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“Huh, didn’t see that coming,” I mumble, but clearly it was loud enough for them to hear because they both turn their heads toward me. Both stare matching angry daggers in my direction.
“Fuck off, Jones,” Stefan snarls, “she’s my handler. That’s it.”
Wren’s head snaps back to him and there’s hurt etched all over her face. She shakes her head and as she turns to leave, I notice tears welling in her eyes. Stefan stands there and watches her leave.
“Go after her, you fool,” I shout at him.
“What?” he questions, confused at my words.
“For puck’s sake, you two clearly have the hots for each other. Go. After. Her,” I enunciate the last three words, spelling it out for him.
“Do not,” he refutes, but his words are high-pitched and the tone used tells a different story. I see the moment the light bulb goes off in his head. “I—”
“Go,” I tell him again and it sparks him into action. He turns and heads in the direction Wren raced off. He looks over his shoulder, indecision on his face. I nod in Wren’s direction and then I sit here and watch as he goes after his girl.
A few minutes later Chels returns. “What’d I miss?” she asks, stopping in front of me.
“Babe, you will never believe it.” Pulling her between my legs, I rest my hands on her hips. Placing a kiss on her forehead, I then fill her in on what we just witnessed.
“No pucking way,” she says when I finish telling her. “That explains him saying ‘I’m sorry’ to her just now.”
“Didn’t know he knew those two words.”
“Maybe Wren is perfect for him, professionally and personally,” I say and then we rejoin the team to celebrate our massive win tonight.
* * *
It’s nearing on close so we decide to call it a night. All us guys are well past tipsy but we’re not yet shitfaced. The girls keep whispering like schoolgirls and my Spidey Sense is telling me that Chelsea is hiding something from me.
“Let’s go home, husband,” she declares, sliding her arm around my waist.
“Only if I get to fuck you in the as—” She covers my mouth with her hand and shakes her head from side to side.
“You know the answer to that, not happening … ever … unless I can—” Now it's my turn to cover her mouth with my hand. The cheeky minx winks at me and proceeds to lick my palm, circling her tongue over my skin. “I can do that to your dick,” she mumbles against my palm.
“Taxi,” I shout from behind her hand. This causes her to giggle and, fuck, I love that sound. Gripping her wrist, I remove her hand from my mouth. “Chels, we need to get home now before I take you into the bathroom and fuck you here.”
My hand is still covering her mouth and she mumbles, “Taxi” just like I did.
Laughing, I bend down and throw her over my shoulder. Slapping her on the ass, I turn around and start toward the exit but I bump into someone and in my slightly inebriated state, the three of us fall to the floor. Chelsea grunts while a deep voice sneers, “Whats tzhe fusch asschole.”
My eyes widen when I register that the voice belongs to a very drunk Doucheman and I mumble, “Fuck,” to myself as I offer my hand to Chels and pull her up.
“Wants a pieced of me, pricks?” he dribbles, clumsily pushing himself up into a standing position. Clearly he’s had a few too many tonight. I look around for Wren but I can’t see her anywhere. Looks like the two of them didn’t kiss and make up after all. “You dids thatchs purpse.”
“It was an accident,” I snap back at the douche. “And you’re drunk.”
“Amsd snot,” he throws back at me and then giggles. “Schnot,” he repeats, chuckling to himself as if saying schnot is the funniest thing on earth.
“Where’s Wren?” I ask. That was obviously the wrong thing to say because before I can process what’s happening, his fist flies toward my face. I stumble backward from the hit and he comes at me again, causing the two of us to fall to the floor. He sucker punches me and my head bounces off the cement.
Someone pulls him off me and Chels drops down to see if I’m okay, but Doucheman gets free and knocks Chels to the side, trying to get to me. He stares down at me and I growl, “The fuck, man?” Jumping to my feet, I get up into his personal space, pissed off that he just pushed my wife. He’s angry and drunk, his face red with anger and inebriation. Spittle forms at the corner of his lips and before I can say anything, he swings at me again.
“Ohh, it’s on now,” I growl through clenched teeth.
Curling my hand into a fist, I rear it back and slam it into his face. This pisses him off even more and he launches himself at me. The two of us crash into a high-top table before we roll and grapple on the ground. We go hit for hit and it isn’t until someone separates us and shouts, “Break it up!” that we both stop.
Falling to my back, I breathe heavily, trying to catch my breath as I stare up at the ceiling of Squires. Rubbing my chin, I groan. I'm going to be bruised and sore tomorrow. I can’t believe I just got into a fight with him, but the view and my internal processing is interrupted when an officer comes into my line of sight and hovers over me. “You’re under arrest …”Ahh fuck, my wife and Coach are going to have my balls.
