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“They wanted my voice loud and proud for all to hear, until I had something to say they didn’t agree with,” I tell Carson with a shake of my head, grabbing onto the top of the bar to steady myself when my body wobbles a little. “Hands on hips, smiles on lips, shut your damn mouth, you bitch!”
When I giggle at the little cheer I just made up, I realize I’ve probably had enough alcohol for the night.
Carson grabs a cocktail napkin from the bar and dabs the rest of the tequila off my chin for me, giving me a sympathetic smile while he also gingerly blots away the tears from the corner of my eyes I didn’t even realize were there before they ruin my makeup.
“I spent too much time touching up your smoky eye in the car after I picked you up all sad and alone at that ghastly bar by your place, for you to ruin it,” Carson informs me, smartly shoving my shot glass and the tequila bottle far out of my reach, while I sniffle and try to get myself under control. “What’s done is done, and there’s no use crying about it now. Chin up, tits out, and give me five minutes to survey the room and find you a man worthy of your tequila tongue in his mouth.”
I laugh through my tears as a loud chorus of groans from partygoers forces my head to turn toward the television a bunch of people are still gathered in front of, now watching an ESPN highlight of the Vipers quarterback throwing the interception that lost us last year’s Super Bowl.
“If he would have gotten out of the pocket once during that game, we might have actually had a chance,” I complain, while Carson is busy checking out all the men in the room, before I switch right to another subject, as one does when there’s more tequila rushing through her veins than blood. “Why is this house so lifeless and boring? You couldn’t hang a few pictures and show some personality? It would be pretty if it weren’t for the walls. Who chose this boring, all-gray color scheme? It makes me want to shove a fork in my eye.”
“Man, the guy at the paint shop told me gray was all the rage too. And I would have gotten out of the pocket more if my offensive line didn’t shit the bed on every play.”
Carson and I both turn our heads until we’re staring at each other with equal looks of wide-eyed, holy shit, what the fuck looks on our faces. And then we slowly turn our whole bodies around in unison until we’re standing shoulder-to-shoulder, looking several inches up at the owner of the deep, slightly annoyed voice that just spoke.
Who I just insulted not once but twice!
Quinn Bagley, quarterback for the Vipers since the start of his career when he was drafted in college, whose career I’ve followed since then. Partly because I love football—he’s extremely talented, and I made it my mission to know everything about every player for the Vipers since my dream was always to cheer for them one day. But mostly because sweet holy hell, he’s pretty to look at. Jet-black hair, and pale-blue eyes, in a 6’2”, 225-pound, lean, muscular body, with a killer smile and big dimples that not even a dusting of sexy, dark facial hair can hide. Although right now, I have to go off of memory in the dimple department from all the times I’ve seen him on TV or from a distance at games and team events. There’s nothing but a pissed-off frown on his face now, and his gorgeous blue eyes are narrowed in annoyance.
Before I can wade through the slosh of tequila in my brain and remember what words are necessary in order to apologize to someone you just insulted in his own home, Quinn is speaking again as he starts backing away from me and an equally mute Carson.
“Thanks for coming to the party. Hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.”
His velvety deep voice does not indicate that he is thankful or want us to have any kind of a good time at all, but now I’m too busy staring at the man’s perfect ass in a snug pair of jeans when he turns and walks away—and freaking out about being in his home—to worry about how much I just insulted him.
“What the shit, Carson? You told me this was a friend of a friend’s birthday party!” I screech in the most unladylike fashion after watching Quinn politely smile, nod, and say a few words to people as he walked across the room.
He used some kind of superhuman strength I can’t even fathom to ignore his own television and what’s being played on it, before disappearing alone through a sliding glass door to his backyard.
