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“It was close, but Levi’s tush is just perfectly round and voluptuous. Plus, he likes to flaunt it while in the goal. Pushing his butt out while squatting and all that. He really wasn’t playing fair.”
“It’s true, Con. Your boy really flaunts it while he’s waiting for someone to try and score,” Blaire chimes in.
Looking between the two, I wonder if the girls were even watching the game at all. “I’m feeling a bit objectified right now, and I didn’t even end up winning. That’s some bullshit.”
Emree rubs her hand through my hair on the side of my head in a soothing motion. “Aw, don’t be hurt. You still have a fantastic ass, babe.”
“My ego is crushed. I may need you to make up for it.” Smiling, I decide to milk this because Emree has a loving heart and if she thinks this hurts me, she will try to make it up to me.
Blaire cuts in before my girl can say anything. “Oh no, don’t let him play you, Emmy. His ego is perfectly fine.”
My head snaps in her direction and my eyes narrow at the brunette still sitting on the hood. “Don’t you have a boyfriend to go find?”
As if he knows we are talking about him, Camden walks up to us. “Why are you giving my girlfriend a death glare?”
“Because she and the others voted Levi for best ass on the team.”
Camden stops in his tracks just a few steps away from us. “What the hell, Gray Eyes?”
Blaire, the sweetest of our friend group, lays a good punch to my arm as she slides down the hood of her car. “Way to upset him. He didn’t even make the top five and now this will crush his heart.”
Camden is now getting the “best ass award” discussion that I got, but he doesn’t get the cushion of knowing he is the runner-up. That has to be a hard blow for him.
Emree jumps off the hood with her popcorn in hand. “Way to start issues in paradise,” she says, peering at our friends as Camden rolls his eyes.
Choosing to ignore the couple’s spat, I grab my girl’s hand and pull her forward. “Want to go on a date with me?”
Her eyes light up as she smiles at me. “I hope you don’t plan on a big dinner or something because we kind of ate through the concession stand.”
A laugh rumbles through me. “I swear you ladies only come to our games for the food, and watching us play is just a bonus.”
“Don’t be silly.” She slaps my chest. “The nice butts are the bonus. Watching you play is an obligation,” she jokes.
Rolling my eyes, I sling my arm over her shoulders as she laughs. We say goodbye to our friends as they make out in the parking lot, clearly past the loss of the “best ass award,” and head to my car.
Nothing is better than this feeling right here. Our team is going to be killing it next year, and I have the most amazing woman by my side. A woman I know would be there for me no matter what and whom I love more than anything.
34
EMREE
Tuesdays are sluggish nights at Whiskey Joe’s and not working with my best friend makes it even worse. Garrett had a new hire flake this week, so he needed us to pick up the slack. Luckily, I got off easily and didn’t end up getting a double shift on the weekend because those are torture.
The bar is pretty empty, for it being just a little past six, but a few of our regulars are at the bar, and there is a group of college kids hanging out on the patio and ordering drinks and appetizers. They’re keeping me busy, at least.
A chime from the front door rings through the deserted area, and I’m grateful there is going to be another body in here to serve. Slow shifts make the time go by much slower than it really is, so I’m happy to wait on more tables.
Turning to greet the new customer, all the air leaves my lungs as my eyes lock with Howard Dugray’s. Conrad’s father looks out of place in this college bar wearing his fitted gray suit and black tie. His hair is perfectly slicked back, and he is sporting a clean face with not even a five-o’clock shadow.
Mr. Dugray’s mouth slides up on one side when he sees me standing there, and the look is somewhere between menacing and leery. He’s standing about ten feet from me, but I can feel his presence as if he were right beside me.
With just a few long strides, Mr. Dugray is standing in front of me, looking down with that same crooked smirk. “Well, if it isn’t my son’s little whore.”
Squaring my shoulders, I make myself look as tall as possible. “Good evening, sir. May I get you a table, or will you be sitting at the bar?”
His eyebrow rises at me, blatantly ignoring his disrespectful statement. “A table. In your section, of course.”
Grabbing a menu and silverware from the hostess’s post, I lead him to a table in the back—away from the bar, because the last thing I want is for anyone to hear his rude comments directed at me.
