“At the store,” the girl—woman—says to her friend, her voice full of irritation. She won’t even look at me.
Which is odd—again, I’m going to sound like an asshole—but women like to look at me. Usually with stars in their eyes.
It’s something a guy gets plenty used to, let me tell you.
“Oh. You never told me.” Her friend takes a sip from her drink, then glances over at me. “Be a homie and let her have the chair.”
“Oh shit.” I leap out of the chair and wave my hand toward it, indicating she can have it. “Sorry about that.”
Bookstore girl doesn’t say a word. She settles into the chair, her head inclined toward her friend’s before they both realize I’m just standing there like I’m waiting for something.
“You can go if you want,” her friend says with an encouraging smile.
I gape at the friend, then turn my attention to bookstore girl, shocked. “You want me to…leave?”
The friend nods. So does bookstore girl.
This is not normal. Women are usually eager for my attention, not trying to get rid of my ass.
“All right. That’s cool. It’s fine.” I’m sputtering as I rise to my feet, glancing around to find my friends have ditched me. They’re all clustered around one of those tall tables a few feet away, mugs of foamy beer already clutched in their hands, their voices loud in the already noisy bar. I didn’t even realize they found another table until this exact moment. “See you ladies around.”
“Bye,” the friend calls out as I walk away.
Bookstore girl doesn’t make a damn sound. Not even a polite goodbye.
Whatever.
I push my way between two teammates at the table, grabbing a full mug of beer someone poured from one of the two pitchers they ordered. Bringing it to my lips, I swallow half of it down before setting the glass on the table with a loud “aaah” sound.
“Thirsty much?” Cam asks me from across the table.
I shrug. “Annoyed.”
“Why?”
“Women.”
The guy standing next to me—Derek—busts out laughing. “Bro, you never complain about women.”
“He never has to,” someone else adds.
I scowl at all of them, annoyed that they’d bring up my player behavior.
Look, I know I’m a player. On and off the field, but I don’t like to brag about it. Or make a big deal about it. Or say anything about it at all really. My friends, my teammates—they know about my reputation and they love to give me shit, even though most of them are just as bad as me. Some of them are worse. My sisters know about my reputation as well, but they pretend they don’t because that is some awkward shit to talk about with your siblings.
Hell, my dad knows about my campus player status, and I’d bet Mom probably does too, though she chooses to never bring it up.
Thank God.
“What happened?” Cam asks, curious.
“Some girl got mad at me that I stole her chair.” I keep my gaze on the beer mug in front of me, tempted to polish it off, but I restrain myself.
“Ah, I witnessed that go down. We came to this table at the last second, but I don’t think you noticed,” Derek explains.
He’s a defensive lineman. Big dude. Scary looking dude but as sweet as a teddy bear.
“I didn’t notice. I sat down and so did she—right on my lap.”