A few people around us who saw the incident chuckle. She flips me off over her shoulder as she stumbles around the people on the dance floor, then disappears into the throng. The audacity. Women adore me.
Jasper laughs. “Making friends already, huh? Maybe you’ve lost your golden touch at thirty-five. Damn, you’re almost forty!” He legit looks horrified.
“Five years away, asshole.”
He gets his “I have a great idea” face. “Remember how you and Ronan used to make bets?”
“Hmm.” Ronan was our former quarterback before Jasper—and my best friend. A few years ago, he retired after a career-ending injury and moved to Texas. Now he’s married, and I miss the hell out of him. In our younger days, we’d make bets about who could get the most girls at a bar. I won 99 percent of the time—I can be charming when I want—and I may have bragged about that winning streak to Jasper.
He raises an eyebrow. “We should continue the tradition. I bet you can’t get Princess Bride into you. If you can’t, then I’m going for it. I do love brunettes.”
“Good luck. She’s rude and short.”
“Tuck Avery only dates tall girls,” he says mockingly, then slaps cash down on the bar. “This is yours if you can do it.”
“A dollar. Impressive.”
He gives me a smug look. “It isn’t about the money. It’s your competitive streak. You, my friend, love a challenge.”
“Nope. Not interested.” I shove my hands through my wavy golden-brown hair. Longer than usual, it falls around my shoulders. Since training camp started, I haven’t made the time to get it cut. Now we’ve started the season, and it’s the last thing on my mind.
Jasper hands over one of his extra hair ties, and I put it in a low bun. Behind the bar are plain black ball caps. I pay for one and turn the cap backward and slip it over my head. I check my appearance in the mirror behind the bar, rubbing the heavy dark scruff on my face I’ve let grow. Mechanic?
“You want to do the bet. Say it,” Jasper says, bringing me back. He beats his fists on the bar. “Do it, do it, do it!”
“Stop acting like a moron.”
“Ah, you’re scared you don’t have what it takes! First you wouldn’t wear the towel; now you’re running from an itty-bitty challenge. You’re old as dirt! Live each day as your last, man—that’s my motto. You might die tomorrow, am I right?”
“Maybe.” I pretend interest at the people in the pool.
“Carpe diem, Tuck! Seize the day—and the princess!”
“Dammit. Why are you such a prick? Game on, quarterback,” I say with exasperation as I roll my eyes. Why not? What else is there to do?
He pumps his hips. “Yes, yes, yes, my man is gonna try for the end zone! A true player in action!”
People turn to look at us, and I chuckle. “You’re a child.”
He raises his glass. “To Princess Bride and football!” We clink our Dom bottles together.
Deacon comes back to slam shots with us, then takes off to check out the BDSM dungeon with Snow White. Several women stop to chat with us, and I feign interest as my gaze searches for Princess Bride.
A few minutes later, she ambles off the dance floor, her updo completely down. A strobe light flashes on her, and it’s hard to tell if she’s attractive with the mask, but the dim light shows creamy pale skin and plump rosebud lips.
Excitement buzzes over me as I gaze at her. My competitive streak is ready. Plus, no one calls me a pervert and gets away with it. She will worship at the throne of Tuck tonight. I’m not sure how, but I’ll play it by ear.
A tall man in a towel follows her. I ignore him, focusing on her as I smile at her wobbly approach, meeting her eyes with my best smoldering look. She ignores me, plops down on the seat next to me, and then bursts into tears.
Well, this is unexpected—but it could work.
Mom always said I could make the rain vanish with my personality. I was her perfect slice of sunshine, and I smiled nonstop in those horrible days of childhood, pushing her blues away as I shoved down my own fears.
As long as no one peeks under the shadowy surface of me, all is well.
I smirk at Jasper.
In the bag, my eyes say.
Chapter 2
TUCK
The guy in the towel takes the seat on the other side of her, his barrel chest covered in dark curly hair. His name tag—attached to his towel—says Prince Rolex. He’s wearing shimmery brown pantyhose.
“You have an interesting choice in men, Princess Bride,” I murmur idly under my breath as I drain the bourbon I switched to earlier.
Prince Rolex says something to her as his finger twirls her hair. She gets off the stool and stumbles, her backside falling into the cradle of my spread legs. She uses my thighs as support as she finds her balance and jumps up to face him with clenched fists.
Her veil hangs over one side of her shoulder, and I stare at the deep V on the back of her dress. It’s not one of those fluffy dresses that can stand up by itself—no, it is silky, hugs her curves, and glitters with pearls and sequins. She said it wasn’t a costume, and I get it. It’s a real fucking wedding dress.
On her back, from one shoulder blade to the other, is a winged tattoo draped in pink and blue roses. The right wing is slightly bent. I squint to read the script but can’t.
I hear her mutter a distinct “No” to Prince Rolex, then, “Stay away from me, pervert.”
I’m practically hanging over her shoulder as he leers at her with heavy-lidded eyes. My temper stirs, itching to rise, but I shove it down to see how this plays out.
“Come on, baby; stop playing hard to get,” Prince Rolex says. “I’ve got everything you need. Let’s go try that doctor room.” He rubs a hand over his chest and pinches one of his nipples. “You need a breast exam. A thorough one.”
“Not interested,” she snaps. “How many times do you need to hear it?”
He grabs for her hand, and she jerks away.
“Hey, man, she said no,” I call out sharply, but he’s so focused on her that he either doesn’t hear or he’s ignoring me.
He puts a fat hand on her shoulder and grips her, making her cry out as she falls forward. I snatch her away from him as I wrap my arms around her waist before she hits the floor. Using gentle hands, I ease her behind me and out of his way. She barely weighs anything.
With one look at his red fingerprints on her shoulder, anger ignites. I shove his chest with my hands, and he tumbles back, loses his footing, and falls on his ass. “The lady said no. Those are the rules. Get the fuck out of here.”
Several patrons flinch at my voice and back away as I look for an attendant. Not seeing one, I curse. Fine. I’ll toss him out myself even if I have to drag him. I stalk his way.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Prince Rolex shouts as he regains his equilibrium and stands. He gapes as he gets a look at my face—then backpedals. I know what he sees. My father’s face. Flashing eyes. Gritted teeth. Clenched fists.
“You shouldn’t have touched her, asshole. You crossed a line—”
He sputters, then runs to the right, shoving into people as he slips and slides. I sprint after him—