Page 2 of The C*ck Down the Block

She stared at me for an entirely too awkward minute. That was weirder than I could deal with at seven o’clock in the morning. I sat up and carefully moved her well off my lap and subsequent hard-on, then stood and held out my hand to help her to her feet.

She took it and it was far too difficult to not haul her into my arms when I pulled her up. She dropped my hand before I was ready and dusted off her skirt with a few slaps to her hips and butt. I had to bite my fist to keep from helping her or saying anything.

There was a long, icy cold shower in my immediate future.

“Hey, you kids stay out of the street. Don’t make me call your parents to tell them you were fooling around in traffic,” Mrs. Bo hollered at us, like we were still eight years old and running through the neighborhood on a Saturday morning.

“Sorry, Mrs. Bo. We’ll be more careful.” Trixie gave our elderly neighbor a wave. That placated her and she harrumphed but continued down the street at an even more leisurely pace, like she owned the place.

In fact, I did.

“Come over tonight and I’ll make you a roast chicken dinner to say thanks.” She glared at Luke Skycocker contently roosting in the flowerpot next to her front door. She loved that stupid chicken and he loved her. No way we were ever getting to eat him.

“Can’t. I promised Johnston I’d make an appearance at Manniway’s fancy-ass grand opening tonight.” I’d had big shoes to fill when the Mustangs drafted me to be the backup quarterback to the most beloved player in franchise history. Manniway had immediately taken me under his wing and told me he’d make sure I won more Super Bowl rings than he had. He was genuinely a good man, and I would always go out of my way to do anything for him. Not like drinks and dinner at his bougie new restaurant in Cherry Creek was a hardship. “Come and be my date.”

She wrinkled up her nose in that cute way she had. “Umm, no. I am not Manniway’s Steak House material. You need a cheerleader or, oh, I know, ask the new anchor woman from 9NEWS. She’s all polish and sophistication. You could be Denver’s new power couple. We’ll give you a cute couple name like Chrisangela or Angtopher.”

Yeah, no. I’m sure Angie Cruz was a lovely person, and probably as boring out on a date as watching golf. “I don’t think she’s my type. Come on. It will be fun, and Johnston’s wife made sure they actually have a whole ass vegan menu, so you don’t have to order a baked potato at a steak place. They even have that weirdo fake meat you pretend is beef.”

Trix spun in a cute little circle and sang her favorite FlipFlopper’s theme, “Cause I’m a filthy vegan.”

“So you’ll go? You owe me one for saving Luke Skycocker’s life.” It’s not like this was a real date or anything. My cock didn’t appear to know that though.

“It’s tempting. I do enjoy ogling football player butts.” She tapped her finger on her lips, thinking. “Who else will be there?”

I wasn’t jealous that she wanted to stare at other men’s butts. Nope. Not me. I was also talking to the team trainers about adding in an extra glute workout to my rotation.

“Deck, Everett, Hayes,” my three brothers who also played for the Mustangs, “and my dad.”

Coach Kingman was football royalty in his own right. Seven national championships for the DSU Dragons was no small feat. Neither was raising eight kids as a single father for the last seventeen years, four of whom played professionally, three more currently playing competitively in college who would likely all go in the first few rounds of the draft when it was their turn, and one stroppy teenaged girl that we all loved.

There wasn’t a single event in the Denver Metro area that involved sports that my father wasn’t invited to. Retired now or not, he was a busy man.

“There won’t be room for anyone else in the restaurant with the Kingmans holding court, and those are not the butts I want to ogle.” Trixie side-eyed me. “Who else you got?”

Not jealous. Not jealous. “Some other guys from the team, and of course Johnston and Marie. But you know that’s not why you want to go. You’ll come for the gossip.”

Trixie shrugged and gave me a big shit-eating grin. “I suppose I can find something to stare at all night, and you’re the one who knows all the good dirt on the Rocky Mountain celeb scene, not me.”

Aha. Got her. “Which is why you’ll come with me. So I can point out who all is being recruited to host the Great Mile High Bake Off.”

“No. Shut the front door.” She shoved me and I pretended she was strong enough to move me by taking a step to the side. “They’re coming here? How did you not lead with that? Fine. I’m in.”

Trixie was eternally addicted to competition shows. Her streaming subscriptions were a monster of their own. I’d know. She made me watch them with her every damn week. If anyone found out that I even knew who Paul Hollywood, Mary Berry, and Prue Leith were, I’d never live it down.

“I’ll pick you up at seven.” I’d trained myself not to sound too excited when she said yes to our pseudo-dates. “See you tonight.”

She jogged up her front porch stairs, pulled open her front door, shooed Luke Skycocker inside, and waved me off as if going out with me tonight was seriously no big deal.It wasn’t. I dragged her to all kinds of events when my agent didn’t have some kind of PR date lined up for me. He rarely set me up anyway because he knew I’d say no most of the time.

No. Big. Deal. Because we were friends. Neighbors. Nothing more.

I needed another long run and then twelve cold showers before tonight.

AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS VIBRATOR

TRIXIE

One thing I will never get used to is finding a vibrator in my mailbox.

---