“League?” I ask.
“Yeah, our fantasy football league. We’re having our drafting party. The regular season starts next Thursday! Woo-hoo!”
“Right,” I mutter, realizing that she’s talking about football and I’ve never really been a fan.
“I would ask if you want to join us, but we’re already maxed out with twelve players,” she says as I follow her down the hallway. “Besides, it’s not like you could even name three NFL players.”
“Do the Mannings still play quarterback?” I joke.
“Haha. Funny, but you’re a few decades off,” she says, flashing me a smile over her shoulder before we walk into her living room…crammed full of men around a big white board. Big, hairy men who all shut up to stare at me.
“Hey. What’s up?” I say when I sit down my luggage in the middle of the floor.
“Everyone, this is my good friend, Xavier Malone,” Cassidy introduces us. “Xavier, these are a bunch of losers who let me take their money in fantasy football every year.”
There’s a chorus of masculine curses and grumbling, but no one denies that she usually kicks their ass.
“You know our roster is full, Cass,” one of the dickheads with floppy, blond hair and wearing a Patriots jersey says. “No room for the accountant.”
“Lawyer,” I correct.
“Oh, Xavier’s not playing fantasy with us,” Cassidy tells him. “He’s staying with me this week for our high school reunion.”
I fight the urge to lower my head and duck when daggers are glared at me from all directions of the room.
“Come on up. I’ll show you to the guest room,” Cass says before trekking up the staircase. When I realize my eyes are glued to the way the denim adheres to her round ass, I glance around and see that so are a dozen others. Jesus. Who are all these fuckers?
“Ah, Cassidy,” I say when I jog up the steps after her with my luggage and follow her into a room with a bed and a dresser.
“Yeah?” she asks, spinning around at the foot of the bed to face me.
“Who are all those men? How do you know them?” I ask quietly as I toss my suitcase on the mattress.
“Oh, well, most are guys I work with, and the rest are friends and neighbors.”
“Married friends and neighbors?”
“No, but some have girlfriends. Why do you ask?” she asks, blinking green eyes at me all innocently.
“They obviously want in your panties,” I whisper to her.
A burst of laughter flies out of her mouth. “That is so not true! I’ve known them all for years. We’re just friends who play fantasy together every football season.”
“How many are single?” I ask. “Not an estimate but an actual number, Bambi.”
She bites on her bottom lip as she considers it and then finally says, “Nine.”
“Nine out of eleven? Wow. You are so…naïve.”
“No, I’m not,” she huffs with a shove to my shoulder. “And this divorce is making you super grumpy. You’re better off without her, Xavier. You have to know that, right?”
“Yeah, the divorce,” I repeat, not correcting her because I’m so close. Camilla and I have been separated for months but not long enough to make it official yet. “No, I know it’s for the best.” Rather than admit the truth about the specific wedge that came between us, I say, “We wanted different things. She wanted me to make more money, and I wanted her to stop spending every dime I earn.”
“God, she’s such a bitch. I’m sorry,” Cass says, giving my bicep a supportive squeeze. “And wow. Someone’s been taking his anger out on the punching bag.”
“Ah, yeah, I’ve been hitting up the gym more lately, trying to burn off frustration,” I admit while also withholding the fact that I live there now.
“At least some good has come out of something bad,” she says with a warm smile that seems so bright it could make everything right in the world.
“It’s good seeing you again, Cass,” I tell her honestly when I give her another quick hug. “It’s been too long.”
“Damn right it has,” she agrees, squeezing me a second before pulling away when we hear raucous voices coming from the living room. Something about the Fucking Eagles getting lucky and Talent isn’t luck, not that the goddamn Giants would know what the fuck that is.
“I better get downstairs before they get out of hand,” she says. Gesturing with a hand in my direction, she says, “You…you look hot.”
“Oh really?” I reply with a grin.
“I mean, you look hot in the suit, so you may want to change and put on less clothing. I mean, cooler clothing.”
“Yeah, I think I’ll do that,” I agree, preferring my broken-in jeans and a comfy tee to the monkey suit.
“Okay. Good. See you downstairs.”
“I’ll be right down,” I assure her, because I do not like the idea of her in a room with a bunch of drunk assholes who are yelling at each other.
Chapter Two
Cassidy Brooks
A pair of intense, dark chocolate eyes follow me around the room, never relenting. I try my best to ignore them; because if I lock gazes with Xavier while this storm battles inside of me after seeing him for the first time in so long, I may throw myself at him.
Again.
Or try to squeeze his thick bicep.
Again.
And if I do that, I may not be able to stop at just his bicep. I would need to feel every hard inch of his massive body. Was he always this…big? When we were kids, he was always tall for his age. By the time we graduated high school, Xavier was well over six feet. Now he’s filled out all that height with bulging muscles. His arms and chest aren’t the only things bulging either.
Hello Xavier’s package.
My best friend in a custom three-piece suit tailor made just for his enormous, linebacker frame is a masterpiece. But my favorite part is the snug pants with his banana-sized shaft hanging down the left leg.
Looking at Xavier and thinking about him naked is nothing new. It’s been my MO since we started high school and he slept his way through most of the females in our class, except for me.
I’ve always just been his goofy buddy who he would drink root beer with on hot summer days and crash on my sofa when we stayed up late watching action movies.
Never, ever, before did he treat me like the other girls. I may as well have had a dick between my legs as far as he was concerned.
Today, though, he hasn’t been watching me like an older, protective brother.
No, he’s been staring at my boobs like he’s never seen them before.
When we were in high school, I was completely flat chested. My mother kept promising me that my boobs would grow in one day. That day never came. So, I took things into my own hands and got implants when I was twenty, not for a man or to try to find a man, but because I felt like I was missing a fundamental part of my body. My self-esteem was at rock bottom, so there was nowhere to go but up. And it was the best decision I ever made. Guys started talking to me afterwards, and I’ve told myself it’s my new confidence around them and not the breasts. Either way, I’ve never regretted the decision.