The Mavericks’ cheering section boomed with raucous hoots and hollers and applause, and I raised a small handheld camera to capture some of the goodness.
Miami’s crowd, on the other hand, was about as interesting as a deflated balloon. Disheartened and unenthused as the visitor’s fans celebrated their team’s big away-game win, they filed out of the stadium with long faces and broken souvenirs. I, personally, thought it was a bold move to smash a cup that had cost $14.95, but what the fuck did I know? My team had won.
I smiled on the sidelines, scanning the vast, now nearly half-empty stadium as New York supporters started chanting “Phillips! Phillips! Phillips!”
A twentysomething girl in a gold half-shirt and his number twenty-six painted on her toned stomach bounced up and down excitedly, her perky and very large breasts just about smacking her in the face from the movement. I moved my handheld camera over to her just in case I had a chance to capture the damage.
Just to her left, two grown men with beers in their hands hugged each other while their beverage of choice sloshed out of the glasses and onto the red metal seats.
And a little girl holding a “Marry Me, Quinn Bailey” poster smiled big, her homemade memento blowing violently in the Florida wind and almost slipping out of her hands. Thankfully, her mom was there to save the day, gripping the edges of the cardboard sign with her hands and preventing a fan-tastrophe.
The win for New York today stretched this season’s record to 5-0, and it was moments like this that made me realize just how fucking lucky I was.
Every day, I lived my freaking dream. I worked for myself, I made my own schedule most of the time, and I got paid for making videos about how many chicken nuggets were too many chicken nuggets. I’d traveled to Mexico to film a segment on the beach in sponsored bikinis, and I’d tasted some of the best-brewed beer in the world when I’d talked a brewery in Germany into doing a fun segment on their flavor development. I never had to worry about evaluations or progress reports, and the only scrutiny I really had to face was from haters online.
And even then, they were doing it from a computer.
And now, with my new assignment doing this series with the Mavericks, my workday consisted of watching an amazing game, from the sidelines, with nothing more than my camera in hand.
Life was good.
But as I followed the team toward the tunnel, filming their raucous laughter, testosterone-fueled cheers, and overall hyped-up reactions, the inklings of fatigue started to set in.
I’d only been working with the Mavericks for a little over a week now, but damn, fitting the busy filming schedule in with my daily vlog content was no easy feat.
Alicia Keys’s voice filled my head as it pumped through the stadium’s sound system, but instead of singing about being on fire, I switched it up to suit my mood.
This girl is so tired! This girl is soo tired!
“Enjoy the game, Six?” An actual, real-live human voice met my ears, and I looked up to find Sean Phillips walking beside me. Helmet in hand and a few droplets of sweat dripping down his handsome as hell face, he was the epitome of every male athlete fantasy I’d ever had. And, high of all highs, right now, he was smiling at me.
He had played one hell of a game tonight.
Three touchdowns and boatload of passing and rushing yards under his belt, he’d more than helped the Mavericks bring home a win.
I didn’t have to check my video footage to know that a lot of it revolved around the cocky manwhore himself in action.
Likely a cool ninety percent.
“It was o-kay.” I shrugged to emphasize the mediocre tone of my words, but in the end, I couldn’t hide my teasing smile.
Had I mentioned the Mavericks had pretty much blown Miami straight out of the water? If it weren’t for a single field goal, they would’ve managed a complete shutout.
A soft chuckle left his full lips. “Just okay?”
Gosh, he had nice lips. It was too damn bad those lips were connected to a man I would never in a million lifetimes kiss.
I laughed, but before I could respond, Martinez came up from behind me and wrapped a big, strong arm around my shoulders. The man’s huge frame made me feel so damn tiny, and his long strides, and my resulting jog to keep up, made the two of us move ahead of Sean. My shoes barely even had time to sink into the rough, green turf as we skated across it.
“You partying with us tonight, little lady?”
“Partying with you?” I questioned in surprise. Aren’t football players supposed to refrain from partying during the season? “I was just planning on going straight to bed once we got back to the hotel.”
“Ah, hell no,” Martinez retorted and shook his head as we walked. “No bedtime. You owe it to your team to hang out with us for a little while. Have a few beers. Shoot the shit. Celebrate our big win.”
“Beers? Are you serious?” I asked just as we got to the end of the tunnel.
“Of course, he’s serious,” Quinn Bailey interjected. I looked over my shoulder to find his blue eyes smiling toward me.
“Don’t worry,” he responded. “Coach gave them the okay.”
Martinez guffawed. “Oh, don’t act all high and mighty, Bailey. You’re going to be hanging out with us too.”
“I thought I was the leader of this team?”
“You are…most of the time.”
“Suck it, Teeny,” Quinn teased before his gaze met mine again. “So, you coming to ‘party’ with us tonight?” he asked and even used air quotes to drive his sarcastic point home. “And by party, I mean, sit around in the hotel bar with a bunch of football players who will most likely be ready for bed before the clock strikes midnight.”
“Well…when you say it like that…” I paused, pretending to ponder the decision like I had a choice. Tired, schmired. The Mavericks wanted to hang out with me, and I could fucking sleep when I was dead.
A big old smile curved the line of my lips. “I definitely can’t resist. Count me in.”
“Hell yeah!” Martinez cheered. “Now, it’s time to hit the showers,” he updated and pointed one index finger in my direction. “And I better see you back at the hotel.”
I held both hands up in the air like I was being held at gunpoint. “No need to get aggressive, Teeny,” I teased, pointing at him directly. “I’ll be there, and just so you know, you’re buying.”
“That’s an even better idea.” Quinn chuckled, and just as he started to walk inside the locker room with Martinez following his lead, he yelled, “Hotel bar tonight! Teeny’s buying!”
The answering cheers were nearly deafening as the locker room door shut behind them.
I shook off the far too erotic thoughts that threatened to spill into my mind at the mere thought of a men’s locker room.
Apparently, a girl never forgets her first love of a penis party.
Sheesh. I definitely do not want to go there right now…
But there was one place I would be going tonight. The freaking hotel bar to party with the Mavericks.
I’d only stay for a little while, though.
As I walked toward the exit, I kind of hated myself for glancing over my shoulder to watch Sean Phillips make his way into the locker room.
Man, he has a nice ass.
In fact, I kind of hated myself for even allowing that man to be on my radar. But in my defense, I’d seen his glorious body naked. And trust me, that was not a visual one’s mind wanted to scrub from its memory.
You can look, but you will not touch, I reminded myself.
Sean Phillips was completely off-limits. I could look. I could admire the view.
But that was as far as it went.
A few hours into hanging out with a bunch of big-ass and boisterous professional football players and I knew it was probably a bad idea.
Or, maybe it wasn’t so much the larger-than-life men, but the beers Martinez had peer pressured me into drinking?
I had no answers, but damn, it’d been a hot minute since I’d enjoyed a few beers.
After several in quantity and higher than average in alcohol content, I was feeling the buzz.
But a night out without the pressure and stress of work was well worth the dull headache I’d be experiencing in the morning. No cameras. No thoughts of vlog material or video edits or deadlines.
Just fun for the sake of fun.
Not to mention, besides Quinn’s awesome girlfriend, Cat, it was flattering to be the only female surrounded by twenty or so men. Sure, there were a few other women inside the hotel bar, making eyes at the Mavericks’ players from across the room, but for the most part, it was just me, Cat Wild, and the team inside our own little bubble of beer and chatter and laughter.
I was in all my performing glory, and the alcohol had steadily advanced my ability to strut. To the side, to the front, bent over to the back—I’d been practicing hitting all of my best angles, you know, visually, and soaking in the compliments they produced.
I felt pretty and entertaining, and the whole night was entirely enjoyable. Of course, when I was buzzed, every-fucking-thing was fun. I could be stuck in a room listening to a random stranger talk about organic chemistry, and I’d somehow find a way to be entertained by it.
“All right!” I exclaimed and slapped my hands down onto the table of our circular booth. “Who wants to play a little drinking game with me?” Both Martinez and Bailey were sitting near me, and I caught the attention of at least one of them immediately. Quinn, to be fair, was entirely distracted by the really fucking attractive swell of his girlfriend Cat’s breasts. I wasn’t into women sexually, but I could recognize and appreciate the work of a contouring master. Cat’s boobs were a whole lot fuller than mine naturally, but my voodoo sense tingled in indication that she’d also given them an artistic lift. I needed to know her secrets.
“What ya got in mind, Sixy?” Martinez asked, and I grinned, looking away from the best breasts slowly.
My thoughts were a little slow and muted, but I was still in control. I stuck to the simplest of answers just in case my slurring was worse than I realized. “Most Likely.”
“Most Likely?” Quinn asked, raising a questioning brow, before his gaze moved right back to Cat.
“Yep,” I said, popping the p with an overzealous bottom lip. “Who’s ready?”
“Mind telling us what this game entails first?” Sean questioned as he slid into the booth and situated himself beside me.
Like, right beside me.
I inhaled through my nose and was instantly hit with the delicious aroma of freshly showered, clean laundry, and the oh so perfect scent of Sean Phillips. It was seven types of enticing, and if I hadn’t already decided he was completely off-limits, I might’ve been tempted to lick his neck just to see if he tasted as good as he smelled.
Yeah, I’m definitely buzzed…
“Yeah,” Cat agreed. “What exactly are the rules of Most Likely?”
“It’s super-duper easy,” I started to explain. “Someone asks a ‘most likely’ question, like, ‘Who would be most likely to marry a stripper in Vegas?’ And then, on the count of three, everyone points to whoever they think would be most likely to do whatever the question entails.”
“And when exactly does the drinking come in?” Martinez questioned with a raise of his brow.
“You have to take a drink for every person who’s pointing at you.”
“Aha,” he responded with a nod of his head. “Count me in.”
“Why the fuck not?” Quinn shrugged and took a sip of his beer. “I’m in.”
“Me too!” Cat exclaimed excitedly.
“Hell yeah!” I cheered, and then I looked directly at the sexy man sitting beside me who, quite literally, smelled like heaven.
I hadn’t been there personally, but I’d read the reports.
Rainbows and fresh, airy clouds, that shit was freaking ordained. “And what about you, Mr. Manwhore?”
Quinn coughed and nearly choked on his beer, and Martinez snorted as the nickname came out unchecked by filters alcohol had conveniently taken out of position. Sober me might have been a little mortified for actually saying that nickname out loud, but sober me was only partially here, and honestly, she didn’t really have much control over buzzed me.
“Did you just call me Mr. Manwhore?” Sean questioned, an amused smirk covering his oh so full lips.
I giggled and shrugged. “I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one that knows you by that nickname,” I expanded. “In fact, I think I read it somewhere in a gossip rag that included a full-page spread of you and your many celebrity women.”
Cat giggled. “I think I have a girl crush on you, Six!”
I just barely stopped myself from telling her how much I liked her breasts.
Some other time, maybe.
“Hey, now!” Quinn teased as a result of Cat’s widening affection.
“Shut up. You know I love you most,” she said back, and I swooned. Hand to chest, I think I even made a little cooing sound out loud.
The guys largely ignored us, instead focusing on the virtual dirty rag I’d thrown at Sean before.
“Dude,” Martinez said, slowly dwindling laughter and smile aimed directly at Sean. “She just called you out.”
Sean only had eyes for me. His tormenter. His mystery. The only woman on the planet who’d ever challenged him before taking off her pants, I was sure.
Luckily, amusement was his main emotion, even if the green of his eyes danced as he studied me.
“So, what do you say, Mr. Manwhore?” I pushed, taking it to another level by questioning his manhood. “You man enough to play with us?”
He laughed at that. “Honey, I’m always man enough. Count me in.”
Always man enough? I wavered for a second, but his penis was the prover. I’d have to agree.
“I’ll go first,” I announced, more than willing to be the belle of the ball. I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol telling my brain that they were entertained by me or if it was real-life, but that was the thing about alcohol—it ensured that you gave zero fucks. “Who would be most likely to be called Mr. Manwhore?” I questioned with a grin the size of Texas. “Okay…one…two…three…go!”
Even Sean pointed to himself, a sexy smirk engaging the almost dimple in his plush cheek. High and cut but still filled with flesh, his cheeks were something to be envied by fashion models around the world.
“Looks like someone gets to take four drinks!” I cheered, and Sean chuckled.
“You play dirty, sweetheart.”
I shrugged. “You mess with the bull, and you get the horns, buddy.”
“Did you just quote The Breakfast Club?” Quinn asked with a raise of his brow, and I nodded—several times, in fact.
Wow. My brain feels a little swimmy.
I fought the nausea and won. “You bet your QB ass, I did. It’s only one of the best movies ever made.” I clapped my hands together. “All right! Who’s going next?”
“I call dibs.” Martinez lifted his beer and took a quick drink. “Who is most likely to have a crazy fucking sister named Cassie Phillips?”
I giggled. Sean sighed. Both Quinn and Cat burst into laughter. And then, on the count of three, we all pointed toward Sean again.
By the fifth round of Most Likely, Sean had been the punch line to nearly every teasing question, and I loved every single minute of it.
I loved his sighs. And the number of drinks he had to consume. And the way his mouth would crest into the sexiest little smirk just before he lifted the beer to his perfect, full lips…
Wait…what?
Fuck, what time is it? And how many beers have I had?
I glanced at the clock above the bar and noted that it was nearly half past midnight. Oh my God! My carriage is a pumpkin!
I laughed aloud as I realized that was Cinderella.
A quick count of the beers on the table took me to a number I could no longer comprehend, and the answer, no matter my foggy mind, became clear.
It was time to make my grand departure and head back up to my room and get some sleep. If I stayed down here, trying to drink with men three times my size, it was highly likely I’d end up sloppy and slurring—more so than I already was.
“All right,” I announced and proceeded to stand up on the booth, grabbing the attention of the other ten or so Mavericks players still left at the bar. “Before I call it a night, I’d like to propose a toast!”
Martinez cheered me on from our booth while a few of the Mavericks sitting at the bar turned on their barstools and gave me their undivided and amused attention.
“This is a toast to winners. My favorite winners. The men who have started this season off with a bang, the motherfucking New York Mavericks!”
I received several hoots and hollers in response, and it only fueled my tipsy fire.
And just before I dove headfirst into the meat and potatoes of my toast, I glanced down at Sean Phillips, who was now sitting right beside my feet, and I smirked.
Yeah. Now is the most perfect time to use some of his “inspirational” words.