Page 10 of Snap Shot

“Aw,comeon.” I tut. I'm in no mood.

Fletch fumbles over and lands on the other side of Wade. “What's going on over here?”

“A good ol' game of smash or pass.”

“Nice! I'll start. I saw these hotties. Where'd they go?” He rubs his hands together, scanning left. “There.”

A petite, fair-skinned girl with bright red lips sips from a straw and nods rapidly, her ample rack bouncing every which way.

Fletcher points. “I like her. She looks feisty.”

“Cute, but pass.”

Wade rejects her, too. “Pass. Too little for me.”

“You're bothstupid.” Fletch wrinkles his nose and leans back on the lounger. “I like 'em little.” He grabs invisible hips in the air and lifts his crotch. “I'd sit her on my cock and spin her like a top.”

Wade puffs his cheeks, chortling. “Yeah,right. You can't even fucking talk to her.”

“I could talk to her!” Fletcher slurs, faltering as he straightens. “I'll go talk to her right now!”

“Alright, big boy. Let's see. I'll give you a hundred if you do.” Wade stretches an arm, inviting him to go ahead. “Five hundred if you get her number.”

“I'm going!” Fletch makes it to his feet and tugs at his jacket, twisting his neck in prep. “See? I'm going.”

Wade shoos him with his hand. “Off you go.”

Fletcher grumbles over his shoulder as he moves toward the group.

I frown and nod, impressed at how brave alcohol has made our shy teammate. “Whoa. He's really gonna do it.”

“Wait.” Wade's lip curls in the corner.

Fletch's determined strides stop abruptly outside the small circle of women. He freezes, then pivots right towards the bar, slumping onto the counter where he wags a finger at the bartender.

“Told ya. Chicken shit.”

“Well” —I slap my knees, about to get up— “as fun as this was…”

Wade shoves me down. “We're not done. Be a pal, Landy. You may be out of luck with women, but I for sure ain't going home alone tonight.”

I don't have the energy to fight him.

Wade motions back to the women. “What about the tall one?”

“Pass.”

“You're a fucking liar. You wouldn't smash that? I can't see her face, but her body is fuckin…” Wade grunts out a series ofunhs, drawing out a curvy silhouette with his hands.

“Do you know who that is, Wade?” I shift and squint to make sure. “That's Gabe Finch, the sportscaster. She's gonna be covering the games next year. And she's taken.”

“Psht,” he putters. “Taken doesn't mean married. Taken girls can beuntakenwhen they see the size of my—”

My brows rise in warning. “She's engaged to Kurt Vaughn.”

“The Toronto Towers center?”

“Yep.”

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