“Dude,” QB yelled toward me just as Coach Bennett blew his whistle. “What’s going on?”
“I’m just having a shit day,” I muttered, but deep down, I fucking knew why.
Ever since Six had so easily said goodbye to me a few days ago, and basically written us and what we’d shared together off as some emotionless just having fun situation, I’d been completely fucked in the head.
This was new territory for me.
I’d never, in my whole life, been mindfucked by a woman.
I couldn’t scrub our last conversation from my brain. Couldn’t distract my mind enough not to keep hearing her final words on a loop inside my head. And more than that, I couldn’t erase the memory of what she’d looked like when she’d said it.
She’d looked sad. Like something was off. Like she hadn’t wanted to say the words that had left her lips.
But still, she’d said them.
Maybe I’d just been imagining her despondence? Maybe I’d just wanted her to be sad about it? But, in reality, she was back home in California and had already found a new fuck buddy?
Dude, she’s not the fuck buddy type, my mind whispered.
If that was the truth, she sure as fuck seemed fine with it when it came to me.
“Phillips!” Coach B shouted from the sideline, and I jogged toward him.
I’d been playing like shit since I stepped onto the field this morning. Surely, his current plans revolved around shoving his foot up my ass or kicking me straight in the dick.
When it came to a pissed-off Coach Bennett, both were pretty viable options.
“What the fuck is going on?” he spat toward me once I stopped in front of him. “Are you trying to play that fucking bad? Or did you get your goddamn period and need a fucking tampon?”
Yeah. He was pissed.
“Sorry, Coach,” I said dutifully. Honestly, when Bennett was on this big of a tirade, there wasn’t much more you could do besides sit there and take it until he’d cleansed himself of anger.
“You’re sorry?” he exclaimed and tossed his clipboard onto the ground. “Oh, man! Well, that makes every-fucking-thing better!”
And then, even though he stood a good few inches below me, he reached up and grabbed me by the face mask and got directly in my face.
“Listen up,” he spat toward me, and I fought the urge to flinch when his fucking saliva hit me directly on the cheek. “You’re going to go home and figure out whatever the fuck is making you play like you can’t tell the difference between your head and your ass. And by next practice, you’re going to be back to the Sean Phillips I know. The man who plays his fucking ass off and never drops the goddamn ball. Got it?”
I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
He stared at me for a long moment before letting go of my helmet and striding toward the center of the field.
“All right!” he shouted and blew his whistle again. “Nice work, everyone besides Phillips!”
Damn, he was really reading me the riot act today.
Unfortunately, I more than deserved his diatribe.
“Hit the showers! And since you all have an off day from practice tomorrow, I expect to hear that every single one of you came in for weights and cardio. That understood?”
“Yes, sir!” everyone, including me, responded in synchrony.
“All right! Hit the showers!”
Most of the team headed toward the inside of the stadium to clean up and get some much-wanted time away from the field.
But I, on the other hand… Well, I wasn’t in any rush to get home to an empty house where my mind could get the best of me and race with ongoing thoughts of a woman who made ending things with me look easy.
I wasn’t proud of it, but I’d spent the better part of last night watching her YouCam vlogs, both the ones that were part of our series and her own personal content that she posted on a daily basis.
It was all pretty fucking sad, to be honest.
And for most of it, I’d been so tempted to text her, call her, do anything just to have some sort of direct contact with her. Fucking anything to hear her sexy, raspy voice speaking directly to me.
Luckily, I’d stayed strong and avoided making a fool of myself by showing her just how pathetic I’d become since she’d dropped me like a bad habit.
I slid my helmet off my head and grabbed a bottle of water from one of the coolers on the sidelines. I chugged it down in practically four hearty gulps and swiped a hand across my face once I finished it off.
“Yo! Phillips!” Cam’s voice filled my ears, and I turned to find him slowly walking off the field. “You okay, bud?”
I shrugged. “Besides playing like shit, I’m good.”
He just grinned. “Yeah, you definitely weren’t on top of your game today, huh?” he questioned, and I shook my head.
“Not in the fucking least,” I muttered, but I didn’t add any fuel to the fire.
Only Quinn knew the truth about my pathetic mood. For all Mitchell could probably surmise, I was just having a few off days. Which, for a lot of ballers in this league, happened from time to time. Generally, not to me, but yeah, other guys had experienced it.
“You know what I think you need?” he said, and his eyes lit up.
“What’s that?”
He grinned like the devil. “A fucking night out.”
A night out? It sure as fuck couldn’t hurt my game at this point. Hell, it might even be good for my mental health.
“Where you heading?”
He shrugged and took a long drink from a cup of red Gatorade. “I was thinking about heading into the city and hitting up one of the bars in SoHo.”
I thought it over for all of thirty seconds. “Count me in.”
Two hours, possibly three hours, into the evening and I was thoroughly buzzed.
Sitting cozy in VIP of whatever the fuck bar Cam had led us to, I sat back and took in the sights while he schmoozed it up with some blonde on the dance floor.
The flashing neon lights, bumping music, and pretty cocktail waitresses striding around the room in negligible black skirts and tank tops served as a nice mental distraction.
Also, alcohol. That was good too.
“Hey there, Sean,” someone purred behind me, her voice just barely rising over the heavy, pounding bass coming from the speakers.
I looked over my shoulder and furrowed my brow as I tried to put a name to this chick’s face. She looked familiar, but my half-buzzed brain might as well have been trying to solve an advanced calculus equation.
She pushed her full, round, very fake tits up and toward my face, smiled, and fluttered her lashes. Apparently, she knew me. Or she wanted to know me.
“Hey,” I responded for lack of anything else to say.
She put a little hand to her hip and narrowed her eyes. “Do you even remember me?”
“Am I supposed to remember you?”
Giggling, she shoved a hand toward my shoulder. “You’re such a dick,” she said. I couldn’t stand the way her voice went nasal at her teasing words. It was nothing like Six’s rasp.
God, stop thinking about Six.
Miniskirt. Half-shirt. This chick’s body was toned and firm and curvy in all the right places, and she wanted everyone in this club to see it. I stared hard, trying to let arousal numb my thoughts.
Too bad your dick couldn’t be any more flaccid at the sight of her…
She walked around the long booth until she stood in front of me, and then, she just up and chose to make herself comfortable in my lap. I flinched as the bones in her ass slammed into my thighs.
“I’m Aria,” she whispered into my ear, and my brow rose to my forehead.
“Aria?” I repeated out loud and racked my brain over the familiarity of her name. “Wait…Aria, the pop singer?” I questioned, and she nodded. “And we’ve met before?”
Because, fuck, I honestly couldn’t remember meeting her.
She giggled. “I swear to God, do you, like, have amnesia or something?”
Apparently, when it came to her, I did.
“We met at the ESPY’s after party last year,” she finally explained, but it still didn’t ring any bells.
I nodded my head anyway. Women never reacted positively to the words I don’t have one fucking clue who you are. “Oh yeah, that’s right.”
Silently, I wondered if our little meet-and-greet had turned into something more physical than just a friendly exchange of words.
Instantly, my chest ached at the thought.
It was weird and so out of character for me.
Normally, I wouldn’t have given a shit about who I’d fucked or who I couldn’t remember fucking or who I’d forgotten about fucking, but now, after Six, it just felt different.
Because it feels wrong.
Fuck, I wanted to hate her for that, but as hard as I tried, I couldn’t hate her.
I liked Six too much. Way too fucking much, actually.
You more than like her, you idiot.
My head swam, and the chick in my lap wiggled her ass, which did absolutely nothing for me. It had the exact opposite effect she was probably hoping for. If anything, my dick was half tempted to crawl up inside of my body and hibernate.
Goddammit, Six. You’ve totally messed with my fucking head! I mentally cursed her even though I knew she couldn’t hear me. Nor would it fix anything.
“You know…” Aria smirked at me and slid her hand up my chest. “I wanted you to come home with me that night…” She paused and pushed out her lipstick-covered mouth into a pout.
Those nearly blood-red lips of hers were such a turn-off.
I didn’t want those lips. I wanted different lips.
Soft, pink, full, pliant lips.
Six’s lips.
“But…you turned me down,” she purred like a fucking cat. “Isn’t that sad?”
Sad? The only thing sad right now is me.
She stared at me with knowing eyes and pouty lips and leaned herself in a little closer to press those stupid lips of hers to my cheek. Her strong, flowery as fuck perfume hit me like a Mack truck, and I had the strong urge to shove her off my lap.
“Don’t you think we should remedy that tonight, Sean?”
Fuck, is she still talking?
She pressed her fake tits into my chest and fluttered her eyelashes in what I guessed was her sultry and seductive face.
Her tits, her face, her body, it all had about the same effect as her lips.
A total fucking turn-off.
God, what was wrong with me?
She’s not Six.
“No shit,” I said, and honestly, I couldn’t even really remember what I was responding to or what she’d just said. I also didn’t really give a fuck.
I looked around the room and then down at the table in front of me. I counted the empty glasses and quickly surmised I’d had at least six vodka and tonics, possibly eight, but I wasn’t sure if those were actual extra glasses or if I was just seeing double.
Basically, it was too much, and I needed to get the hell out of here.
Without thinking twice, I stood up and removed Arielle or Aerosol, fuck whatever her name was, from my lap and started looking for Mitchell.
“Oh my God,” the chick muttered, and I looked down.
Instantly, I offered her a hand when I realized I’d nearly dumped her off my lap and straight onto the floor.
“Sorry about that,” I apologized, and with a strong hand, I made sure she was steady on her sky-high stilettos before I let go. “Look, it was great chatting with you, but I’m gonna call it a night.”
“What? Seriously?” she questioned, and I nodded.
“See ya around, er…” Fuck, what is her name? “Yeah…see ya around!” I called over my shoulder as I strode out of the VIP section and headed straight for the dance floor.
The instant I spotted Cam in the center, dancing with some random blonde, I pushed through the sea of people until I stood beside him.
“Dude, I need to go,” I said directly into his ear, and he nodded, honoring the bro code like a fucking soldier.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said to the girl who was currently grinding her ass into his crotch. “Gotta go.”
And that was that.
We paid our tab and got the hell out of there before I drank more alcohol or ended up hooking up with a chick named after a hair spray can.
Or is it Ariel? Like that fucking Disney mermaid?
Fuck if I knew. Fuck if I cared.
I just wanted to go home and pass out in my bed.
But first, I’d pound a jug of water and eat some carbs to avoid a soul-crushing hangover in the morning. Lord knows, Coach B would be pissed to see me hunched over and hurling in the weight room tomorrow.
After tonight, the only certainty I knew was that I needed to find a way to get the fuck over Six Malone or else I might as well just sell my cock on the black market and become a goddamn monk in the off-season.
Yeah, good luck with that, asshole.