Page 14 of Just Playin'
Not thinking, I lean over her shoulder to fire off a retort. Since she’s so tiny—I’d guess a maximum of five feet, four inches—every inch of her is swamped by my body. Not even Dalton and Becca’s prying eyes can see her. My nostrils flare as I suck in her scent. She smells pretty, like candy and sugar and a wicked naughtiness that derails my train of thought in an instant.
“The only thing about to get fucked on this table is you if you don’t make this shot.”
Either turned on by my threat or scared, Willow’s spine snaps straight. Since she is holding her cue stick away from her body, it sails into the air. When it collides with the light suspended over the billiard table, she yanks it back with force. Every bad deed I’ve ever done is answered for when the butt of her stick, along with her fist, slams into my crotch—my extended crotch because of the syrupy scent of her hair.
With watering eyes and the groan of a man crawling to his death, I stumble backward. I’ve been tackled more times than you can count, had three ribs broken by a bull when I visited Dalton’s ranch for his bachelor party, and survived a head-on collision with another vehicle, yet this is by far the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced.
I fall to the ground with a thud, my hands unsure whether they should protect my face or my crotch. They go for the latter, confident it can’t endure anymore pain. I don’t feel any wetness on my cheeks, but that doesn’t mean I’m not crying. This fucking hurts.It hurts sooo bad.
“Oh my god. I’m so sorry.”
Incapable of speaking through the pain shredding me to pieces, Willow takes my silence as a call for help. After dumping a half-consumed bottle of wine from an ice bucket on the bar, she upends the soggy slop into a napkin that is powerless to hold its wetness, drops to her knees, then presses her makeshift ice-pack to my crotch.
Now matters are ten times worse.
The napkin crumbles within a nanosecond of absorbing the soggy remains of the ice bucket, so nothing but a few shards of ice separate Willow’s hands and my crotch. The only good that comes from this highly embarrassing situation is confirmation she hasn’t permanently injured me. My cock is inflating so quickly, I can feel its pulse over the pain strumming through my veins, and I’m not the only one noticing it.
“Oh no, you’re swelling up. Maybe we should call an ambulance?”
I stop Willow from grabbing her backpack at the same time Becca and Dalton lose their shit. They howl in hysterics, not the least bit concerned their best man is down for the count in their den.
“I don’t need an ambulance.”
“Are you sure?” Willow’s wide eyes bounce between mine before they return to my crotch. “What if you sustain permanent damage. . .down there? I’ll never forgive myself ifhestops working.” Her words grow weaker with every one she speaks.
“I’m sure he’ll be okay. . .” My assurance ends with a groan when I attempt to stand. Who could have known a girl as short and as pretty as Willow could take down a man my size? “I’ll be fine. I just need to walk it off.”
“That’s right, Elvis. Walking it off will help.” Dalton’s southern drawl is colored with both laughter and remorse. “If it doesn’t, Willow can always borrow Becca’s naughty nurse outfit to ensure that type of swelling is normal.”
Snagging a pool ball off the table, I peg it at his head. He’s standing next to his heavily pregnant wife, but even with crushed nuts, I’m confident in my throwing skills. I didn’t sign a thirty-seven million dollar contract fresh out of college for no reason. I’m the best quarterback in the industry. . . Well, I will be when they clear me to play in that position again.
Not as annoyed by Dalton’s sneer as me, Willow says, “I can take a look, if you want?” She waves her hand to my saggy trousers that are clinging to my frozen crotch.
My teeth grit when I drop my eyes. I look like I pissed my pants.
Once again taking my silence as a cry for help, Willow steps closer to me. Her eyes float up from my crotch when I say, “It’s okay. I’ve got a handle on things.”
I glare at Dalton when he snickers, “You sure do. You’rehandling things mighty fine right now.” He swallows several times in a row when he’s subjected to my fury, but his smile doesn’t fade. “What? I’m just looking out for you.”
I take back every nice thing I’ve ever said about him. He isn’t the best wingman there is. He’s shit. The worst on the planet. Proof? I asked him to keep my focus off Willow and her fantastic tits, not encourage the stupid thoughts in my head. Willow is too young for me to mess with, so young, I’m beginning to wonder how dated the YouTube video she mentioned earlier is. It could have been recorded last week for all I know.
After taking in the cue ball-sized hole next to Dalton’s head, the dangling light above the billiard table, and the indent in the carpet from where I fell like a bag of shit, I realize it’s time to call it a night.
When I announce my decision, Willow agrees with me. “Good idea.” She gathers her backpack before shifting on her feet to face Becca. “What cab services come out this way?” She has her cellphone at the ready to call a taxi.
I linger at the side, pretending I haven’t spotted Dalton’s numerous head nudges to Willow. I like her; she’s quick-witted, smart, and as sexy as fuck yet completely unaware of her beauty, but a whack to the nuts is the only warning I need that I’ve delved too far into murky waters tonight. Her calling a taxi may be the only life vest thrown my way, and I’m not giving it up for anything.
“Stop it,” I half-whisper/half-mouth to Dalton when he adds a snarl to his head nudge. “She wants to go home in a taxi. Let her go home in a taxi.”
He performs a gesture no thirty-year-old male should, but it relays his thoughts with crystal clear precision. He thinks I’m a wanker.
We can only hope after the jab my balls just endured.
When Willow shadows Becca into the kitchen to see what car services are operating this late at night, Dalton stops using gestures. “You’re a fucking idiot, Elvis. Offer the girl a ride home.”
I continue my stubborn stance by folding my arms over my chest.
It doesn’t faze Dalton, though. “Why the fuck would you turn down an opportunity like this? There is so much heat between you two, I would have made Becca leave the room if she weren’t already pregnant. You two are the very definition of immaculate conception.”
