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“I sure am, sweetheart,” he continues in a deep, masculine tone as Dixon's mouth moves. “I have a stress fracture in my lower leg. You might need to take a look at it later.”
“Oh, no! A stress fracture?!” he says in a high-pitched, dramatic tone.
“Yeah,” the masculine tone is back. “Maybe you can swing by my room later? Show me how to fix this big bone, baby.”
“I'd doanythingto make it better,” he oozes in a breathy, feminine moan.“Anything.”
“Better yet, I'll stop by your oversized suite tonight.” Deep voice returns. “Get that Icy-Hot nice and slick and be ready for my oversized—”
I smack him in the chest, bringing this gross role-playing scene to an abrupt end, then eye the table, making sure no one sitting near us heard him.
Candy tosses his head back in laughter, throwing an elbow into my side as my eyes find her again. She laughs at something one guy says, tucking her hair behind her ear again as she continues talking with a certain twinkle in her eye.
The table is enraptured by her. You'd think these guys had never met a woman in the business before. They're all over her. It's quite disgusting, actually. Unprofessional. These men are acting like animals.
Our defensive coach hops on the microphone and gains everyone's attention as he starts the brief presentation before dinner. My eyes dart to her as he goes on about the most improved defensive player from our previous game.
She hasn't even looked for me.
The roasted chicken is dry and the steamed vegetables have never seen salt. The water doesn’t even taste right. I push the food around while Candy and Brandt’s annoying laughter rings through my ears as they chat about something that happened at practice last week. Everything is getting to me.
“I get the whole 'injury makes me a sad boy' stint, but this pouty shit is looking pretty pathetic on ya, Deck,” Brandt says, gaining my attention.
I sit back in my seat, crossing my arms over my chest, scowling at him across the table. I've had enough of this. She's been mingling with everyone and hasn't said a word to me since I brought her down here. It's just rude.
Getting up from my chair, I swing my crutch under my arm and head over to her table. A couple of defensive men look up and acknowledge my presence with a quick hello as I place my hand possessively on the back of her chair. She flips her hair back, and it brushes softly against my knuckles before she turns to face what the guys are now looking at.
My hard eyes glare down at her.
“You ready?”
She cocks her head to the side, questioning my presence.
“Ah, so there's the guy taking away this treasure of a woman from the rest of us,” Suit-man says.
He sits back in his seat, crossing one leg casually over the other as he smiles up at me.
“Excuse me?” I ask harshly. “What did you just say?”
Dylan glares at me, almost scolding me with her eyes.
“Yeah, this one here is something else,” Dixon says, pointing at her with a shit-eating grin on his face.
“You think I'm joking about that yoga, Gregor, but it'll change your whole game, I swear,” Dylan replies, smiling.
Why's she so fucking smiley?
“I'll walk you back up,” I say, interrupting the conversation.
Suit-man's brows furrow as he looks from me to Dylan and back.
“Aw, c'mon Deck,” Jakwon, our defensive lineman, interjects. “Dylan is hilarious and knows her shit. Why you been hiding this chick from us?”
“If you think buttering me up with compliments is going to make me forget you were once a Green Bay Packer, you're sadly mistaken, Jakwon. That's the kind of information I won't soon forget,” Dylan retorts, making the table erupt with laughter.
“Tell him, Dyl!” Dixon shouts, punching Jakwon in the shoulder.
Dyl? Oh fuck no. They are getting too comfortable.
