Play Maker(10)

“Just checking the time,” I said, trying to be coy and failing miserably.

“Hey, if that hunk of man was waiting for me after closing time, I’d be watching the clock too,” Maya whistled under her breath. “If you didn’t have dibs—”

“But I do,” I quickly said and she laughed.

“I know, I know.” She held up her hands. “Wow. I’ve never seen you get so possessive.”

“Not possessive,” I corrected. “Horny. Extremely, extremely horny.”

“Yeah, that was pretty obvious the way you two were circling each other an hour ago,” Maya patted me on the shoulder. “I’m surprised you didn’t just do it on the bar.”

Oh, the thought had crossed my mind. A few times. In a variety of positions. Me on top, him on top. Me bent over the bar, him behind. Me on one of the barstools—.

I quickly cleared my throat. “Well, I never. I’m a proper lady,” I told her seriously. Maya stared at me for a moment and then we both broke out laughing.

“You’re a proper slut.” She gave me a one-armed hug. “And that’s why I love you.”

“Love you too, fellow slut.” I hugged back.

“You’re sure you wouldn’t be interested in a trade?” she asked innocently into my shoulder. “His friend is pretty cute too.”

I glanced over where my hottie was talking to a good-looking man in a suit and tie. He was attractive but a little stuffy. Proper. Like James Bond, but without * Galore.

“Mmmm.” I pretended to consider. “Nope, sorry, Maya. He’s cute, but no one – not even David Beckham himself – would get me to give up my dibs on this 2am date.”

“Dammit,” Maya bemoaned, but I could tell she wasn’t upset. The slut code was law, one we both willingly followed. It was what made our friendship so strong. Like me, Maya had her reasons for not wanting to be in a relationship and like me, she kept those reasons close to her chest. We were friends because we understood each other’s secrets. If she really wanted my guy that evening, I would have given him up in a second. But she would never ask that. Not when the chemistry was so hot. So undeniable. I had her back and she had mine.

“Oh shit,” Maya muttered. “Here comes Big Red.”

I sighed, pulling away from my best friend and plastering a smile on my face as a very drunk, very red-faced man stumbled up to the bar, his arm around a very young woman.

“La-dies,” he slurred, erasing all the usual appeal of a British accent. He practically stumbled into the bar, the petite thing at his side doing her best to guide him safely into a stool. “Looks like we’ve got all the makings for a foursome, don’t you think?”

This man, who I could only assume was one of the players by both his accent and the throng of beautiful women surrounding him despite the slovenly way he was dressed, had been blatantly hitting on both me and Maya all evening. She had dubbed him Big Red, namely because of the color of his face, which was ruddy, his eyes bloodshot. He was also quite a few years older than most of the other players and while he was still pretty fit, he definitely had the makings of a beer gut. However, he seemed oblivious to that fact, choosing to wear a rather tight, white shirt with quite a few stains on it. Yep, he had to be a big deal to show up looking the way he did and still have a beautiful young woman at his side.

A beautiful young woman who looked on the shy side of twenty and was definitely too good for him. I saw her wince at the foursome joke, but still she didn’t abandon him at the bar, like I would have done. Then again, we all did stupid things – and stupid people – when we were young. I wasn’t going to judge her.

Him on the other hand, well, I felt perfectly qualified to judge him. He was the perfect example of a sleazeball – someone at the opposite end of the playboy spectrum. He lurched into situations, not taking note of the atmosphere or even the participants, and just hit on literally anything with tits. It had the subtly of taking his pants off and waving his dick around, ready to f*ck the first thing that showed interest.

I didn’t need to be the only girl in a guy’s life, but I preferred to be the only one he was trying to f*ck at that exact moment. Why sleep with a guy who clearly thought of women as interchangeable as this guy clearly did? God knows I’d had enough bad sex with guys like that before I wised up.

“Come on ladies,” he half whined. “It was a joke. Can’t you take a joke? This is why people think that women aren’t funny.”

He glanced expectantly over at his date. That was her cue to jump in and try to illustrate that she wasn’t like us humorless shrews behind the bar, that she thought he was funny. But either she didn’t pick up on the cue or she wasn’t playing that game.

I made it a rule to stay away from guys who pitted women against each other. There were enough men for all of us. I wasn’t going to feed into some dude’s cat fight fantasy just to get laid.

So instead, I just smiled at Big Red’s date.

“What can I get you?” I asked her, trying to make it as clear as possible that I wasn’t competition. “White wine?”

She smiled back. “Yes, please.”

I glanced over at Big Red, who had his meaty hands sprawled across the bar. I immediately spotted the white tan line on his ring finger. Gross. Lazy and philandering. I glanced over at his date. Clearly not his wife, but did she know?