Page 19 of Pinkie Promise

I can barely see, let alone walk straight, so when the guys push me through the doors to Rodeo Bar I blindly hand Tanner another wad of tens so that he can grab the team our tenth round to celebrate over.

Winning our first home game of the season always means celebrating hard on home turf, but tonight it’s turned into a captain’s initiation. Which isn’t usually a problem except for the fact that, one, I have work at 8am tomorrow and, two,I’mthe captain. We started out at the hockey house so that the guys who aren’t twenty-one yet could drink with us, but it’s been a few hours since then so now we’re off campus and drinking Carter Ridge dry.

“Where the fuck are we?” one of our defence-men asks, his jaw so slack that he looks like he’s dislocated it. There’s a chick somewhere to the right riding a mechanical bull and I have zero intentions of watching her work it. I don’t want to get hot and bothered in public just because I haven’t been… unloading the way that I need to.

But there’s a chance that things might be different this year.

I shift heavily on my seat as my mind strays to a certain cheerleader. Those big taunting eyes. That petite waist that I could span both of my palms around. I let my vision cloud overuntil the neon lights behind the counter are a big red blur, and I picture seeing her at our next game, wondering if she’ll want to see me again.

“Keep it in your pants, man.” Tanner grimaces over to one of our teammates as he sets the beers on the table, four in each hand gripped by the stems. “Waitress is bringing the rest,” Tanner slurs as he thrusts another bottle into my fist.

I take a long pull of the liquid, and then shove myself to my feet. “I’ll get them,” I decide, taking another drink from the bottle as I wonder if Fallon will let me watch her cheer. Then again, considering how hard I get at just the thought of her, maybe watching her high-kick in a mini-skirt isn’t such a good idea.

I readjust the situation getting heavy in my jeans as I trudge roughly between the tables. Jesus, it’s dark in here. I finish off my beer and slide it onto a table before raking a hand through my hair and momentarily closing my eyes.

That feels good. That feels way better. And with my eyes closed I can pretend, even for the briefest moment, that Fallon is–

My body smacks into something small and soft, and my eyes fly open just as I hear her squeal. I lock my forearms tight behind her, shoving her upwards before she hits the floor. Her head smacks off my pecs and I hear a little moan of anguish.

Then I look down to see who I just crashed into.

I must bewaydrunker than I originally thought.

“We havegotto stop meeting like this,” Fallon says breathlessly, her hands gripping into my shoulders and her lips mere inches from mine.

She’s really here. In a chicks-dancing-on-the-tables bull-riding dive bar.

And so am I.

I’m way too drunk for any of this to make sense.Why am I here? And why thehellis she here?

Was this the job that she was talking about? This was what she wanted to spend her year doing?

Not happening. That isnotfucking happening.

“Fallon,” I grit out. “What the hell are you doing here?”

When she starts wiggling in my arms I realise that I’ve still got her crushed against my pecs, but if she thinks that I’m gonna expose the little outfit that I can feel beneath my fingers to this bar’s clientele, then she can well and truly think again. I walk her to a side-booth at the corner of the room and then I pull away slightly, finally revealing what she’s wearing.

“Oh Jesus,” I say hoarsely. So much for not needing to beat one out in public.

I think I stare down at her tits for three minutes straight, the little strip of her bare belly making my hands flex into her back. She looks small and soft and like exactly what I’ve been waiting for, but then her little gasps finally penetrate my lust-fog and my eyes shoot back to hers.

“What?” I grunt.How the hell is she this pretty?

“You’re… it’s… you need to…”

I blink down at her. “Huh?”

“It’s on my belly,” she whisper-pants, her irises going black. “I know that you’re drunk but–”

The second that I realise what she’s talking about I almost lose my damn mind. I’m fully-erect and I’m embedding it straight into her stomach, a chick who barely knows me and is in the middle of a damn shift.

Which brings me back to my original question.

“Fallon, why are you in here?” I ask, dropping a palm onto the dark table behind her to stop myself from falling over. The movement causes me to thrust against her, and a sound leaves her throat at the sensation of being impaled.

“I-I’m working, this is my new–”

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