Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Except, I’m not here for a hookup tonight.
Haven’t been interested in that since I saw Blue at the harvest festival with Billy.
Winding around tables, teammates, and hot women, I make my way over to Bishop and Brooke. I normally would go stand over with the single dudes and start my selection process for whatever woman I’d want to fuck that night.
Bishop gives me a knowing grin as I sit down, but Brooke just gives me a sweet smile. That means Bishop hasn’t told her yet about my waxing, but I know he will. He won’t keep it from her.
“You played great,” Brooke says.
“Thanks,” I tell her and flag a waitress. She gets within five feet of me and I call out, “Give me something pale on tap.”
When I give my attention back to Brooke, she adds on, “You kicked Reaves’s ass so bad.”
“And only needed three stitches in the process,” I quip, pointing at my cut.
Bishop gives me a nod, looking at my cut for a brief moment. “You really did play a hell of a game, Erik. Other players are going to think twice before fucking with you too.”
That’s the truth. Part of being a good enforcer is being vigilant and watching everything on the ice. The minute one of the opposing players dares to think they can get rough with my boys, they’re going to pay. The formula is really simple, and we can use Reaves tonight as an example.
Reaves cross-checked Tacker, which thankfully didn’t hurt him. But it could have, and Tacker is our leader and our most veteran player. On top of that, he’s averaging 1.32 points per game, which puts him second in the league right now.
My job is to impress upon Mr. Reaves that it’s not a good idea to try to injure my teammates. I drop the gloves, we fight, and I hurt him. Sure, I got a tiny cut that bled, but Reaves had to be helped off the ice. He was a little disoriented when they picked him up and because of concussion protocol, he never returned to the game.
Now, next time we play, Reaves will think twice about taking a run at Tacker.
Our fight will be televised on all the sports shows tonight and tomorrow. Other players will see it.
Those same players will also think twice about tangling with me.
That’s the whole point of having an enforcer on the team.
Tonight wasn’t just about physically kicking ass. It was about doing so on all fronts. We easily beat the Vegas Spades tonight and in addition to my awesome fight, I also got an assist. So Brooke is correct.
I played great.
Brooke leans in to Bishop to talk and I use the opportunity to do something I’ve been dying to do since I walked out of that waxing salon this morning.
I pull up Blue’s contact information in my phone—courtesy of Legend getting it from Valerie—and I send her a text.
I’m ready to take you out to dinner. What night is good for you?
There’s no expectation she’ll respond right away. I have no clue if she’s a night owl or not. It’s closing in on eleven P.M. and she could very well be asleep.
The waitress returns with my beer and I hand her a ten-dollar bill, telling her to keep the change. Her eyes light up as if that might indicate an interest in her past my gratitude in bringing me a tasty beverage. I don’t pay her any mind, though, as my phone vibrates and I see Blue has responded.
Prove it.
I snort, a wicked grin taking over my face. My reply is swift. Sorry. I don’t send dick pics to women. It’s crass.
There’s no helping my laugh when she texts back. Ordinarily, I hate dick pics, but I do require proof. You see, you could be tricking me into dinner and still have all your curlies intact. So dick pic or no date.
A bark of a laugh escapes and both Brooke and Bishop look at me curiously. I just shake my head at them, grinning as I write her back. Give me a minute.
“Be back,” I tell Brooke and Bishop as I stand up.
I have to say, this is never how I thought I’d be showing my cock to Blue. It’s humiliating in a way, having to use one of the stalls in the men’s room. After undoing my belt, unzipping my pants, and tucking my shirt up out of the way, I’m able to expose myself enough to get a picture.
If I’m sending such a picture to a gorgeous woman like Blue, I’d like to impress her with my full size—a little over eight inches in all its glory and proportionately thick in its making. But there’s nothing about this situation that would induce an erection out of me, and besides…she’s seen me at my best before.