He spreads his arms wide, indicating that his bright-red German showpiece glinting under the lights is exactly the ‘something’he’s talking about.
Additionally, my status in life is far from Porsche-level. Which is kinda fucking depressing.
“How ‘bout this?” Connor says. “You go inside, and I’ll, like, dismantle the engine or something. You can come out later and be like,Whoa! Who would do such a thing?And your insurance would be like,It’s not worth fixing, so here’s a check, go get something new.”
I roll my eyes. “Insurance fraud. Sounds like a dandy idea.”
He laughs, and I shake my head; we walk in together. I head straight to my locker and change for practice. We run drills fora while before I head down to the gym for a session with my athletic trainer.
Paul’s been my guy for a couple of years now, which means he thinks we’re friends, which means he talks my fucking ear off during every session. Still, he knows his stuff when it comes to workouts that help build muscle and prevent injury.
Knock on wood, I haven’t had an injury keep me sidelined for more than a week in my whole time here.
“So I told her we should just take a break,” Paul says, jumping back into a story he started, oh, maybe thirty minutes ago. “I mean, it wasn’t that serious, but she thought it was. Total miscommunication, right? Like, we never even talked about being exclusive. And honestly, she’s not someone I’d ever settle down with anyway. Not that I’m planning to settle down anytime soon.”
I grunt an assent because I’ve really just been half paying attention as I’ve been doing the reps he tells me to do. And that’s fine—talking isn’t really my thing. If he wants to fill the room with noise, I’m not stopping him.
“So you wanna go, then?” he asks.
“Huh? Go where?”
“Out. A few of us are hitting a club tonight. Grabbing drinks.”
“Oh,” I say.
I take a long swig of water, thinking. I did promise I’d stop by Lakeside to make sure my mom took her meds tonight. It’s not far from the arena, and it’s been a few days since I’ve seen her. She’ll give me grief if I skip out again.
But what’s my other option? Drive straight back to my dad’s place afterward and stare out the window like a paranoid asshole?
“Yeah,” I say finally. “I’ll go. Might be late, though. Gotta check in on my mom first.”
“Oh, good,” he says, grinning. “Good, good. I’ve got a couple more guys to work with. We’re starting at one of the sports bars around seven. I’ll text you the spot.”
I nod and gather my gear. After a quick shower, I stop by the therapy room for a quick massage—just enough to loosen the knot in my shoulder before I deal with whatever version of Mom I’m walking into tonight.
She’ll try to act fine, of course.
But she always does.
Two hours later,and I’m not, in fact, having beers and burgers at a sports bar.
No.
I’m at a fucking strip club.
And it is, without question, the weirdest thing ever.
Sure, there is food, but imagine what it’s like to be sitting in some roped-off VIP area with a basket of chicken wings and a side of fries, just casually munching away while a woman onstage writhes around with her tits and ass out, glistening under strobe lights.
Yeah. Fucking weird.
It’s not that I’m not into women. I am. But sex is kind of a means to an end for me, and I sure as hell don’t pay for it.
So when one of the dancers wanders over, and the guys throw down cash for a lap dance, I just sit there like a chair without a person in it and let her do her thing.
She’s pretty enough, I guess, and her body is smoking. She looks confident, but smells like sweat and coconut oil, and I feel absolutely nothing around her.
“What a piece of fuckin’ cardboard,” Connor hoots. “Good lord, are you a dead fish in bed, Lee-Lee? Just sit there and let her do all the work? Come here, Princess, come dance on alivehuman.”
