The ESPN announcer’s voice popped on and explained which guys had been drafted and what their numbers were, and then my name popped up again.
“Ian Hunter, Heisman nominee.” Blake clenched my hand tighter. “The most promising draft pick played only two games before a freak accident ended his career, but I’m sure that ten-million-dollar signing bonus helped ease the sting a bit.” The announcers chuckled while Blake’s mouth dropped open in absolute shock.
“You bastard!” She launched herself and her wine toward me. “You’re worth ten million dollars, and you charge over two hundred dollars a day!”
“In my defense,” I said, laughing, “if I charge too little, it seems like I value my expertise too little. And we didn’t cash any of your checks. But if you’re this pissed, maybe we should reconsider what Wingmen Inc. charges?”
“You think?” She threw her hands into the air. “I mean, you don’t want it to be charity, but clearly you don’t need the money.”
“Even without the NFL, I wouldn’t have needed the money,” I said slowly, warily, concerned that we might be entering deal-breaker territory.
“Oh, right, your parents?”
“Left me this house—and a few others.” I shrugged, not fully ready to let her know my net worth. Because what was the point? It was money. And it had always made me feel empty.
Football had given me something.
But Blake had given me so much more.
A wry smile teased her lips upward. “Sorry for freaking out.”
Hard to say exactly what emotion washed over me at her words, but I think it was relief. I could never let Lex know I was beginning to analyze my feelings like a girl.
She winced and pointed to a red wine stain on the white comforter. “And sorry that I ruined your comforter.”
“I’ll make you work it off.” Confidence returning, I nodded and sent her a smug grin. “Hard labor. Bedroom-style. You interested?”
“For how long?” Her eyes narrowed.
“Forever.”
“Hmm, I better get started now, then.”
“Great.” I set my wine down and then whispered, “On your knees, sweet cheeks.”
EPILOGUE
I watched them.
But they didn’t know it.
I wasn’t sure if that made it more or less inappropriate. Not that I gave a shit. At least when sober I didn’t give a damn.
But I was shit-faced.
And there they were.
Kissing, hugging. Holding hands. I seriously wanted nothing more than to slam my beer bottle over Ian’s head, give him a good shake, then yell, “What the hell are you doing screwing with the perfect life?”
He’d had it all.
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Even after his accident he’d still had it all—women, sex, more women. Did I mention sex? Because he’d had a lot of it.
And now? He was giving that all up. For what? A piece of ass? Like he didn’t have prime pick on campus?
“What a loser,” I huffed, though part of me felt like I was somehow losing, even though I was clearly at the top of my game.
As the bartender slid me another beer, she leaned over, her perky tits damn near falling out of her low top. “Rough night, Lex?”
“Does it matter”—I said with a grin—“when you know you’re going to be making it even rougher?”
She smirked. “What makes you so cocky?”
“Look at you,” I said. “Two minutes in, and you’re already talking about my favorite subject.”
Her eyebrows arched. “Even drunk you’re good.”
“Baby . . .” I stood, placing my hands firmly on the bar and leaning in so that I could brush my lips against her ear. “I’m the best.”
“Hmm.” She nodded. “My break’s in five minutes.”
“Of course it is.” Their breaks were always in five minutes, just like they never did this. I was more used to girls screaming that during sex than my actual name. But whatever made them feel better about getting screwed in the hallway of some cheap bar.
I felt a slap on my back as Ian fell onto the barstool next to me, followed by Blake.
“So . . .” Ian said, his eyes darting between me and Blake. “I have this idea.”
“I’m drunk. Let’s have you and your ideas tomorrow.” I eyed the hot bartender over the mouth of my beer. “Besides, in five minutes I’m getting laid.”
“You’re always getting laid in five minutes, sometimes ten. Learn to last longer, dude.” Ian smacked my cheek twice. “In any case, not the point. Focus.”
My eyes blurred as I stared into his face. “You have three minutes. She’s giving me sex eyes, and I’m bored.”