Page 3 of Full Body Check

“What the hell do you mean, you couldn’t find her?” I roar, hurling my helmet at my locker. “Where the fuck’d you look? Or not look?”

The usher, Duncan, Dumbass… whatever the hell his name is, backs away slowly, hands up and out in apologetic surrender. “Seat’s empty. She must’ve left early to beat the crowd. Sorry, man.”

“Dude, chill the fuck out; we’ve got a club at home and tomorrow off. Let’s go out, drink to the win, and I promise, if you’re a good boy, I’ll find you another redhead,” Lance laughs, punching me in the arm.

“Whatever,” I grumble and finish getting dressed. Usually, I’d be more than down to hit the clubs with my wingman, or I his, after a victory at home with an off-day bonus… but when Duncan said he’d lost her, my mood went straight to shit. And while I have no doubt Lance meant well, I don’t want another redhead. I want her.

She was… different. I’m not quite sure how, or why, yet, but I’m positive she was — standing out amongst hundreds, like the brightest star in the sky — smacking me in the face with an instant, magnetic attraction. Not only was she absolutely gorgeous, with her long, auburn hair, button nose, fuck me lips, and the biggest brown eyes, filled with curious energy, but she had… something about her. Something special. I’d bet my life on it.

And she got away.

The only woman to ever steal all my attention, let alone by not vying for my attention… fucking figures.

“You ready?” Lance interrupts my thoughts.

“As I’ll ever be, I guess.”

“Jesus, Titsack, you gonna make it okay? Quit your fucking crying! Come on, and I’ll find you two redheads. If not, I’ll buy you a blow-up doll. Or a pocket pussy. Your choice.”

“Let me ask you something… your dick long enough to reach your asshole?”

“And then some,” he cocks off, grabbing his crotch.

“Good; then go fuck yourself.”

“How about her?”

“No,” I grunt, then down the rest of my beer. “And quit pointing, jackass; I’m not looking to draw a lot of attention our way. I just want to relax, have a couple of beers, and go home.”

“Well, I’m not looking to go homealone, so stop with you Mopey Dick shit. Seriously man, what’s up with you tonight? There are hot chicks in the stands every game. Hell, there are hot chicks swarming this place right now; some of whom you might actually like, if you’d pick up your head long enough to take a look around, that is. Why’re you so bent over one honey you got what, a five-second look at, whileroughing up Jenkins anyway? She probably had like twelve moles you just didn’t see.”

She didn’t have any moles, but still… good fucking question. Why am I still thinking about her?

Maybe Jenkins slammed my head against the glass harder than I thought, and despite my helmet, I’ve got a concussion. Which would mean, Lance may have a point… also a first. I did only get a brief look at her, and was, in fact, a bit distracted by my opponent trying to pummel me to death, but… nope, there’s no way I imagined our interaction, or chance of convincing me otherwise. And I damn sure didn’t just dream up the part where she wiggled her dainty little hand at me, knowing exactly what I was asking, and smiling beautifully as she answered — no ring. Not married or engaged. I’ve neverwondered about it with any other woman, in the crowd or otherwise, and I’ve certainly never struck up a silent conversation to ask them.

I’m not concussed or imagining things, dammit! She and I had a… a something; whatever you’d call it. And that something lasted long enough that I did get a good look, a really good look, at her. Because even now, I can picture her heart-shaped face, pink cheeks, brown eyes, and slightly parted, full lips. She was stunning.

“Yo, lover boy,” Lance goads, snapping his fingers right in front of my face. “Incoming. Don’t fuck it up for me. Unless, of course, I signal.”

I simply shake my head at the poor schmuck and wave the waitress over; I’m gonna need another beer for this. “Since you’ve never used it, I need you to remind me what this signal of yours is.”

“Scratching my nose. Damn, you suck at being a wingman. Now shut up, here they come.”

Then again, maybe I do have one of those slight, “walking concussions,” because a random thought hits me from out of nowhere — how cool would it be if I looked up, and by some fated, straight-out-of-a-movie-type-miracle, it just so happened to be my mystery woman standing there at our table?

Very. Fucking. Cool.

But… that’s, of course, not what happens.

Unfortunately, this is real life, unlike the tits on either of the over-smiling, underdressed women standing way too close, ready, I fear, to climb in our laps when I concede and take a half-hearted glance at them.

“Ladies,” Lance greets them and stands, pulling out a chair for each, subtly nodding toward the blonde to let me know she’s the one he wants. That signal I know well, and is totally unnecessary — he can have them both.“Let me get you beauties some refills. What’re you drinking?”

I don’t hear, or care as to, their answers, but do have mind enough to thank the waitress when she sets my new beer in front of me. Sipping on it slowly, since two’s my self-imposed limit, I’ve almost managed to completely tune out the trio’s babble when the brunette leans over and rakes her talons down my bicep, forcing me to pay her some attention.

“You played great tonight, Brewer, as always.” She thinks it’s a sexy coo, but Ihear a manufactured whine, filled with motive. She leans in closer, her tits now resting on my forearm. “But you don’t always wink at me. Tonight though, you finally noticed me. I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting for that!”

I manage not to groan aloud in frustration and move my arm out from under the hard, no pliancy whatsoever, weight of her fake melons — even more annoying after being reminded of my wasted wink. This chick, that I swear I’ve never seen before, thinks it was for her, and the one it was for… yeah, getting good and mad all over again. I shoot Lance a telling glare, while practically scratching the skin right off my damn nose, but the bastard’s too wrapped up in blondie to notice. Fuck this whole night, I’m done. I toss back the last of my beer, and start to stand, seconds from leaving, when whiny, concrete-tits chick says something I actuallywant to hear. And do hear — the small patch of space where I wasn’t purposely trying to tune her out a blessing in disguise.

“I was starting to think that stupid bitch in the front row, same. seat.every. damn. game, was never gonna miss a game, or sit her fat ass down long enough for you to see me! But first time she did, and you found me. How perfect is that?””

She lunges for me, but I easily dodge her, sorting out the good parts — the only ones I heard — in my head. Front row. Same seat every game. That can only mean one thing — season tickets. All the season ticket holders’ information is tracked in the team’s system.

Well, well, this night just turned on a dime. Not the exact serendipitous meeting I’d hoped for, but close enough. A clue, hope, and if I have anything to say about it, there will still be a meeting. I pull out my wallet and toss a handful of bills on the table. “Gotta go, man,” I yell at Lance, who doesn’t respond, and all butrun for the door. I’ve got work to do… and I can’t wait to get started.

You can run, but you can’t hide. I’ll find you, my beautiful doe-eyed ginger.

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