the favor.”