Page 19 of Mr. Irrelevant
“In the meantime,” Syd cuts in, no doubt attemptingto lighten the heavy mood, “maybe he can check off some of the stuff on that crazy list of yours.” Bailey looks between us quizzically, and before she even gets a chance to ask, my lovely sister goes on. “After she got rid of her douchey ex, she decided to get drunk and make a checklist of all the things he was too much of a limp-dick loser to give her. I was also quite inebriated, but I’m pretty sure there’s some seriously kinky shit on it.” She turns to me with a grin. “Since you’re just having fun, why not check off some boxes with your boy toy?”
Memories of the past two weeks flood my mind, making me stifle a smile at how much Maddox has surprised me in the bedroom. We’ve only done it a few times, since our schedules are pretty packed with football stuff, but each one has been more incredible than the last. He delivers orgasm after orgasm, making sure I’m fully satiated before letting me sleep off the exhaustion from hours of being worshiped, just to wake me and do it all over again in the morning.
“He already has,” I mumble, both girls squealing loudly in response. I cover my face, embarrassment heating my cheeks as they celebrate beside me. They demand answers, but I draw the line at telling them thatmultiple orgasmsandcum play—thanks to his little finger-painting obsession—are no longer things I’m unacquainted with. Maddox doesn’t know about my list, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t actively making it shorter.
We spend the rest of the morning talking about the guys as we get ready, and I revel in the normalcy andexcitement of being able to add to the conversation instead of wishing it would end. And as we watch the Renegades dominate for the fourth week in a row, I can’t stop my heart from swelling with gratitude—not only for the team, but for the man who may not know it, but gives me back a little piece of my dream every night under the big, bright moon.
EIGHTEEN
MADDOX
“Nice house, man,”Theo says as he walks through the door, a six-pack of dark glass bottles hugged against his chest. It’s the Renegades’ bye week, so I asked the guys to come watch some of the other games at my place.
“Thanks,” I reply, shutting us inside and leading him to the living room, where Emmett and Jett sit on the couch, waiting for the first game of the day to kick off. They both stand to greet him, moving over to make room on the large sectional. I take a seat in the oversized plush chair across the room, lifting my beer from the table beside me and taking a long pull.
“So, who are we watching?” Theo asks, tipping his chin toward the TV as he pops the cap off a bottle of IPA.
“Miami, at Boston,” Jett answers, his eyes glued on his former teammates as they warm up on the field. The Blizzard has had a rough season, starting out solid but losing a few big names to various injuries as the weeksprogressed. Pair that with having to fill the space that was left after they traded Jett to the Renegades, and they’ve been struggling to adjust. Don’t get me wrong, their record is still better than ours, but as two-time Super Bowl champs, we all thought they’d be soaring to the playoffs.
“Is it weird to see them on the screen and not be there?” I question. Even though I’ve been able to catch a couple of Storm games since I came to Cleveland, I imagine it’s different for him. I had professional relationships with my teammates there, and we hung out on occasion outside of practice, but I was so far down on the depth chart that I wasn’t always included in the things they did. But Jett had strong friendships with the guys in Boston, not to mention the way they all seem to move like they share a fucking brain when they’re on the field. I’m sure it has to be strange—like he’s missing a limb or something.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Kinda. Those guys will always be my brothers, but I like Cleveland so far. We’re doing something special here, and it’s pretty fucking awesome to be part of it. Plus, had I not been traded, who knows how long it would’ve taken for Bailey and me to move in together? For all we know, I could be there right now”—he tips his bottle toward the TV—“and she could be watching from her apartment in Florida, instead of in my bed where I left her.” A cocky grin tugs at one corner of his mouth, and he takes a sip of beer, swallowing. “I’ll take the latter.”
“Lucky fucker,” Theo mumbles, throwing himself back into the couch cushions. We all turn toward him,brows raised in question as he rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying, it would be nice to have someone to go home to every night. When I signed my contract here, I bought this giant house so I could really feel like I was putting down roots. I envisioned a pretty girl and a bunch of kids running around in the yard someday. But for now, it’s just me and Boner, all by ourselves.”
The entire room goes silent, all of us staring at him like he’s got an extra head growing out of his shoulder becausewhat? Is this guy referring to his dick as though it’s a separate entity with a name—a very unoriginal name, at that. His head twists from left to right, taking in our perplexed expressions before his eyes go wide and he chokes out a gasp.
“My dog!” he rushes out. “I live alone with my dog. I wasn’t talking about?—”
“You named your dogBoner?” Emmett pipes up from his spot at the end of the couch. He’s been fairly quiet since he arrived, but obviously, he’s thinking the same thing we are.
Theo lifts one shoulder, dropping it with a cringe. “Yeah,” he replies. “Seemed funny at the time—until I took him to the dog park and had to yell it out in front of about fifty people.”
I bark a laugh. “Why don’t you just change it? How about Willy? Or Johnson? Or Hard-On? You know…something normal.” Jett and Emmett join in, and he flips us off, clearly trying to hold back his smile at my suggestions.
“What about the server from Club Tilt?” I ask. “There’s definitely something going on there. You actlike a twelve-year-old with a crush every time she comes around, all stammering and sweaty. Maybe she’s your future wifey.”
He scoffs. “First of all, it’s hot in there. Everybody sweats. And I barely even know her. I heard she was seeing Eric Moss,” he says of the Cleveland Vipers point guard, “but whenever he’s there, he acts like he doesn’t even see her. It’s fucking crazy.”
“Your time will come, man,” Jett says, slapping him on the shoulder. “You’ll find a mommy for your Boner soon enough.” We all chuckle quietly as he turns his attention to Emmett. “How about you? Have you been on any dates since you got here?”
His expression goes solemn, as if he has a story to tell, but doesn’t want to pull all his skeletons out of the closet. I guess I don’t blame him for being reluctant to open up, since we haven’t had much time to build solid connections with each other yet. “Nah,” he offers, picking at the label on his beer bottle. “I let one get away a long time ago, and it’s just seemed pretty pointless ever since. I’d rather be married to the game.”
“Fair enough,” Jett replies, not prying any further before turning to me. “And we already know you’re sad and alone,Mr. Nothing is More Important than Football.” He tosses a thumb in my direction as he speaks to the other guys. “There’s not a single girl alive who could turn this guy’s head. He’s locked in.”
I know he’s being sarcastic because of what I told him before his first game in Cleveland—that I was focused on my job, and didn’t have time for anyone else. But now that I’ve been spending time with Livvy,slowly realizing that there’s more to life than just watching tape and planning for the next game, it seems wrong to agree with him.
“Actually,” I say nonchalantly, “I’ve kind of been seeing someone.” His brows shoot into his hairline, a shit-eating grin blooming across his face. Before he can roast me about my change of heart, I halt him with a wave of my hand. “We’re just having fun, and we’ve agreed to keep things quiet because she’s in the public eye, too. But I really fucking like her, and”—I turn toward Jett—“maybe I was wrong.”
He sits back and kicks his feet onto the ottoman, looking as vindicated as ever. To be honest, I’m surprised Bailey hasn’t told him what she knows about my arrangement with Liv. I don’t mind that both she and Sydney know, because I understand how difficult it is not to talk about it with someone on the outside. Maybe I’ll confide in these guys about it at some point, but for now, I just want to keep getting to know them. It’s a delicate situation with Livvy being the owner’s daughter, and it’s probably not the best idea to put my teammates in a position where they’d be keeping such a big secret for me.
“That guy is so fucking fast,” Theo says, breaking me from my thoughts. He lifts his hand to the TV, where Miami Rage running back, Steele Harlow, breaks a tackle for a twenty-seven-yard touchdown. He animatedly spikes the ball, taunting the Blizzard defense as he throws two middle fingers into the air.
“He’s fast, but he’s arrogant as fuck,” Emmett replies, disgust written all over his expression. “Theguy is constantly getting into trouble, but the league continues to slap him on the wrist. I guarantee they’ll give him a twenty-five thousand dollar fine for that bullshit and he’ll be starting next week.” He’s not wrong. Harlow has been busted for everything from fighting on the field to speeding in his sports car off of it. He was even caught on video trying to get out of a ticket by asking the officer if she knew who he was and telling her he’d take her out on a date if she gave him a warning.
I take a sip of my beer, enjoying the laid-back bonding time with my teammates. The Rage put up a hell of a fight, but in the end, the Blizzard pulled out the win with a big touchdown in the final seconds of the game. Liv crosses my mind several times, but I refrain from texting her because I know if I do that, I’ll just want to see her—and I definitely can’t do that with a house full of her father’s players. Plus, it’s been less than eighteen hours since she left, and I don’t want to seem needy when we explicitly agreed not to get attached.
Problem is…I think I already am.
