“Dude! Seriously? She was ready, willing, and able until your dumb ass turned up.”
Coke jumps from my stomach to my throat when Dalton punches me in the gut. “She wasn’t like that.”
I arch a brow, bullshit written all over my face.
“She’s not—now.” He barges me with his shoulder, his knock more in anger than in jest. “Kiss your godfather role goodbye, Elvis. I don’t want an asshat who can’t tell the difference between a girl letting him down nicely and one eager to take him home being responsible for the care of my daughter if anything were to happen to me.”
I know he’s only joking, but I play along. “Ah, come on, man. You know I’m just playin’. Becca only talked to me because she knew you were my friend.” That’s not true, but if it makes him feel better, I’ll pretend it is.
“Damn straight.” His words aren’t as confident as he’s hoping, but like our entire conversation tonight, he plays it cool. “So what do you say? You up for a co-parenting role with a girl too young to know how to parent?”
Malted liquid sprays through the air when I whack him in the guts. He wheezes on the beer trapped halfway between his lungs and his throat, acquiring us many eyes in the room, two pairs more notable than the rest: Willow’s and Becca’s.
“She’s twenty-two—”
“In a couple of months.” He’s chuckling so hard, I can barely make out his words.
If we weren’t entering the playoffs, I’d stomp on his foot. Luckily for him, my head is already in game mode—and no, I’m not entirely referring to the game of football.
“Ask her, but don’t mention I’ve already been recruited. If Willow wants to do it on her own accord, let her.”
I wait for Dalton to nod before pushing off my feet and heading to Willow. We turned up; we partied; now it’s time for the real entertainment to begin.
My stride shortens when Dalton calls out my name. When I spin around to face him, he quotes, “I’m just playin’.” He has the smirk down pat, even his stance is accurate, he’s just missing one thing: the fire in my eyes every time I quote my infamous line.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Willow
“Icross my heart and hope to die; I won’t stick my fingers in your pie.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “I don’t recalleverhearing that version before.”
Elvis climbs out of the cab idling at the front of his condo before shifting on his feet to face me. “Wait until you hear Danny’s version.” He tugs on the collar of his shirt as his face screws up. When he hears my laugh, the plea on his face turns rampant. “Come on, Will. I’ll keep it Hannah Montana clean.”
“Hannah Montana pre-‘Wrecking Ball’ days? Orgrinding her ass on Robin Thicke’s dick on stageHannah Montana?” When he makes a face like he’s leaning toward the latter, I murmur, “No deal. We have less than two weeks, E. It’s not that long.”
My tone relays my disappointment. I was handling our abstinence from sex okay until tonight, but seeing Elvis woo the shyness out of a handful of girls who flocked to my side tonight makes me despise events that haven’t even happened yet. It was a struggle for me to keep my hands off him during our thirty-minute trip home, so I know without a doubt that I won’t be able to hold back when we’re safe from prying eyes.
Hearing the devastation in my tone, Elvis increases his odds. “What if I agree to keep my hands to myself? I won’t touch you in the slightest.” His brows furrow as confusion washes over his face. “Is spooning classified as touching?”
I try to play it cool, act like his question didn’t make my heart rate triple, but the high squeak of my words gives away my true composure. “You want to spoon with me?”
“Yes.” His smile does wicked things to my insides. “Very much so.”
“And that’s it? Just spooning?”
He nods while holding his hands up like he’s about to be arrested. “My hands will remain above board at all times.”
His smile enlarges when I grumble, “You don’t have to sound so happy about it.”
“What were Coach James’s stipulations when he altered your contract?”
Pretending the cab driver isn’t watching our exchange with an eagle eye, I reply, “Lip kissing and handholding are okay.” Recalling the mortified expression on Coach’s face when he read out his newly drafted rules has me laughing. “And by lips, he means the ones on my face.”
Elvis’s laughter joins mine. “I still can’t believe he included that.”
“I can. He knows every man on your team as if you are his sons.” I lift and lock my eyes with Elvis’s glistening gaze. “That’s why I don’t want to disappoint him.”
