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Colt toasts his tumbler. “Touché to your cliché.”
“So then what?” But I can’t joke. Routes, playbooks, and drills rule my mind. We gotta win. “What’s the plan after he’s done with his pity party?”
No one answers.
Water sloshing ashore is all we hear.
Then Blair sighs, her shoulders sagging. “Fine. We gotta do it.”
“Do what?” I’m afraid when it comes to Blair and what we have to do, sex toys will be involved.
“We give it a couple of months,” she answers, “and then we find Colt a legit beard. A woman who knows our secret and keeps it.”
“And one not interested in my dick,” Colt adds. “Damn thing attracts pussy like catnip, and I don’t cheat. When I’m single, yeah, I fuck around. I got some mean booty on call. Sometimes two. But once I commit, I’m legit.”
“Okay, okay.” I don’t want the image. “We get the idea.”
“Two?” But Blair smirks, intrigued. “What did they do? Dress in latex and tie you down? Use your cock and face like amusement park rides? One got off while the other got on? I bet you licked their boots. I bet you loved being their big, bad-boy toy.”
Colt smacks his palm on the table. “How did you know?”
My eyes get wide. “She’s right?”
“Yeah.” Colt grins with pride.
“I can read someone’s kink a mile away.” Blair pops in another bite of flan. “For example, Coach is into a natural muff and playing Barry White while he opens his burgundy silk robe, rubbing his cute little belly, and?—”
I burp. “Blargh.” It threatens barf. “That’s how I’ll see him on the sidelines now. Like a goddamn nineteen seventies Hugh Hefner.”
Colt drops his voice low, his eyebrows dancing. “Oh, you got it together, baby.” He mimics Barry White, and I throw a Creole bread roll at him.
He laughs, catching it. “Damn, Bronson. Someone’s jealous, and it turns me on.”
“I’ll show you jealous. Who’s going to be this beard? Because I’ll never hurt a woman, but I won’t like her.”
“Sheathe your sword.” Blair rubs my leg. “I know who to ask.”
“Who?” I ask. “Cuz’ she better look like she fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.”
“Oh, hell no,” Colt woofs, “I don’t date ugly.”
I half snarl, “You fucked Amber.”
“Yeah,” Colt lowers his brow, “because I couldn’t fuck you.”
Yes, I’m getting mad about a woman he’s not even dating. Yes, Colt with anyone but Blair and me makes me see red. Yes, we haven’t even started yet, and I’m about to kill for him.
So, yes, it’s love.
“You wanna fuck, Colt?” I leap across the table, grabbing the back of his neck. Plates and cups crash to the deck, but all I care about is, “You’ll fake fuck whoever because Colton Adam Hawke, you’re mine.”
Don’t grab a wide receiver. He’ll always be faster.
Colt surges, grabbing my neck, too. “Then finally fucking prove it, Beau Willuf Bronson.”
I crash my lips over his, my tongue tangling with his, my hands grabbing his hair, taking him even harder.
“I think you two need this night.” A silky voice wraps around us, and I glance. Blair’s watching us with nothing but heat and love in her eyes.
