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“Almost ran over.”
“Not much of a rack but her ass and legs are a ten. Now I know why you mobilized the entire team to get her info.”
Head shaking, I’m quick to correct him. “It’s not like that.”
Most days I already feel like Atlas carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. Between keeping up my grades, getting into medical school, and leading this team to another national title, there’s no room for anything else. Most of all for a girlfriend. And this is definitely the type of girl that requires commitment and promises I don’t have it in me to give. Despite what she said the other night.
“You guys grab food yet?” Cole asks, walking up with Brock, a couple of the younger guys, Warner, Shane, and Quinn.
“Waiting for your lazy ass,” Dallas tells Cole.
“We’re all a little spent from your bullshit. You happy about being benched this weekend?”
Dallas shrugs. Though it doesn’t hide his thoughts. Or the way his amusement dims. Typical Dallas. He’d rather cut his arm off than admit he’s upset.
His attention returns to Alice. “You didn’t tell us she’s hot, Rea. I’d do her.”
I knew it was too much to ask that he drop it. “Keep your voice down, dickhead.” All the guys turn to stare at her and a feeling of hyper-awareness creeps up my neck. “And you’d do anyone,” I point out the obvious.
“Erroneous,” Dallas fires back, pretending to be offended. “Erroneous fucking assumption. Did I do that UCLA Kappa chick that was all over me last year? No, I did not.”
“Only because Calvert warned you she’d gone fatal attraction on him,” Brock rebuts.
“This one definitely kicks it old school which means she’s off-limits to you savages. Mitts. Off––you feel me?” I warn and mean it. The thought of any of these guys touching Bailey makes my blood curdle.
“What about you, Rea?” Dallas chimes in. “She off-limits to you too?”
I shrug, not giving him the satisfaction. “I’m not in the market for a girlfriend.” And that’s the absolute truth. No matter how cute she is when she laughs and that she gets all my movie references. This year is about some well-earned fun, and a girlfriend doesn’t belong anywhere near that equation.
“I kick it old school.” Brock’s deep voice slices into the conversation like a hot knife into butter. Every head on the team swivels in the big guy’s direction. To call him quiet is a serious understatement. So when he does speak, people tend to pay attention. “Does that mean she’s not off-limits to me?”
“Ho-ly shit. Could this be the angel sent from heaven to finally steal your cherry, B?” Dallas stands on the bench with a hand over his heart. “Because if you’ve got your sweet feelings set on her, who am I to stand in the way of a brother entering into manhood.”
Brock’s mouth tilts in a wry smile. That’s all the reaction Dallas’s ball busting gets. Brock’s one of those rare individuals who’s immune to other people’s opinions. “Fucking doesn’t make me a man, bro. If that were the case, you’d be ten times the man you are.”
“Oooo…Dayum…Dallie, he murdered your ass,” the chorus shouts, one over the other.
Grinning, Dallas opens his arms wide and advances on Brock. “I hate it when we fight, sugar bear. Let’s kiss and make up.” Brock pushes him off as Dallas attempts to throw his arms around his neck.
“I’ll give ya a kiss, Dallie.” Quinn leans back in his seat on the bench, arms crossed. He’s wearing the same sly look I’ve seen on him when he’s baiting an opposing team’s player. This usually precedes one, or more of us, getting thrown out of the pool for a foul.
“Smith––” I shake my head. “Give it a rest, man,” I beg before it goes any further. I swear he loves to get under D’s skin.
Dallas flips him off and returns a similar smirk. “Fuck you, Quinn, you fucking slut. If I was bent, you wouldn’t be my type.”
Quinn snickers. It’s common knowledge that he burned through the West Hollywood scene as soon as he stepped foot in Southern California––something he openly brags about.
And since Quinn literally fought his way out of the slums of Liverpool, having his nose broken three times and losing a spleen before his fourteenth birthday because it “didn’t feel right” to hide his sexuality, he now does whatever the hell he wants, with whomever he wants, whenever he wants. And don’t get in his way, or pay the consequences in blood.
He’s also ranked best goalie in the league so none of us give a single shit what he does in his spare time. Or how many.
“Pot, meet kettle, wanker,” is his quick response to that.
While that goes on, Brock’s attention returns to me as if to say, well? A flare of heat shoots up my neck. Shit. Am I attracted to her? She’s got curves in all the right places. That heart-shaped ass would make a man a nice soft place to land. I’d have to be gay not to notice. But is it more than that?
