“Jesus, Jace, I didn’t know you had that in you,” Asher says, nudging me with his shoulder when we’re huddled together at his drum kit. “That was our best performance so far.”
I give the quiet drummer–who eerily looks like Kurt Cobain–a big smile in thanks. Coming from him? That’s a big compliment. So I hold up the shot glass that Missy just put into my hand.
“I feel like this is the beginning of a wonderful collaboration. Go Encore!”
We clink our glasses together and take the shot, riding high on adrenaline from an epic gig.
After the gig, I might've hung around with those front-row girls longer than planned.
And I might’ve accepted a teeny tiny bit too much to drink from them.
And I might’ve lost track of Tuck because of it.
But I’m totally gonna find him now, because I’m very good at untangling myself from their manicured hands and am going to look for my hottie football star, whose dick I’m totally gonna suck tonight. Or at least fondle a bit.
Because yup, my final brain cells are now also totally inebriated and on team ‘do-not-give-a-fuck-anymore’. Which usually leads to getting or giving more fucks.
When I stumble into the kitchen, where the music is thankfully less loud, I do find a football star, just not the one I was looking for.
But oh well, this one is even better. Way better.
“Tyler, honey,” I drawl, entering and interrupting his conversation with some guys, likely from his team.
Tyler slaps me on the back and instantly includes me in their talk about something football-related that I'm not familiar with. Yeah, teammates for sure.
Not following any of it, I grab his beer out of his hand, take a swig, and hand it back. Mixing beer with Sambuca probably isn't the wisest, but since I'm already three sheets to the wind, who cares anymore?
Tyler doesn't seem to mind. He grins, dark eyes shining, and throws an arm around me. I nuzzle into him naturally; it's a reaction, really.
“Everything still okay there, Tiger Tamer?” he asks with a chuckle.
The boys laugh too.
“Hm, maybe. It depends...” I answer.
“On what?”
”On if I’m actually gonna tame Tuck the tiger tonight.”
“Yeah, I noticed that,” Tyler remarks dryly.
Interesting. “You watching me, huh?”
“You're hard to miss when you're hanging off of a banister, roaring like an idiot,” he deadpans.
I laugh, swaying, and he grabs my arm so I don’t topple over. He moves us a bit away from his friends, pushing me against the counter to give me something to lean on. He crowds in, which I definitely do not hate.
“Christ, how much did you drink? Are you okay? Does your head hurt from yesterday?”
“I’m fiiine. I really am. Never been better.” I smile at his concern and lean into his touch, enjoying the warmth of it.
He chuckles and pats me consolingly on my naked back. “Good. Tell me if you need anything, okay?”
I nod at that, perfectly content to just stand there for a bit and sort of hug him–he really doesn’t mind that I get into his space all the damn time.
He tugs at the wet jersey that’s still hanging from my waistband. “So you were wearing my number at the game, did I see that right?”
“I sure did,” I slur, letting the tips of my fingers trace over his broad chest. Too bad that he is still wearing his shirt. “Does that make me your puck bunny?”
