Chapter 2
The Biggest Loser
Sliding into the U-shaped booth beside John, I hung my head while my so-called friends were still cackling like hyenas over my spectacular failure. Dallas had bet me I couldn't suplex Big Bam, and apparently my ego wrote checks my biceps couldn't cash.
"I thought you were going to cry when he picked you up like a toddler," Travis wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes.
"Very funny." I rolled my eyes. "Can we get this over with? Pick someone before I die of embarrassment."
I'd lost the bet and was now ready for my punishment. Well, after they all got done ragging on me. Brady, Travis, Joe, John, Daniel, Dallas, and I were all pro wrestlers, and when you put us all together, we were like giant kids.
"I thought the vein in his neck was going to explode," Travis laughed so hard that I could barely understand him.
"Ha. Ha." I drummed my fingers against the sticky tabletop, the rhythm matching my irritation. "This is so funny. Can you pick someone already?"
Dallas won, so he got to choose who I was taking home tonight.
He straightened in his seat as his gaze swept over the bar, moving back and forth until his face split into a smirk.
"Her." He nodded his head, and I twisted in my seat, following his line of sight and turning towards the bar behind me.
There was only one woman at the bar. I whipped around, my brow furrowed. "Are you serious?"
Dallas's shoulders shook with laughter as he nodded.
I wasn't asking that in a there's no fucking way I'd ever ask her out way.
I was surprised because she was beautiful.
She tucked a strand of dark hair with lighter colored highlights behind her ear, and I caught myself staring.
Her smile transformed her entire face when she laughed at the bartender, and my breath caught.
She was stunning in a way that made me forget the bet entirely.
My eyes darted from table to table, taking in the sea of faces. I froze, realization dawning on me.
They'd picked her because she was curvy, thinking it was some kind of punishment. My pulse quickened as I caught her smile again. A familiar tension settled in my chest, the same one I felt every time I chose my public image over what I wanted. This bet might be different.
Not that they would know because the only women I'd dated lately were tall, thin models.
For the last few years, my team chose who I dated.
In fact, they decided every move I made, every step I took.
It was all about appearances, but now I was one of the top wrestlers in the world; I could do whatever I wanted.
"Guess I’d better get to it." My lips curved up into a grin as I slid out of the booth and strolled up to the opposite end of the bar.
Sliding onto a stool, I analyzed the situation.
She was alone and throwing back straight shots.
It must have been a rough day. My eyes dropped to her left hand, noting there was no ring, but that didn't mean she was single.
"What can I get you, Matt?" Ricky asked.
I glanced at the woman again, shoulders hunched, eyes fixed on her phone like a shield. Everything about her screamed leave me alone, but that only made me want to approach her more. "Do you know her?"
"Yeah, that's Brooke Wallace. She's a regular. " His gaze shifted back to me with interest. "She's single, if that's what you're getting at."
"I need a favor. Let me bartend."
Ricky blinked at me like I'd just asked to perform brain surgery. "You could just walk over there. You're Mataio freaking Strickland."
But that was exactly the problem. Mataio Strickland got fangirls and stage-door groupies. This woman looked like she'd rather throw her drink at anyone who interrupted her brooding.
I shook my head. Her posture was giving fuck off vibes, not I'm a fangirl. "No, I can't."
"Okay," he drew out the word. "Do you even know how to mix a drink?"
"No, but it looks like she's having a straight tequila kind of night."
"Good luck, man." He pushed off the bar and threw the towel in his hand over his shoulder.
I slid out of the barstool and strolled around the bar to the back as I ran lines through my head, which all sounded stupid. I shook my head and my hands simultaneously to shake off my nerves. I hadn't had to flirt with a girl in over ten years, and I was a little rusty.
I wiped my suddenly sweaty palms on my jeans, realizing I couldn't remember the last time I'd had to make the first move. Usually, women would sidle up to me, touch my arm, and suggest, 'We get out of here.' It made things easier for me because I wasn't good at the possibility of being rejected.
As I approached, she didn't even glance up.
Inhaling a deep breath, I exhaled slowly as I stopped in front of her, and suddenly, my own insecurities were getting the best of me. I cleared my throat. "Rough day?"
She glanced up from her phone, her eyes sharp and guarded beneath furrowed brows. "I'm sorry?" My eyes dropped, widening on all the empty shot glasses. Her gaze followed my line of sight. "Oh," she shrugged, "kind of."
"Can I get you a refill and an ear?" The words tumbled out before I could stop them. An ear? Really, Matt? What are you, a body parts dealer? I forced an awkward smile.
One perfectly arched eyebrow shot up. "An ear? Is that what we're calling therapy sessions with bartenders now?"
"Would you prefer a shoulder? I'm told I have good shoulders." I turned slightly, flexing just enough to be ridiculous.
"Cocky." But she was almost smiling, and I found myself leaning closer to catch her voice over the music. "Tequila. Are you new here?"
"New at bartending, experienced at making terrible first impressions." I grabbed a shot glass, somehow managed not to drop it, and poured without spilling too much. "So what's got you drinking alone on a Tuesday night?"
Her ocean blue eyes sharpened. "Who says I'm drinking alone? Maybe I'm waiting for someone."
I made a show of looking around the decidedly empty bar area. "Must be someone pretty important to keep you waiting this long."
"Don't." She held up her hand. "I can smell the pickup line from here."
"That wasn't a pickup line. A pickup line would be something like…" I leaned on the bar, adopting an exaggerated smooth voice. "They say dating is a numbers game. Can I get yours?"
She snorted a laugh. "That's terrible."
"Exactly. Which is why I stick to genuine curiosity and mediocre bartending."
"You really want to know?" I nodded. "My divorce was finalized this morning, and I spent tonight celebrating my friend, Kali's, engagement." Her gaze dropped to her empty shot glass sitting on the bar. "It's not that I'm not super happy for her, it's just…"
She didn't need to finish that sentence; I understood. She was happy for her friend but sad for herself. I'd been divorced. I knew all the emotions that surrounded it. "I'm sorry…"
"Don't be," she shook her head. "I've had a few months to come to terms with it. I'm more upset about everything he said, and I can't help but think maybe he was right."
"About?"
She pressed her lips into a thin line as her hazy eyes assessed me. "Can I ask you something?" Her voice had gone quieter.
"Shoot."
"Do you think the dating world is harder for… Women like me?"
I set down the bottle I'd been holding. "Women who drink tequila straight and call out bad pickup lines? Definitely. You're intimidating as hell."
She gave me a look, but the corners of her lips twitched like she was fighting a smile. "You know what I mean." My brows furrowed. I had no idea what she meant because, honestly, the dating world was brutal for everyone. "Do you think the dating world is harder for plus-size women?"
My head recoiled, and my brows slammed together. "Is that what he said to you?"
"I'm sorry," she sighed, her gaze dropping to her hands resting on the bar. "I don't even know why I asked you that. I think I've had too much to drink."
The realization that this woman had been burned and was still recovering hit me square in the chest. She didn't need a man to ask her out because of a bet; she needed a friend.
"I think there is someone out there for everyone," I answered with confidence, and her eyes met mine.
"I think that there is someone who will love every inch of your perfect body the way it is, and if he doesn't appreciate," my gaze dropped to her full breasts as my tongue swept out, wetting my dry lips, "every one of your curves, then you didn't find the one yet. "
Swallowing hard, she nodded. "Thank you," she smiled. "I'm Brooke."
"Matt," I smiled. "I get off in a few minutes, and I was going to grab something to eat at the diner across the street. Do you want to join me?"
"It's one A.M.," she chuckled.
"I'm starving, and you look like you could use something solid after all that liquid."
She narrowed her eyes. "Depends," she shrugged. "Is this a pity invite?"
My eyes softened. "No," I shook my head, and I meant that with every ounce of my being. I wanted to get to know her. I wanted to spend more time with her.
"Then yes, I would love to join you."
I gave myself a mental high-five as I walked away to find Ricky. I quickly thanked him and met Brooke near the exit. I rolled my eyes as the guys hooted and hollered as we walked out, but she didn't seem to notice.