Page 2 of The Wiener Across the Way

“Wiener the Pooh, come here you little poop face.” She panted and reached for the dog, who she had to practically wrench away while Little Miss Wiggle Worm tried to lick my face some more. “Thank you for finding her, uh, umm—” her eyes went from my face, down, down, down my bare naked and sweaty chest, and paused at the very obvious bulge in the front of my sweatpants, “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt? I don’t need to call my security, do I?”

There was a quick flash of worry in her eyes, but I took a step back and folded my hands in front of my growing erection to appease her sense of safety and keep me from embarrassing myself any more than my dick and its excitement already had. My reward for that was a sparkling smile that just about knocked me off my feet. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. My shirt is right over there, and we need to call security up here anyway because there’s a cranky-ass rattlesnake underneath of it.”

“A what now? Did you say rattlesnake? Holy crapballs.” She clutched the dog closer to her and turned, yelling down toward the stage. “Penelope! Get somebody up here ASAP. There’s a freaking snake.”

Man, oh man, did this girl have a set of lungs on her. She didn’t even need a microphone to project from all the way the hell up here down to the stage. Maybe it was the amphitheater, but I doubted I could yell that loud.

Instead of moving further away at the news of that threat, Kelsey stepped closer to me, and fuck if I didn’t feel protective of her in that moment. I could absolutely see why her fans were ride or die for her. I was damn near ready to swoop her up likea fricking fairy princess and carry her off to safety right this second.

But I was no knight in shining Under Armour.

“Don’t worry, I got you.” I moved myself so I blocked the snake under my shirt from her view and got closer to her at the same time. The way she looked up at me had me feeling a hundred feet tall and like I wanted to pull her into my arms and kiss her.

Whoa, whoa, whoa there, Mustang. This was probably all part of her charm and every man on the planet wanted to kiss her. Even the ones who said they hated her and her music. Especially the ones who trolled her posts and made shitty comments about her body.

Yeah, I saw her posts, and the comments. Those guys were dick munches. Kelsey and her thick hips, thighs, and her ass were beyond delicious. God, she was exactly my fucking type.

Shit. If she even glanced down, she was going to think I was a fucking perv. I needed to either keep her eyes up here on mine or distract her in some other way. “Why don’t we head back down toward the stage? We’ll let the park staff take care of the threat. They’re probably trained in rattlesnake wrangling, and I wouldn’t want your people to get hurt.”

I held one arm out and pointed her toward the stairs, and when she turned, I did the dumbest thing I ever could have. I put my hand on the small of her back to guide her away.

The absolute electric zing from that simple touch went straight to my dick. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I had to use every thought of losing football games, the Queen of England, and the effects of global warming on poor polar bears just so I didn’t come in my pants like a thirteen-year-old boy.

We proceeded down the steps at about a tenth of the speed I was used to, and I was going to relish every single moment of it. Jules was going to die, come back to life to hear me tell herall over again, and then go catatonic, probably while listening to Kelsey’s collected works at full volume, on repeat.

And the boys, well, every single one of them, except for maybe Chris who was happily engaged to the love of his life, were going to be jealous as shit.

But I was going to need about a hundred and two cold showers after this. And then I’d head to the field and punish myself with those game day films and another brutal workout.

When we approached the stage, a group of people surrounded us, all fawning over Kelsey and her little dog too. For the briefest flash, Kelsey looked up at me and rolled her eyes. I didn’t think I was supposed to see that. Then she put on that dazzling smile for them and told them what I’d done.

“I’m telling you all, he sacrificed his whole-ass shirt to save Wiener the Pooh.”

As one, every eye turned on me, and I think I understood exactly how Everett felt whenever a new underwear ad came out and his adoring fans went all goo-goo ga-ga over him. How the hell did he deal with that?

I knew how I was dealing with it. The same way I dealt with everything else. I scowled.

I didn’t mean to, it was just my... face. Jules called it my resting bitch face. It scared quarterbacks around the world. What it had Kelsey and her crew doing was not what I expected. Half of them giggled like little schoolgirls, and the other half awwed as if my scowl was the cutest fucking thing they’d ever seen.

Okay, that was weird, and I did not know what to do with any of them. I wasn’t the Kingman brother women oohed and awwed and fawned over. Did I like this?

Nope. No. Huh-uh. Time to get the dodge out of hell. Not that being in the presence of Kelsey was hell in any way shape or form. I just was not used to having this much attention on me.

Chris was the eldest, everyone’s favorite, and the star quarterback. He was the golden child chosen one who soaked up the spotlight like the rays of the sun. I quit competing with him for attention way back in high school when I moved from offense to defense. And that worked fine for me.

I knew I was the best at what I did. So did the rest of the league.

Except for fucking yesterday.

“Okay, ladies, I gotta go. Glad you got your dog back unharmed. Good luck with your shows this week.” I carefully backed away, but almost squashed the circle of women behind me. When had they closed ranks? “Excuse me.”

“God, such a gentleman,” someone cooed.

That was not the term most people used to describe me. Not that I was an asshole to the ladies or anything, but “nice guy” wasn’t synonymous with Declan Kingman.

Kelsey and Wiener the Pooh both looked at me like I was the bees’ knees. She winked at whoever had said that. “He is quite the gentleman. Can I thank you with some tickets to the show on Friday?”

I was this close to refusing. I didn’t need to be paid off for saving a dog. But Jules would probably pee in my Cheerios if she ever found out I had the chance to get my hands on tickets that had sold out in zero-point-two seconds. She’d been begging Dad for months for an advance on her allowance to buy some off one of the resale ticket sights.

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