Sugar Rush (Offensive Line #1) (4 page)

So why am I arguing? Why am I fighting it?

Because outside this moment he’s Colt Avery, running back, nearly nude spokesman, and last month’s Playgirl cover model. Outside these walls and away from this cake we live two cosmically different lives and I have no intention of becoming another star struck follower drooling a river in his wake.

I shrug in response to his question. “I guess.”

He laughs, not buying it.

I’m almost relieved that he doesn’t.

“Here, I’ll prove that I’m not sticking around for the baby shit anymore.” He pops his food in his mouth, handing back the fork before pulling his phone from his pocket. He winces when he sees the screen. Whatever it is that’s bothering him, he blows past it. “I’ll enter my bet right now and I won’t ask you to help me choose.”

“Good.”

“I don’t even need your help.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“I’m going to win on my own because I’m almost positive that it’s a,” he looks up at my face, drawing out his words slowly, “girrrrrrrrrrrrr booooooooo—man! Your face really doesn’t give anything away, does it? That’s impressive.”

“Thank you.”

“Help me.”

“No.”

He puts on the puppy dog eyes. “
Please
help me?”

“This is getting sad.”

“I’m gonna do it,” he announces proudly, hovering over his phone. “I’m gonna pick one and it will be right, and I’ll do it without you.”

He taps his phone once decisively. A small bell dings in reply.

“Did it,” he tells me, putting the phone away. “Locked it in.”

“What’d you pick?”

He smirks. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

The door to the pantry swings open, light and cold air spilling in around us. Tim Bailey is there, tall and imposing. And frowning.

“Damnit, Avery, is this where you’ve been? Lexi is down my throat about finding you before the reveal and you’re hiding in the pantry?” He looks at me, his face softening. “Hi, Lilly. How are you?”

I smile professionally. “I’m good, thanks. How are you? How’s the breakfast?”

“Delicious. Everything is going perfectly, except for Colt here. I’m sorry if he’s been harassing you. He’s notorious for that.”

“He’s been helping me, actually.” I gesture to the cupcake tower. “He’s good. Steady hands.”

“I have a fall back career, Coach,” Colt tells him proudly.

“Fantastic.” Tim opens the door wider. “Out. Now.”

Colt nods. “Right behind you.”

Tim grunts unhappily before heading back through the kitchen to the hall.

“I guess that’s my cue,” he tells me, dusting his hands off against each other.

“Thanks for the help.”

“And the breakfast,” he reminds me with a grin.

I roll my eyes. “Yes, and the breakfast. That was… it was actually kinda sweet of you.”

His grin softens, his expression almost sheepish, like a little boy being told he’ll make a good man someday.

“You’re welcome.” He offers me his hand. “It was good to meet you, Hendricks.”

I take it, enjoying the warm, calloused feel of his skin. “You too, Avery.”

The room expands as he leaves it, as air fills the space, pulling him away and replacing him with nothing.

“Hey!” I call out impulsively.

He pauses, looking at me over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

I toss him an Oreo. My throw is crap but he catches it effortlessly. I watch him smile before taking a bite. It snaps the cookie in two, exposing its center. The center I dyed last night before re-stuffing and hand dipping all three hundred of them.

His eyes widen when he sees the color inside.

“Winner or loser?” I ask.

He casts me a full blown smile, one that can probably drop panties from here to Telluride. “Winner.”

“Congratulations.”

He winks at me. The cocky son of a bitch actually winks at me.

Then he’s gone.

And I sincerely hope I never see him again.

He’s trouble from top to bottom, from sweet to sexy. I’ve lived my whole life in L.A. and if there’s one thing I’ve learned above all else, it’s that pretty faces like that will throw you off course like a compass gone wonky in a storm.

And Colt Avery is the Bermuda Triangle.

COLT

Beer ‘N Burger

Los Angeles, CA

It’s a girl.

It takes three hours, a three tiered cake, and three years off my life to announce it.

It’s a girl.

Wait, one more time for the cameras. All smiles everyone. Hold up your pink cake slices. Smiles big. BIG! This is for Instagram and In Touch magazine.

It’s a girl.

As soon as we’re allowed to leave, Trey, The Hotness, Tyus, and I head to our favorite bar, Burger ‘N Beer, where they ironically do not serve burgers. Never have. It doesn’t matter, though. You wouldn’t want food out of their kitchen even if they had one. It’s a total dive, a ghost town lit to life with neon signs reflecting off greasy tables. The bathroom stalls don’t have doors. The jukebox by the dartboard with no darts only takes Pesos. It’s a real shit shack, but we love it, especially now. Two in the afternoon on a Monday is the best time to drink here. It’s just us and the surly bartender on duty. The one with the neck tattoo and handlebar mustache who checks out Trey’s ass every time we come in. I don’t think he’s gay. I think he’s got ass envy.

“’Sup, Taylor,” I call to him as we file in.

He holds up a small knife in warning, a half-sliced lemon dripping bitter on the bar in front of him. “No country.”

I shrug out of my coat with a chuckle. “Good to see you too, man.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I,” Tyus agrees. He’s already taking his regular seat in the creaky chair across from our corner booth. “Don’t start that shit. Not today.”

I turn out my pockets. “I don’t have any coins.”

“You always have coins.”

“God knows where you stow them,” The Hotness mutters.

I grin at her. “In my cheeks. Like nuts I’m saving for winter.”

“I shudder to think which ‘cheeks’ you’re referring to.”

Trey takes her coat, hanging it on a hook next to his. His hand instinctively falls to the small of her back, just under her long, blond hair. His insanely long fingers press against her waist, tucking her into his side, and I feel a tug in my chest. A weird yearning that I get now and then when I see them together.

Sloane, The Hotness, agent to the stars (aka Me), has been with Trey for the last few months. They met six months ago when she signed him at her dad’s agency, but after what I imagine in great detail was a dirty, sweaty affair, she quit the Ashford Agency. She passed Trey off to another agent in her new firm, picked me up from my worthless-ass agent, and started bangin’ Trey on the regular. He’s a lucky son of a bitch, off the field and on.

Dude was born to be a quarterback. Tall, but sturdy the way a lot of Hawaiians are known for. Large hands and sharp eyes. I wasn’t sure I was going to like him when he joined the L.A. Kodiaks earlier this year. I was worried he was going to be another loudmouthed asshole, one-man show the way Duncan Walker was. The day Coach Allen traded that guy away was the best day of my life, and I have Trey Domata to thank for it. We gave up Duncan to score Trey in the Draft. That’s why I gave him a chance, didn’t give him too much shit when he joined. Turns out he’s humble as hell, a team player to the bone, and with him handing off the ball I’ve finally had a chance to step up on the team and show them what I can do. Our offense is considered one of the strongest in the league this year and there are whispers about a shot at the Super Bowl.

You try not to listen, try not to let it go to your head, but you gotta be real. This is why we do this job, and I want a ring on my finger worse than a pregnant teen.

“I got first round,” I tell the group. “Regulars?”

Everyone nods in agreement.

I turn to the bar, leaning my arms on the dark, dented wood. “Hey, man, can I get a Maker’s Mark neat, a Koko Brown in the bottle, a Bud Light from the tap, and a Shock Top Lemon Shandy?”

“Bottle or can?” Taylor asks listlessly.

“Whatever you got.”

“I got both.”

“Bottle then.”

He grunts before reaching under the bar for a glass.

I lift a toothpick from next to the olives and pop it in the corner of my mouth. “How’s business?”

Taylor pauses to look at me severely. “How the fuck does it look?”

“Dead.”

“You’re smart, pretty boy.”

“At least you have us, right?”

More grunts.

I scan the other end of the bar. It’s dark and deserted, a small stage with a pole in the middle standing silently in the corner like it’s on time out. Like it’s been naughty. “You still got karaoke on the weekends?”

“Kind of. The monitor broke.”

“How’d that happen?”

“Drunk jackass broke it,” he answers dryly.

I smile around the pick in my mouth. “I love our talks, Taylor. They’re my favorite part of coming here.”

“Hallelujah for that.” He lands all four of my drinks down on the bar without a spill and a heavy thud. “Twenty even.”

I pull out my wallet, sliding a fifty across the bar. “Keep the change.”

“I’ll retire on it,” he grumbles.

Then he slides four golden Pesos across the bar.

I swipe them up eagerly before I wrangle the necks of the bottles between my fingers, lump the two glasses together, and carefully make my way to our table.

“Nah, he couldn’t make it,” Trey is telling Tyus. “He’s still on lockdown.”

“Poor bastard. That shit is why I’m never getting married.”

I set the drinks down in the center of the table. “Are you talking about Dre?”

“Yeah. Sloane said she invited him to come out with us but he wouldn’t.”

“
Couldn’t
,” she clarifies. I watch with a lot of love and respect as she takes up the glass of whiskey, bringing it to her lips without flinching. Girl’s a baller.

“I saw him outside smoking when I got to the party.” I sit down heavily, immediately stretching my legs out next to Sloane’s. “He looked rough.”

“Really? I thought he looked nice.”

“Yeah, his clothes and shit, but he’s a mess.”

“How can you tell?”

I think about it, taking a hit off my bottle. “He’s dark.”

“Yeah, he is,” Tyus agrees deeply. “I told him he should quit with the cigarettes and he asked me, ‘What’s the point?’ What the fuck do you say to that?”

“There’s nothing to say. His wife’s a bitch. She ruined him.”

Trey frowns. “He’s not ruined. He’s in a bad place. He’ll come out of it.”

Tyus shakes his head. “I don’t know. You weren’t here when he was getting ready for that kid. He was excited. He couldn’t shut up about it, and then one day he just stopped talking. About everything.”

“He’s better now, but he’s not good,” I add.

“Has she had the baby yet?” Sloane asks curiously.

“Not yet. She’s due soon, though.”

“Maybe he’ll be better after it’s born.”

“Or he could be worse.”

“That’s depressing.”

I shrug, not sure what she wants from me. It’s true.

Trey spins his bottle between his hands. “He shouldn’t have come to the shower today. It probably made everything worse.”

“Not a shower,” I remind him. “Gender reveal. We’ll be called back for the shower in a few weeks.”

He looks pleadingly at Sloane. “Can you get me out of it?”

“Nope, not your agent.” She points a manicured hand at my face. “Him I can get out of it.”

I throw a triumphant hand in the air. “Yes!”

“But I won’t.”

I drop my hand morosely. “No!”

“Andreas will probably go to it, no matter how bad an idea it is, and he’ll need you guys there. You’re all going.”

“Who are you bossing around?” Tyus demands. “You’re not my girl and you’re not my agent. You got nothin’ on me.”

Sloane smiles coyly. It’s the same expression I’ve seen her give other agents, coaches, and players. Basically any man who looks at her like they got her number. Like she’s a little girl in a man’s world and they’ll tolerate her because she’s fun to look at. I love that smile because it always means the same thing; she’s got you right where she wants you.

“Outtakes.”

That’s all she says. I have no idea what it means, and from the look on Trey’s face he doesn’t know either, but Tyus does.

His lips pull tight over his teeth. “I guess we’re going to a baby shower, boys.”

“What just happened?” I ask, completely confused.

Tyus doesn’t negotiate. He doesn’t back down, and he sure as shit doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do. And topping the list of things Tyus Anthony does not want to do is go to a baby shower, I’m sure of it.

“I think your agent just bullied a bully,” Trey tells me, equally thrown.

“I’m not a bully,” Tyus barks.

“I am,” Sloane sings.

I laugh as I dig inside my pocket, pulling out a bulging white napkin. I lay it on the table and slip a cookie out of the pile. It’s an Oreo stuffed with pink, dipped in white chocolate. It smells like sugar. Like Lilly.

Tyus leans back to take me in. “What the fuck? Did you just pull food out of your pocket?”

“Oreo.” I hold it up for him to see clearly. “I swiped a shit ton of them from the party.”

“And you put them in your pockets?”

“Just like my grandma,” Sloane laments sadly.

“Like a genius.” I take a bite, chewing happily. “They’re delifous.”

Trey’s nose wrinkles in disgust. He swipes at the table, wiping away crumbs I sprayed out of my mouth. “Come on, man. Close your mouth. You eat like a rabid dog.”

“I’m starving.”

“How are you always hungry?”

I shrug, looking around the room as I pop the other half of the Oreo in my mouth. I’m eyeing that jukebox, idly jingling the coins in my pocket.

“Is it true you were fucking the waitress in a closet?” Sloane suddenly asks.

I snort, shaking my head sharply. “It was the baker in the pantry, and no. I didn’t fuck her.”

“Why not? Was she ugly?”

“Nope. She was hot.” I look Sloane over slowly. “Maybe hotter than you.”

“Now I know you’re lying.”

“So what were you doing in the pantry with her?” Tyus digs, lifting his beer to his lips. He’s watching me intently.

“Nothin’. Just hanging out.”

“Just hanging out? With a hot woman? You?”

“Yep. Just hanging out.”

He smiles across the table at Trey and Sloane. “You guys know what happened, right? Our boy here got shut down.”

Trey laughs. “That’s a first.”

“I didn’t get shut down,” I counter.

“Did you like her?” Sloane asks.

“Yeah, she was cool.”

“And she was hot.”

“And he didn’t close the deal,” Tyus adds. He sits back in his seat, looking comfortable and happy, like he’s savoring the moment. “This is big.”

“It’s not big,” I inform him. “I knew her for twenty minutes. I wasn’t going to fuck her after knowing her for twenty minutes.”

“Never stopped you before.”

Sloane puts her hand over her heart dramatically. “You counted the minutes. That’s so adorable.”

I roll my eyes. “I didn’t count the minutes. It’s called telling time.”

“Something I’m not so sure you know how to do considering you’re late to literally everything.”

“I’m not late to
literally
everything.”

“Please. You’re so chronically late you were probably born late.”

I cram another Oreo in my mouth, refusing to respond.

Sloane laughs. “I’m right, aren’t I? You were late?”

I chew slowly, mouth closed.

“How many days?”

I shrug.

“I’m going to say… six.”

I stare at her in amazement. “What the fuck? Are you a witch? How could you guess that?”

“I was right?” she exclaims excitedly. “Yes! I win. Pay up, mothef—oh shit, I didn’t bet with anyone, did I?”

Tyus and Trey shake their heads.

Sloane slams her palm down on the table in disgust. “First I don’t get to enter the baby pool and now this. You guys suck.”

Tyus reaches for an Oreo. I slowly pull them out of range.

He glares at me. “It’s gonna be like that, huh?”

“You talked shit, you can eat shit. You definitely don’t get to eat my delicious cookies.”

“Why do you gotta be a prick?”

“I don’t know,” I sigh, pocketing my napkin now half-full of contraband. I swap it out for one dinged up, gold coin. “I guess that’s just the cowboy in me.”

The group groans angrily as one while I head for the jukebox. I deposit my coin, flick the round, black buttons that will call up Tim McGraw, and put my anthem into motion.