Craving The Player (Amateurs In Love Book 1)(38)
“We both know that if I went home after the game, Gracie wouldn’t have let me back out,” Tyler says with a snort. His smile spreads around his clear glass as he takes a sip of his drink. The humour in his dark eyes makes my chest rumble with a laugh.
“Right.” I tap the side of my glass with my finger and hum. “How has she been lately? The nausea still kicking her ass?”
My brother’s wife is three months pregnant now, I think, and has been dealing with some gnarly morning sickness the entire time. If I remember correctly, I think she had to get prescription pills from her doctor when it got so bad that she couldn’t even get out of bed most days. I know it was hard for her, not to be able to dance or even teach a lesson for that matter, but every time she even attempted it, it wasn’t long before she was calling Tyler from the bathroom, begging him to come take her home.
A long, frustrated grunt fills the space between us as Tyler’s empty glass is shoved towards the bartender. His jaw sets, cheek twitching. “Yeah. It’s getting better but it’s killing me, man. She looks so fucking miserable all the time and there’s nothing that I can do to help.”
I want to give him a reassuring hug, but settle on squeezing his shoulder knowing full well he’s not the biggest fan of receiving comfort from anyone other than his wife. “How much longer until it eases it? Or will it not go away?” For the sake of him not getting a stomach ulcer from worrying too much, I hope it’ll be gone quickly.
“Doctor says it should go away in a few weeks. Hopefully it’ll just be a first trimester thing.”
I nod. “Well for all of our sakes, I hope so too. I don’t know how much more of your bitching I can take before my ears begin to bleed, Ty.”
“Fuck off,” he grumbles, even though the corner of his mouth twitches, begging to lift into a grin. He doesn’t smile, of course, but he does make a small noise in the back of his throat that sounds like a half-snort, half-chuckle. “What’s up with you? I haven’t seen you since you bailed at dinner.”
“Not much.” It’s only a half-lie. I haven’t done much of anything since I left Sierra’s house last week. I haven’t texted her and she hasn’t texted me. Things have gone back to normal. That is if my new normal has become not being able to get even the slightest hard-on unless I’m flicking through memories of what Sierra’s pussy tastes like.
I haven’t been able to get it up for anyone, at fucking all, the past few days. I even spent my Saturday night in a dark hallway at Sinners with my pants down at my ankles and a hot mouth wrapped around my soft cock, unable to get hard. The big breasted brunette was offended, not like I could blame her, and left me bracing myself against the wall alone with my dick hanging between my legs like a limp noodle. I didn’t even give myself time to be embarrassed that my cock had become so utterly useless before I left, got in my car, and began slamming my hands on my steering wheel until the anger passed.
“What’s the scowl for them? Someone key your car or something?”
“Nobody fucking keyed my car. Nothing’s up.”
Tyler turns his bar stool until he faces me, right arm planted on the bar top, knees spread wide in his expensive, custom black dress pants and the top two buttons of his white dress shirt unbuttoned. His black hair—buzzed on the sides, longer in the middle—is messy as hell, like he hasn’t touched it since he took his hockey helmet off after the game. Knowing him, he probably hasn’t. He has a brow kicked up as he watches me, eyes doubtful, making it clear that he doesn’t believe a damn word I’ve said.
“I saw Clayton the other day when I stopped by the gym,” he says while signalling the bartender to refill his glass. My stomach drops.
That little shit head.
Tyler’s drink is refilled quickly and he takes a sip before facing me again. “He mentioned a girl. Sierra, I think her name was? Said you were seeing her or something like that. I told him he had to be lying because there’s no way my brother had a steady girl and didn’t tell me.”
I lift my shoulder in a lazy shrug, trying to play it off like the topic of Sierra doesn’t affect me, even though it clearly does. Tyler would never let me live it down if I told him just how much it did actually affect me. “We were fucking around for a while. It’s done now.” There’s the smallest hint of a smile on his face that has me tonguing my cheek. “I’m serious. I haven’t seen her in a week.”
“And how has that been?”
The grip on my drink tightens and I swallow hard. “Fine. What are you? A shrink now?”
“Fine?” he echoes, head tilted while he belts out a rough laugh. “You sure about that? You don’t sound real sure.”
Pushing away from the bar, not wanting to deal with getting the third degree any longer than I have to, I get up, drink still in my hand. Tipping my glass, I gulp down the last few sips before slapping it down on the bar and shoving my hands in the pockets of my jeans. “Going to the bathroom,” I mutter and stalk off until his bursting laughter fades into nothing.
I’m rounding an excessively gigantic fish tank when I stop, my chest beginning to constrict. The hands in my pockets come out and fall to my sides, clenched tight. My nostrils flare and my back molars grind together as I take in the scene playing out a few feet in front of me.