Chapter 9
CALLUM
The chatter in the club fails to distract me from the buzz in my pocket. I glance around the flashing floor at my teammates, some of whom have found themselves invited into cozy nooks with their female fans—and I use the term “fan” loosely.
Because, when Novak asked one of them if she caught the game, she went on to emphatically express that it was soooo haaawt when he’d dunked the puck in the basket.
There was no correcting that statement. Not like Novak cared when her tongue was so far down his throat she could check the size of his tonsils.
I lean over the bar counter and flag a server.
“Another one of these, please.” I wave an empty beer bottle at him before turning and checking the scene. About a dozen feet away is a brunette in a sequin dress, swaying with her girlfriends.
I might enjoy chatting her up, especially since I’ve caught her checking me out a few times already. Her gaze flits to mine yet again and I hold it, tilting my head and curving my lips just so. I know I’ve hit my mark when she grins back. Maybe after I speak with Moore, I’ll head over and say hi.
The hot brunette begins making her way toward me. Okay, then. Moore can wait.
My pocket buzzes again and I pull out my phone, doing a double take when I realize who’s been messaging me.
Tater Tots:
Thank you for the ride on Sunday.
Alia texted me? This is unexpected, given how tentative she was when I’d asked for her number.
Tater Tots:
This is Alia, btw. Alia Joshi.
I bite back a grin.
Me:
Name doesn’t ring a bell. Now, if you know a Tater Tots. . .
“Hiya, I’m Cheyenne.” The hot brunette smiles, somehow even hotter now that she’s closer. Her hair is perfectly parted in the middle, flowing down to curl around her lush breasts. Her dress is cut low enough to give me a pretty full idea of what I could get my hands on tonight.
“Callum.” I make space for her near me. “May I buy you a drink, Cheyenne?”
“I’d love that.” She leans in and I do the same, lending her my ear so I can hear her over the din of the music when she whispers, “Maybe later, I could drink somethin’ off you.”
My neglected dick reacts happily to the possibility of a warm mouth to come into instead of my hand. Southern hospitality at its finest.
Cheyenne went from zero to one hundred real quick. Though I usually prefer subtle flirtation before we begin dropping innuendos, I can’t fault her for saying exactly what she has on her mind.
I’m no fool. My dry spell needs to end before I do something stupid with a different brunette who’s been on my mind lately. Ten months without the touch of another body is a goddamn long time. I’m about to respond to Cheyenne’s offer when my phone lights up with Alia’s reply.
Tater Tots:
I should’ve led with a potato pun. Would you recognize me then?
Delight bubbles within me. A throat clears and I find Cheyenne staring, her sharp eyes flicking to my phone before resting on my face once more.
I can tell she doesn’t like the idea of my attention anywhere except on her, but my phone is burning a hole in my hand.
Alia’s message taunts me like one big dare I’m sorely tempted to accept.
I should turn my phone off so that I can get off.
Instead, I raise my glaringly silent device in the air.
“Sorry Cheyenne, I need to make a call.”
She blinks, like I’m a person of questionable intelligence. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“I’m really sorry,” I repeat, wincing when she scoffs.
“Your loss.”
I watch the promise of a spectacular blowjob disappear onto the crowded dance floor. Yep, that was a dick move, but I can’t find it in myself to mourn too long. All thoughts of Cheyenne fade away, especially when conversation with a particularly punny brunette is on the table.
Like a teenager with my first crush, I scan the chat once more. Pretty pathetic behavior for a twenty-eight-year-old man, but do I care? Nope.
I take a chance and call her.
“Hello?”
“You can’t dangle a tater joke and not follow through,” I scold, as soon as she picks up. My grin widens at her husky laugh. Fuck, I should’ve video-called her. “Why would you tease me like this, Tots?”
“Are you so easy to rile up? Should I tease you again?”
I chuckle, sitting on the bar stool so I can speak with her comfortably.
Her playfulness is more attractive than Cheyenne’s offer to suck my dick.
While that thought should’ve been alarming, I shove the nagging voice in my head away in favor of paying attention to the voice on the other end of the line.
“I can put up with a bit of teasing as long as you promise to make it good,” I banter. “Don’t leave me hanging like the night we met.”
She goes quiet momentarily, mumbling her answer. “You were busy.”
“Busy?”
“With the blonde? You were at the bar with her.”
My beer tastes sweet when I realize who Alia is referring to—and what it means.
“Tots,” I drawl, reining in the urge to cackle. “Don’t tell me you were jealous.” This might just be harmless flirting, but she didn’t like seeing me with someone else and that has me feeling smug as fuck.
“Don’t be silly, of course not! It was an observation. I saw you when I was leaving, and I didn’t want to interrupt.”
Her irritated and perfectly practical reply does nothing to wipe the stupid-ass grin off my face. “Her name is Chloe.”
“Information I’m not sure what to do with.”
“She’s my friend. I was introducing her to another friend.” Her thinking I’m the kind of man who’d leave her waiting to go flirt with someone else rubs me the wrong way. I may not commit to a relationship but I’m not an asshole—my behavior with Cheyenne notwithstanding.
A soft exhale is her only response. I find myself wishing yet again we were on video. Without that, all I have are sounds I must interpret. A breath here, a whisper there, a lilt in her tone which makes me think she’s biting down on her lip as she speaks.
I hum, letting the cold brew slide down my throat. Beer foam sticks to the side of the glass, slipping gradually to the bottom as the music around me swells.
“What’re you doing?” she asks. “Sounds busy, wherever you are.”
“Hanging out post-game with some of the guys at a club.”
“Oh, enjoy yourself. I didn’t mean to take up your time. Sorry I bothered you.” Her words come out in an embarrassed rush and I interrupt her before she cuts the call.
“Tots, you aren’t bothering me. Did you forget I called you, not the other way around?”
“I—oh, right. You did.”
“Whatchu up to?” I question, hoping she doesn’t fall silent.
“Do you want to be chatting with me right now? I’m certain there are more fun things to do at a club.
Isn’t there a woman waiting to dance with you?
” She lets out a sheepish sort of sound which makes me want to double down and take that uncertainty away.
Because, if I had to choose between talking to her or someone else.
. . Well, I just crossed that bridge, didn’t I?
“Never been a good dancer, Tots. Unless this is your way of saying I’m boring you?”
“Not at all!”
“In that case, tell me what you’re up to.”
“Watching TV,” she says. I can hear her rustling around and I have the urge to know what she looks like at home, settled into a couch in her pajamas, at ease with her surroundings. I bet she looks adorable.
“Did you catch the game tonight?” I ask, picturing the types of pajamas she’d wear, flipping through every possibility like a Victoria’s Secret catalogue.
“The cricket game? Yes.”
I scrunch my nose, mentally reminding myself to search up cricket when I get a chance. I don’t know much about anything besides hockey and basketball, but I don’t want to sound like a noob if we’re ever talking about her favorite sport.
“We’re playing on home ice next week. You should come.”
“Why? So I can ogle hot hockey players?”
My brows rise at her sass, wondering if it means she’s less nervous now. I like the thought of her getting comfortable with me.
“Ah, so you think I’m hot,” I tease, grinning harder when I hear her amused giggle.
“Are you fishing for compliments?”
“Nah, just need a little cheering tonight. We lost our game.”
“Speedy Spud still scored two goals though.”
“Hmm, guess I’m not so sad anymore,” I murmur, awash with a gentle heat at what she’d mistakenly admitted.
“You’re not?”
“No. I’m flattered my little cricketer picked a hockey game to watch.”
Her gasp is light, but I hear it as clearly as the beat of my heart pulsing in my ear.
“My cousin was playing,” she mutters.
“Your friend was playing, too.”
“The game was on right before my TV show.”
“You still watched it. How did your friend do?”
“He’s fine when he’s not being needy,” she snaps.
Did I say I liked it when she’s sassy? No, I’m fuckin’ living for it.
The shy, uncertain woman I gave a ride to has a spunky side hidden beneath the blush. There are so many layers to this girl and I want to peel them back one by one.
“Be nice to me, gorgeous. I have a weak heart. Don’t want to make me cry into my pillow tonight, do you?”
“You’re ridiculous,” she laughs.
“Thank you. I’m back in town in two days. Wanna meet up Sunday?” I’m surprised by the invite and I suspect she is as well. I hadn’t intended to ask but the more I speak with her, the more I’m inclined to do this face-to-face, where I don’t have to guess at every facial expression.
“Why?”
I rack my head for a response that isn’t I want to see you again. Only as friends, because your cousin would cut my balls off otherwise. But, also, I want to know if you wear silky nightgowns or booty short pjs, which has absolutely fuckall to do with being your friend. So, does 9:00 a.m. work?
“So you can bring a book and pretend to read while I watch.”
“I wasn’t pretending!” she protests.
“Tell that to the page you stroked like a magic lamp while staring out the window.”
My cock twitches at the idea of being stroked by Alia’s slender fingers. That would be magical.
I drop my chin to my chest and will my body to behave. All you’re getting is self-service tonight, buddy, so calm the fuck down.
“Okay. Sunday, then. Good night, Hockey Boy,” she wishes me softly.
I’m thankful she has the willpower to end this conversation and put me out of my misery.
“Good night, Tater Tots.”