Page 94 of The Fake Husband Play
“We’ve been kissing for at least five minutes,” he says, nodding toward the bar. “The guy in the leather vest was starting to get annoyed.”
“I’m not annoyed,” Cobb says, making me cry out and flinch in my chair.
My hand flies to my chest, above my slamming heart. “Shit, Cobb, you scared me. I didn’t know you were there.”
“I know,” Cobb says. “You didn’t know anyone was here, and you were starting to get a little too spicy.”
My eyes widen. “Too spicy for The Brass Monkey?”
Cobb tips his head. “Yep.”
“But I’ve seen people dry hump in the corner more than once,” I say, motioning toward the dark area by the emergency exit. “We weren’t humping.”
“Not yet,” Cobb counters, arching a wry brow. “And those people were ugly. No one cares if ugly people hump in public. They care if pretty people do it, especially if they’re making little moaning noises.”
Cheeks hot again, I hiss, “I wasnotmaking moaning noises.”
“You were,” Cobb and Parker say at the same time.
Afterward, Parker adds with a grin, “I liked them.”
“Of course, you did, she’s a foxy little piece,” Cobb says, narrowing his eyes at Parker. “She’s also a sweet kid who’s been through hell with men like you. Seriously, friend, you heterosexuals have to pull yourselves together and remember how to treat a lady. Don’t just hook up at a bar. Take her out, plan things, listen when she talks, care about the things she cares about. It’s not rocket science. It’s just a matter of making a basic effort to show a little humanity.”
Parker nods seriously. “I agree, sir. I’ve had a crush on Makena since I was twelve years old. If she agrees to date me, I will treat this woman like a fucking queen.”
“Oh my God, I have to go,” I say, sliding off my chair. I take a step away only to spin back and snag the two remaining Slim Jims from my glass. “But not without my road meat.”
“Does that mean I’m coming, too?” Parker says, tossing a hundred-dollar bill on the bar and hustling after me. “I can be road meat.”
Scowling up at him, I whisper-shout, “Stop it! People are staring.”
“No, they aren’t,” he says. “No one cares. That’s why people come to The Brass Monkey—the lack of caring and the disgustingly awesome drinks. Now, about me being your road meat…”
“You are not road meat,” I say, pushing out the door into the chilly suburban night. “Shit,” I mutter, forgetting we’re way too far out of town for cabs to be readily available.
“At least slip a guy a Slim Jim, then,” he says. “I didn’t get one with my Trash Panda. The bartender said they were out. Probably because he gave them all to the cute blonde he has a crush on.”
Whipping my phone out of my pocket to call a car, I huff, “Cobb is gay. Clearly.”
“So? Doesn’t mean he can’t have a crush.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what it means.” I arch a brow, dividing my attention between typing my destination and Parker’s still very sexy face. If anything, he looks hotter in the parking lot lights than in the shadows inside the bar. I’m sure the same can’t be said of myself. I’ve been burning the candle at both ends, trying to finally save up enough to buy my own little bungalow and move out of the kitchen, and it’s starting to show.
He shakes his head. “Nah, I get crushes on men sometimes, and I’m as straight as they come. If, like, a guy has incredible control on the ice or next-level stick control, for example?—”
“The hockey party!” I cut in, realizing where he must have seen me. “You play for the Voodoo now, don’t you? I remember hearing something about that when I was back home visiting Dad.”
Parker’s expression sobers. “How is your dad?”
“Still can’t remember me or anything else,” I say curtly as I smash the “call car” button. That isn’t something I want to talk about. Not tonight or any other night. “Don’t change the subject. You were one of thehockey bros at the party I catered. You’re in the NHL, just like you always wanted. That’s so great.”
“Thanks.” He gives a little shake of his head. “But if it’s so great, why do you sound like someone died?”
“Because my best friend is married to a hockey player,” I say. “And I can’t infringe on her territory.”
“What?” He squints, then blinks. “That makes zero sense.”
“No, it makes a lot of sense,” I say, backing along the sidewalk outside the bar, figuring the driver will be able to see me more clearly if I’m not a few feet away from the smokers sucking down nicotine just outside the door. “She’s in a precarious position right now, one I can’t risk making more precarious. Besides, your parents used to pay me to keep you safe. I can’t take you home and ride your face. It would be a violation of the trust they placed in me when they put you into my care.”
