I walked right into that one.
Soaping up my body, I take longer than I should to come up with a generic answer. “Slept in,” I grunt. They should believe that. Hell, they both overslept at least twice a month when we were back in high school.
Roman elbows Emilio in the ribs before dipping his chin toward me. “This cabrón says he slept through his alarm,” he tells him. “Methiroso.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Emilio frowns. “Yeah. You’re right.”
My eyes ping-pong back and forth between them. Fucking Spanish speaking fuckers. I haven’t heard that word before. There should be rules for this shit. No secret language conversations in front of your friends. It’s rude. I only know the usual slang.Cabrón. Pendejo. Estúpido. You know, the bad words in Spanish you want to learn.
Roman chuckles at the dark look on my face. “We’re calling you a liar,” he deadpans.
“Yeah, man. Liar, liar. Pants on fire.” Emilio smirks.
“I’m not lying.” I grind the words between my teeth. I slept in. It wasn’t intentional, but that doesn’t make it any less true.
“Testy,” Emilio chides. “You need to go back to bed? A good nap always helps Luis turn his frown upside down.”
I give him a withering stare. Does it phase him? Not in the least. The man’s got two kids now and lives in a house with both of his older brothers. Not much save for his woman can penetrate his carefree exterior. I settle for flipping him off. It makes me feel better at least.
“Alright. Alright. Perfect Price slept in for once.” Emilio holds both hands in the air, palms turned to face me. “My bad. Don’t get your panties in a twist about it.”
“I did.”
“Sure. We believe you.” His words say one thing, but the grin on his face says another.
“Whatever.”
With a smirk, he looks to Roman and some sort of silent communication passes between them. Clenching my teeth, I ignore them. I’m usually in on whatever silent shit is being passed along, so whatever they’re relaying, it isn’t for me. Or more accurately, it’s about me, which is why I’m not supposed to know.
Assholes.
“So ...” Emilio says, and I can tell by the tone of his voice that he wants to ask me a question. “Who you taking to the fundraiser?”
“What fundraiser?” I ask.
Roman rocks back on his heels and whistles. Thatoh shitwhistle that lets you know you’ve gone and fucked up.
“Bro. The McIntire Dinner. Please tell me you did not forget. Your ass, along with the rest of the team’s, is required to be there.”
Shit.I forgot. “It’s fine. When is it?”
“The Monday after our game.”
Cursing, I count how much time I have between then and now. Then I remember that fucking meeting with Andres DeAnde. So much for having time this weekend to figure anything out. I have a few suits hanging in my closet, so I’m good on clothes, but I’ll need a date. The one and only time I’ve gone to one of these events solo, I learned right away never to make that mistake again.
The cougars at these kinds of things are vicious and will do anything they can to sink their claws into a young, fresh piece of meat. Hard pass. I’m not looking to be anyone’s future meal ticket, nor do I need a sugar momma.
“You got a date?” Roman asks.
I nod. He knows as well as I do that a date to these things is required. Lucky bastard has Allie to bring though, so he doesn’t have to worry about tracking down a plus one. Same goes for Emilio. He has Bibiana, though she just had baby Roberto—named after Emilio’s oldest brother—so she might not be ready to leave the baby yet for the couple of hours the dinner will take.
“I’ll get it covered.” Toweling off, I retrieve my phone from my locker and type out a quick text.
Me: McIntire dinner Monday night. You game?
She responds right away.
