Page 29 of Jace
“I don't know how to unjinx a jinx, Price,” I tell Lamar. “But once, my brother J made me sing the national anthem while hopping on one leg and crossing my eyes after I supposedly jinxed one of his games. He won afterward.”
I’m totally bullshitting here, but Lamar’s buying it.
“Yes!” he exclaims, pointing a finger at Jace. “Do that! Hop around, man!”
Jace still looks stunned, the bag of ice forgotten on the table. “You want me to do what?”
“You heard our king here.” Lamar is waving my way erratically. “Stand on one leg, cross your eyes, and sing the damn anthem!”
Jace’s grin is so wide, I’m afraid we broke him. I didn't think he'd actually do it, but I clearly underestimated his commitment to entertainment, even if he did get whacked in the head a little while ago.
He gets up on the bench in a swift move–way swifter than what I would be able to do after that hit–lifts one leg, puts his hand on his chest and starts to singsomethingwhile crossing his eyes. I can't understand a word of it, not recognizing the language.
“What the hell is that song?” Lamar shrieks. “That’s not the national anthem, make him stop!” He actually kicks me under the table, but I can’t stop fucking chuckling.
“He’s singing the national anthem,” Missy says flatly as Jace sings on way too loudly, wobbling as he does, making peoplewatch. “Just not the American one. This is his anthem, the Dutch one. You didn’t specify.”
I burst out laughing at that, finding it hilarious.
Lamar can only bang his head against the table, though. “We’re going to motherfucking lose.”
EIGHT
They motherfucking won the game.
Well, I never doubted it, but I'm relieved they pulled off a victory. I wouldn’t want to have the wrath of Lamar on my ass if they’d lost. That guy would've pinned the blame on me, given his superstition levels.
On the other hand; he might want me to sing the damn Dutch anthem on one leg before every game now, but I hope he doesn’t ever make that connection. Once was enough, thank you.
I practically inhale my final hotdog, observing the celebrations unfolding on the field. They are giving each other high fives and hugs and it makes a nice pile of sweaty hot males.
“Do you feel the need, like me, to dive into that?” I ask Missy, waving at the pile of bodies beneath us. We’re seated very low in the enormous stadium and it’s hard to imagine how big the stadiums must be if Tyler and Lamar actually get to the pros. It's wild, really, that even now so many people come to watch him–them–play.
“Hell yes, but I'm guessing Lamar's not up for that. The guy's got some jealousy going on,” Missy replies, pausing her milkshake-sucking to answer.
“Such a shame,” Ava chimes in from Missy's other side. “I sometimes hate having a steady boyfriend. I'd follow you into that pile in a heartbeat. Just don't let Asher know I said that.”
Yup, Ava and Asher are still an item. Not that I mind. Asher's a great guy–pretty reserved for a drummer–and he treats Ava well, which I think is key. If they ever break up, I'd prefer the band to stay intact. But things seem smooth so far.
“You'll have to take the plunge for us, Jacie,” Ava continues, leaning in to chat across Missy. “I doubt Ty would mind you jumping atop of him. He didn't yesterday when you were cozying up next to him.” She winks at me.
I chuckle at that and locate Ty in the mountain of players. Since we really are seated way closer to the field this time–we have Ty and Lamar to thank for that–I get a nice close up of his big burly arms and tight ass in those pants that are practically painted on him.
Am I head over heels for him? Well, no, not really. I don’t have these mushy things called feelings for anyone. But if someone were to ask me if I’m lusting on him hard? Than the answer would be a hell fucking yes.
I can’t help it, I really can’t. I know he doesn’t mind the flirting, but fuck me if I don’t mean every word that comes out of my mouth regarding mister King himself.
In my opinion he indeed is a king. A king I would gladly bow down to, to take his mighty cock in my mouth that is.
Not that I'll ever say that to him… Which is a total lie now to think of it, I actually said something of the sorts to him a couple of days ago. Maybe.
“Excited for the party?” Missy's question brings me back to the present.
“My first kegger,” I gush. Should be a blast. “When's it starting?” I ask, propping my booted feet on the vacant seat in front of me.
The stadium is emptying out after the game, but it seems like the girls had the same idea as me–finish our drinks here, wait for the crowds to thin out.
“In an hour or so, tops,” Missy says between sips of her milkshake. “They need to cool down, do interviews, and debrief. So the team will be arriving later.”
