Page 46 of Tamed (The Courtside King Duology 1)

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“So… Mr. Point Guard… When’s your next game?”

“Tomorrow,” Breck answered, eyes locked on his and Ned’s air hockey game. They’d been playing for a good two hours now, ever since they got back from the gym. Post Malone tunes thumped from the stereo. Beer cans cluttered every surface. “Just like last week. Just like every week until March Madness. Wednesdays and Saturdays. You ask me this twice a day. What’s wrong with your brain?”

“Riiight,” Jay nodded, all chilled out on Ned’s couch, Marcie sitting next to him. He slid her a smile. “Whatchu say, girl? Wanna come with?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Marcie beamed at Breck. “Our boy is on fire.”

Breck grinned. “I totally am.”

“You totally are.” She took another swig of beer, then turned to Jay. “Let’s paint our faces this time. Hoorah! Team spirit.”

“I’ll paint you!” Ned chimed in, instantly distracted from their game. “I’m great with paint.”

“They’re talking about face paint,” Breck laughed, sinking the hockey puck. “Not finger paint. A little out of your technical expertise.”

“Excuse me?” Ned scoffed, donning his naughty-boy grin. “I’ll have you know, I’ve got plenty of experience in this department. Two of my five favorite conquests were into body paint.” He wagged his brows. “Every color everywhere. And I do mean everywhere.”

Jay’s eyes went wide. “Hot damn.” He looked at Marcie.

She started laughing. “Sure, baby. I’m game. Let it be known, though, that I’m only agreeing to this because I’m drunk.”

His face lit up. “Sweet! One tata yellow, one tata green.”

“Yes!” Ned cheered. “I’ll do her butt cheeks! Go, Patriots!”

Breck busted out laughing. Ned was such a raging fuck nut.

Jay, however, just shot Ned a glare. “Brah, that’s not funny.”

Ned’s beaming smile vanished. Shoulders drooping, he straightening his cap—the black one sitting backward on his big ole fuck-nut head, with its Red Cross logo and Boner Donor printed under it in white. “Whatever,” he muttered, swiping Breck’s air puck from the goal catch. “I was gonna do a smiley face and everything.”

Breck’s lips twitched. “Their loss.”

Ned met his gaze and grinned. “Jay’s loss, at least, lemme tell ya. The last chick’s ass I painted? That happy face was off the hook. I had her spread her cheeks, and then I painted those smiling lips smack dab on her—”

“Whoa!” Marcie interrupted, nearly choking on her beer. “TMI, Michelangelo! Jesus frick!”

Breck cracked up all over again.

Jay just sat there, brain palpably churning.

“What?” Ned protested. “It was brilliant, woman! Brilliant! When I bent her over the table and slid my dick into her ass, it was like her little team-spirit friend was giving me a—”

“Yes, Ned! We know what it was like!” Marcie sounded exasperated. She glanced at Jay’s lap and sighed. “Great. Now he’s hard.”

Breck barked another laugh.

Jay jerked from his musings. “Huh? Wait, what?”

Marcie rolled her eyes and looked at Ned. “You are a freak.”

Ned snickered and got back to playing. No point in arguing the truth. In their four-pack, he held the crown for most wickedly warped.

Breck blocked his incoming puck.

And just like that, Ned changed the subject. “So, this guy, Kai—” He paused, then loosed a drunken snort. “That rhymed. I’m a poet. Call me Dr. Fucking Seuss.”

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