Page 18 of Cherry Picking
We all lose our shirts and are given little containers of glow in the dark paint that clips onto our jeans. There’s bodies dancing and roaming covered in colored streaks and fingertips. It’s actually really fucking cool, and Hawks looks smug as hell as a few of us make our way to the bar.
“Do you think they make edible versions of this?” I ask as we settle on two of the stools to wait for our drinks. “Asking for a friend.”
Hawks cackles and slaps me on the back. “It says non-toxic right on the label. Go to the bathrooms and give it a whirl.”
I like that the guys can joke with me and not make jabs at me.
A tray of drinks is placed in front of us, and Hawks offers to pay the tab while I carry it over to the booth some of the guys have occupied. Some have already ran off to dance or hook up, but our little motley crew we’ve assembled remain.
I slide over Rory and Mashburn’s drinks, putting Hawks’ at the empty space on the table and slapping Riley’s down in front of him with a grin.
“One cum shot for Easton for getting a motherfuckinghat trickat our very first game.”
He doesn’t hesitate to bring the glass to his lips—much bigger than a shot—and gulps half of it down in one go. When he sets it down, there’s stray flecks of white on his beard and stash that does something to the excitement simmering in my gut.
I take up the space beside him with my beer—one I know I’ll be nursing most of the night—and he doesn’t bat an eye at how I start flicking my fingers through his hair.
“One hell of a good luck charm, isn’t it?”
Rory leans across the table to join in on the petting, and soon the three of us are laughing as Riley tries to slink away under thetable. Mashburn is able to pull Rory back into his seat, and I let my fingers drift down Riley’s neck as we catch our breaths.
Hawks appears at the table head, sliding into the open seat across from me and snorts on his laughter. “Back to this, are we?”
Riley kicks him under the table, and I scooch enough to stay out of the danger zone.
“Felt like it was time,” he says with a decisive nod. “Plus we needed it after that humiliation last season.”
I can’t say that I’ve ever kept up with the Hornets position in the league, but from what I’ve heard in the locker room they got annihilated badly.
“Well thank fuck.” Hawks raises his glass and clinks it against Riley’s. “You keep playing like that and the Rippers might call you up to them and keep you.”
Riley’s jaw tenses, but he puts on a smile that looks forced. Hawks doesn’t question him on it, though, just starts up a jovial conversation with the rest of the team.
I watch as Riley finishes his drink, swiping at his beard to catch the remnants. He looks like he’s ready to crawl out of his skin, so I slide out of the booth and motion toward the throng of bodies on the other side of the bar.
He shakes his head hard, but I drag him to his feet anyway. “I’m not going to make you dance. Just loosen up.”
I grab us a couple shots from the bar that we quickly down and pick a spot on the dancefloor that’s less populated to guide him to. There’s this carpeted four foot wall along the perimeter that feels like it belongs in a roller rink, and it’s got a little dip at the corner that looks enough like a seat that I hop up on it and position Riley to stand in front of me.
“Whatever worry is pinging around in your freshly bleached head, we’re going to drown it out with music and games.”
“What kind of games?”
He has to stand close for us to hear each other over the blaring speakers, and it gives me an excuse to reach for a loop on his jeans and unhook the container of paint there.
“Close your eyes, and I’m going to draw something on your body. You have to guess what it is.”
“And why couldn’t we do this at the table?”
I grin. “Because it’s all about the atmosphere. Besides, maybe I wanted an excuse to have my hands on you.”
I’ve been keeping the flirting to a minimum since that night at the apartment, but I haven’t completely shut it off. After that kiss in the elevator, I figure a little teasing can’t hurt.
He shakes his head and licks the smile that forms on his lips, but he tips his head up and closes his eyes at the same time. His shirt is tucked into the back of his jeans, and his torso is all muscle and fur. Red hairs span across his pecs and down his abs, and there’s a patch of it peeking just above his waistband.
The paint from his belt is purple, and I dip two fingers in it before brushing them down his sternum. He flinches but quickly settles and grips onto my shoulder as I work. I hold his hip in my free hand, stilling him when he starts to squirm at the featherlight touch.
Maybe I’m teasing him a little extra, but payback’s a bitch, and it’s too much fun.
