Damn. He’s blunt.
“Something like that.”
“She’s hot, I’ll give you that.” He takes another sip. “But does she know you’re out here offering her up to random dudes?”
I laugh, but it comes out forced. “We’re just messing around. Got a little competition going. That’s all.” I wave it off. “Forget I said anything.”
“Competition?” He sets the bottle down, leaning in. “Now you’ve got me curious.”
I should’ve kept my mouth shut. Nine out of ten guys would’ve just gone for the easy lay, but of course, this one has to be difficult. Getting all inquisitive and shit. Making me explain myself like I’m a fucking moron.
“Stupid bet,” I say, grabbing a rag to wipe down the already clean bar. “Seeing who can go the longest without hooking up.”
He lets out a short laugh. “No shit?”
“No shit.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Must be killing you.” His eyes flick down to my crotch for a split second. “You seem like a guy who gets a lot of action.”
I shift my weight. “I do all right. But you know how it is. Three weeks in, and things are starting to get… tight.”
“I bet.”
“But I’m in it to win at this point. I’m not a quitter. As a football player, I’m sure you get it.”
“Yeah. I get it.” He picks up the bottle again, swirling what’s left inside. “So you want me to make her lose?”
“That was the idea.”
He’s quiet for a second, studying me. Those dark eyes feel like they’re looking right through me.
“And you think she’d go for me?”
“Are you kidding? Look at you.” I gesture at him. “You’re every girl’s wet dream.”
“Damn, dude. Talk about inflating my ego.”
“You know it’s true. I bet you have to fight them off.”
“Sometimes.” He cracks a smile, and it changes his whole face. He goes from intense and intimidating to boyish and charming. “But what if I’m not interested in helping you win?”
“Then why are you still standing here asking questions?”
His grin widens. “What if I’m more interested in helping youlose?”
The sounds of the bar fade, and my brain screeches to a halt. “Sorry, what?”
“You heard me.” His eyes travel down my body, slower this time, lingering on my chest, my stomach, the bulge in my jeans, before coming back up. When they meet mine again, there’s something hungry in them.
He extends his hand across the bar.
“I’m Brock, by the way.”
3
