Page 15 of The Hot Shot
That’s also why I’ve never sought a relationship, and rely on hookups for my sexual release. One and done is as easy as it can get in our world. Usually.
Since I really don’t like the direction of my thoughts, I move on to discussing simpler topics with Jake, such as college football and who will likely be a real pro contender once drafted. QB August Luck might be a threat someday.
Jake and I eat our food and drink our beers. Every so often, fans come up and ask us for an autograph or thank us for a good game. This is my life. It’s fucking fantastic.
I tell myself this as we leave the restaurant and walk down Iberville Street. I could have bought a house somewhere in Uptown. But it’s just me, and who the hell wants to rattle around in a big mansion on their own? So I bought a condo just at the edge of the Quarter.
“Man.” Jake nudges me on the side. “Never say I don’t support you. Look over there.” He points to a restaurant across the street. Sitting at the bar is Chess Copper, her long purplish hair glinting in the low light. She’s traded her black tank for a silky gold top that clings to a firm pair of tits I could easily engulf with my hands. The thought flickers to life, and my fingers curl in response.
She isn’t the sweetly pretty or stunningly beautiful kind of woman I usually spend time with. She’s severe, elegant. It would be easy for me to say she isn’t my type, and I’m fairly certain that goes both ways. But I’m beginning to think my “type” has changed.
“I think fate is tapping on your shoulder,” Jake says in a stage voice.
A weird surge goes through me, but I ignore it. “More like telling me to piss off. She’s on a date.”
Hard to miss the guy sitting with her, his body turned her way. He’s just the kind of guy I’d have guessed she’d go for—beard, multiple tats and piercings. Hell, he looks like a skinny version of Dex.
“Maybe he’s trying to pick her up,” Jake points out.
“It’s a date. They’re settled in. Her bag is on the back of his chair, and he’s completely at ease.”
Reading body language is second nature to us now. Jake nods. “Good point.”
I shift my weight, ready to move on. “Let’s go, before she spots us gawking like a couple of—”
Chess turns her head away from her date and hides a yawn in her hand. It could be that she’s simply tired, but I see the boredom in her expression, and that strainedwhen the hell is this going to be overlook in her eyes. I know that look, because I’ve worn it, too.
“You know,” I say, still watching. “It would be rude if we didn’t go in and say hello.”
A slow grin spreads over Jake’s mouth. “After we’ve spotted her and all.”
I match that grin. “And we’re nothing, if not polite.”
“Perfect gentlemen.” Jake tugs the brim of his cap down farther over his brow. “I’ll take care of the date.”
I clasp his shoulder. “Good man.”
Chess
There has got to be a better way to find love.I take an anemic sip of my watery vodka tonic and try to search for something to say to Evan, my date. As dates go, this isn’t the worst one I’ve had. Not at all. It’s justoff.
Which is disappointing. I had high hopes. Physically, Evan is exactly what I look for, with his soulful brown eyes, full tattoo sleeves, thick but trimmed beard. He caught my eye last week when we both stopped to listen to a zydeco band playing on Royal Street. He’d been engaging then, witty enough to have me agreeing to this date.
Now?
I give him a smile that feels strained. “So, you’re a tattoo artist.”Great, you’ve only mentioned his job twice already.“How is that going?”
Oh, holy hell, maybe I’m the boring one.
His pinched expression pretty much agrees. “Can’t complain. I live for skin.” That probably sounded better in his head.
I take a sip of my drink. I don’t miss the way the bartender shakes his head as he puts away a glass. Yes, we’re that pathetic.This date is going down like a week-old balloon. And it hurts. Not the loss of this particular guy, but the loss of a possible connection. Simple, basic connection. Someone to hold me, make me feel good. It’s been so long since I’ve had good sex, I’m beginning to forget how it feels to be touched in reverence. And that fucking hurts.
Evan lets out a sigh, and I’m hit with a waft of garlic and stale cigarette smoke.
That’s the other thing; he has terrible breath. Why didn’t I notice this before? Maybe it’s just tonight? Should it matter? Everyone has bad breath now and then.
“Chess?”
