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“Old? Who the fuck are you calling old?” Tweetie poses like a bodybuilder, and we all laugh.
“Tell me you don’t do that in front of the women,” Henry says. “I can see you naked and flexing like it’s going to turn her on.”
I fall back laughing because the vision is clear in my head.
“There’s only one thing I need to flex, and let’s just say the response I usually get is that it won’t fit.”
“Are you sure they’re not thinking, where is it?” Henry bobs his head right and left as if he’s looking for something.
“Fuck off, Daddy. A woman would have to dust off cobwebs to see your dick.”
Easton’s head volleys back and forth between them. I’m sure it’s the same with his teammates and the ball busting.
“When was your last STI test?” Henry raises an eyebrow.
“Do I need to put you in separate corners?” Easton asks, standing and putting his hands out like a referee.
They both laugh.
“Shit no, Tweetie would go ballistic in a ring,” I say.
Tweetie flexes his shoulders, happy for what he sees as a compliment. “It’s all in brotherly love, right, Daddy?”
“Sure. I gotta get to working out before I have to pick up Bodhi. You done, Rowan, or are you staying?”
I look at the clock and see that it’s getting close to my time with Leigh. “Nah, I’m out. You three have fun.” I turn to Easton. “When Tweetie starts foaming at the mouth, it’s time to call the police.”
“Gotcha.” He gives me a mock salute.
“Go have fun with your regular pussy,” Tweetie says, flipping me off, but I head to the locker room, ignoring him.
I pull out my cell phone.
On my way.
At Ruby’s.
I’ll swing down to get you first.
Perfect.
I’m on my stomach on my bed, and Leigh is straddling me, her ass on my ass and her hands massaging my shoulders and back. My shoulder’s been sore, and I winced during sex, so she told me she’d give me a massage.
“Are you looking forward to the season?” she asks.
My cheek rests on my hands and the silky smoothness of her palms feels so much better than any trainer’s hands. “Honestly?”
“If you want to tell me.”
“It’s a little nerve-racking.”
She runs her hands down the sides of my ribs and back up, digging the heels of her palms into my muscles.
“You’re feeling the pressure?” she asks.
I nod but don’t answer.
“Everyone loves you. Chicago can’t wait to see what you can do during a full season for the team.” She kisses the back of my neck. It’s a gesture that would’ve scared me a couple weeks ago, but today feels oddly comforting.
