Lola clambered off her barstool, flashing him one last smile before heading for the dock. As soon as she was out of sight, Patrick picked up the wine glasses, intending to find Cheryl. The DJ put on ‘Fergalicious’ and what sounded like every woman in the cabin screamed, and anyone who wasn’t already on the dance floor rushed toward it, putting dozens of extra bodies between him and Cheryl.
Patrick put down one wine glass and drained the other. He wasn’t really into dancing, but sometimes a guy had no choice. He hit the floor, trying to weave between drunk people without shoving anyone. Normally, he could see over crowds, but this was a football player party and most of the guys were his height or taller. He headed for the place where he’d last seen Cheryl and heard a low whistle to his right.
“Look at those big nattys. I’m gonna put my dick between those things if it kills me.”
Patrick turned so fast his neck cracked. His least favourite teammate, Marcus Holloway, was standing with Logan Cloak and Damien Mills. He followed their gaze and saw all three were watching Cheryl spin in slow circles by herself. Where the hell was Eden?
“You’re too late,” Cloak shouted to Holloway over the music. “Phil’s called dibs. He’s wanted to smash that pussy since Psycho’s housewarming.”
“Yeah, well, he’s not the only one.” Holloway had an ugly look on his face and Patrick knew why. A year ago, Holloway had asked if Cheryl was single and he’d told him to piss off. He wouldn’t have been so blunt, but Holloway was a dickhead. Arrogant and snippy, with a temper that had almost gotten him kicked out of the AFL. Patrick would have dogged him out of a date with anyone, let alone Cheryl. But dogging Holloway had only made him more of an asshole. And apparently even more determined to hook up with Cheryl.
Fighting against the surging crowd, Patrick moved toward his teammates.
“Watch her dance,” Holloway shouted. “She needs a good dicking to set her right.”
Blood hammered in Patrick’s ears as he made his way behind them, keeping out of Holloway’s eye line.
“Wait…” Damien Mills said. “That isn’t Psycho’s girlfriend?”
“Nah, they’re ‘just friends.’” Holloway snorted. “Normal’s a little bitch. He wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like that.”
“And you do?”
“Yup.” Holloway tapped the pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket. “She smokes. I’ll give her a dart and the next thing she’ll be smoking is my—”
Patrick grabbed Holloway’s wrist and twisted it behind his back. He and his brothers spent their childhoods perfecting the armlock and it worked as well now as it had then. Holloway squawked like a pinned chicken. “The hell?”
Patrick leaned forward and spoke right in his ear. “Stay away from Cheryl or I’ll fuck you up.”
“Huh?” Holloway wrenched his neck to the side and clocked who it was. “Shit. Boys…?”
Mills and Cloak swung around, and their faces took on similar looks of panic.
“Psycho,” Cloak said in a rush. “Don’t be like that. We thought—”
“You didn’t think,” he snarled. “Start thinking and fuck off.”
The two of them melted into the crowd and Patrick laughed. “All alone now, huh?”
“Fuck you, Normal.” Holloway shifted, trying to loosen his hold, and Patrick gripped him harder. He had ten kilos on the prick and anger to burn. “You’ve always been a dick, but you’ve crossed a line tonight, Marcus.”
“She’s not even your girlfriend, you fuckin’ simp.”
The truth stung, even from a cunt like Holloway. Patrick twisted his arm higher. “You think that matters? Come near her, breathe too close to her, and you won’t see the ball next season.”
“You can’t—”
“Try me. I own the midfield. I’ll murder your stats. I’ll make it look easy.”
“But—”
“What does everyone call me?”
Holloway waited until it was obvious he wanted an actual answer. “Psycho,” he spat.
“That’s right. Wanna see why?”
Holloway shook his head.
