“I know. It’s a shame. I should be sent back to Clemson to start all over.”
She snorted. “No shit. Your ankle okay?”
Because nothing came faster after her insults than a big sister’s worry. God, I loved her.
Missed her. Maybe this was my problem… I was used to not seeing my family much, but they’d always been at my games. Then Annie and Avery had to go and get married and start populating the next generation’s offensive lines, and everyone’s visits to my games became less.
“It’s good. Sore, but nothing major.”
“Shouldn’t have pretended you’re a track star instead of a semi-mediocre football player.”
“I think semi and mediocre is redundant.”
“Are you moonlighting as an English teacher now, too?”
“Someone has to impress Mom and Dad.”
“Please. I’m their favorite because I keep giving Mom more grandbabies. She might like you too if you have a kid.”
“As if.”
No way. No, thank you. No how. Not anytime soon.
Kids were several years down the line for me. While most of my old classmates in Nebraska got married after college, if they even finished or went, and started popping out kids, I had other things I wanted to accomplish first.
Like make a Pro Bowl. Go to—and hopefully win—a Super Bowl. Join the two-thousand-yard club by rushing that many yards in a single season. Break a few records.
Girlfriends and wives and kids and responsibilities could stay on my back burner.
“Mom loves me,” I huffed.
“Yeah, I know,” she grumbled. My sister. My biggest supporter and largest pain in my ass. “You’re all she talks about at church and the grocery store. ‘Our Davis. He’s so special. So important. Makes millions, and he’s barely old enough to shave.’”
“Too far.” I laughed, managing not to spit out my beer. “I shave.”
Occasionally. There was a reason my teammates called me kiddo and baby face.
“You’re touching your chin, aren’t you?”
I dropped my hand from my chin, didn’t even realize I’d done it. “No.”
“Liar.” She munched on something crunchy, probably an apple because as of last week, that was her current baby craving.
“How’s the kumquat treating you?”
She groaned. “Please stop calling my baby a kumquat. It’s gross.”
“So is how you got that thing inside of you.”
“You’re a pest. Always have been, and I need to go. David is currently running through the house naked, refusing to put clothes on. I just wanted to tell you good game.”
“Ah… so my namesake does take after me.”
“Your name is Davis, not David, dumbass.”
“Potato, potahto, and you can tell me good game whenever you’re ready.”
“I already did. Told you, you suck, same thing.”
“Love you, snotface.”
Lou slid me a fresh beer and shook his head at me.
“You too, boogerhead.”
“Sister,” I told Lou after I set my phone down.
“Annie or Avery?”
“Annie.”
The door opened, and we both turned our heads in the direction, and swear to God, my cock acted like a sex-seeking missile device and immediately shot a warning to my brain that something beautiful was nearby.
In walked a gorgeous woman, my age at first guess, in cutoff denim shorts so short her ass cheeks would probably show when she took a seat, tits popping out of the V-neck, ripped gray shirt cropped and tied at her left hip. Nashville was plastered and stretched to the max over her chest. The tiniest strip of skin appeared between that shirt and her rolled-over denim shorts, and I was pretty sure I swallowed my tongue as she ran a hand through her long, thick chocolate-brown hair that shone beneath the bar’s overhead lights.
She huffed toward the bar, glancing at me, before taking a seat several down and propping her elbows on the shining wood top.
“Hello there, young lady.” Lou approached with his standard greeting. Eighty or twenty, he called them all young. “How’s your night?”
That same huff, exasperated mixed with maybe amused, came from her full, red lips.
Cherries. They’d taste like cherries if I were to bite into them. Full, red, and undoubtedly soft and sweet.
“Well, I’m soon to be homeless and as of five minutes ago, unemployed, so I’d say it’s not so great. How’s yours?”
Lou’s bushy gray brows rose. Like the experienced bartender he was, and definitely male—there was no way he was touching that one. “Whiskey or beer?”
She reached for her back pocket. The move twisted her toward me, pushing those full breasts in my direction. It took effort, massive effort, to yank my eyes up right as ours met.
“I’ve got her tab, Lou.”
“No, you don’t.” Those full cherry lips pressed into a thin line.
“Save the money. Sounds like you’ll need it.”
“And what do you want for being so nice to me?”
It was delivered with a sneer, telling me most likely she’d already dealt with enough shit from men tonight.
I shrugged. “Not a damn thing.”
Wasn’t like her few drinks and maybe a meal would break my bank.
“He’s good for it,” Lou said. “And if not, it’d be on the house anyway since it sounds like you’ve had a hell of a night, and before you ask me what I want, just that you get home safely. You do have a safe place to go tonight, right?”
This time she laughed, shook her head, and another flip of her hand with her hand. “Amazing. Yes, I have a place to go.”
“Pick your poison then.” He gestured to the bar.
She slid her gaze in my direction, arched a brow in question, but I wasn’t going to stop her. “No strings, except I’d like your name, but that’s up to you.”
Her red lips pushed to one side, and she glanced back at the wall lined with liquor. “Two shots of Patron, no lime or salt, and a beer. Whatever he’s having.” She nodded in my direction without looking at me. “Maggie.”
Lou grabbed her drinks as Maggie rolled around in my head. Was it a nickname for something? Margaret?
Once Lou was done, he headed my way, and I leaned over the bar. Maggie was shooting her first shot of tequila, thumb scrolling on her phone screen.
“Any chance you can change the screens off sports?”
If she hadn’t seen my face yet, I didn’t want her to. Sure, it was the easiest way to get a girl’s attention, but I didn’t need my post-game interview showing up on the ninety-two-inch screen behind me either.
“You got it.”
He grabbed the remote, and as he turned on the guide, Maggie’s attention drifted to that same massive screen. “Your choice, Maggie,” he said. “Got a preference?”
“You guys really know how to make a girl feel at home.” It was said with the same amount of distrust as earlier, but whatever. I had no clue what her night or week had been like.
Lou kept scrolling, and I took a drink from my beer.
“No preference. Not like anything can help after tonight.”
She scowled and then drowned in her drinks, and for a very brief moment, I swore there was fear in her eyes before she blinked it away.