The men lost.
Who’d have guessed?
Truth be told, we didn’t just lose… we reinvented the entire game… then fucked up that version too.
The four of us, blinded, with Sawyer as our Captain… Whitley’s had better ideas.
The space formerly known as “The Kendrick’s Living Room” shall now be dubbed… “All That Remained.”
“This is why blindfolds belong in the bedroom! Right, Shorty?” Sawyer tries for salvation, looking around at his handiwork.
“Sweetie, how about you save up all thoughts inside your head and wow me with them on the way home?” Poor, saint-of-a-woman Emmett pleads, disguised in a loving tone, with him. “And while you’re thinking, maybe work a little faster to help clean up your… uh… this mess?”
“Laney, Dane, I’m so sorry. I had no idea things would get so out of hand. I’ll be more than happy to pay for replacements of… um… you know what, just make me a list once you have the tally.” Whitley’s pale and glossy-eyed, ready to burst into tears at any moment.
“Thank you, Whit, very nice of you to offer, but completely unnecessary. It’s just stuff, most of which we probably didn’t need in the first place. And take a gander at our mascot, crawling around on his hands and knees, picking stuff up, shins bleeding through his jeans. Savor the sight, folks. Can’t put a price tag on that.”
“Damn right,” I agree with Dane, high-fiving him. “Come on, let’s fix your sad-ass tree.”
“That one I still don’t understand; even with you involved, honey. How do you not realize you’re wrestling a Christmas tree?” Emmett asks.
“Well, dear, am I allowed to talk out loud now, or should I save this in my head for later too?” Epic… Sawyer Beckett, peering up at her from his “Crouching Pussy, Unhidden Dumbass” pose to pout. “If permitted to speak, my answer is, speed was my winning strategy. Which means, I was pretty much all up in the tree all at once.”
“Uh huh.” Emmett nods, actually appearing to understand—a skill only she, after years of practice, can pull off. “That explains it.”
“Oh yeah,” Evan drawls on a laugh, “clears it right up. Grown man plows through the middle of giant tree… gotta be inertia. Can’t believe we even had to ask.”
“Um, guys…” Whit raises her hand. “Sorry to interrupt, again, but, we’re missing some pieces. Has anyone seen-”
“Sawyer’s carrot-dick-nose? Found it. Just can’t reach it.” Laney points upward… everyone tilting their heads to see…
“For fuck’s sake, Beckett! How did you possibly think you were even warm, pinning the nose on the goddamn ceiling fan! You saw the target, that big picture of a snowman, hanging on the wall, directly in front of you. Ringin’ a bell? So why would you reach for the ceiling?” Dane’s face is blood-red, clue numero uno that he’s just about hit boiling-point. “Better yet, how’d you reach the ceiling?”
Sawyer just shrugs, sadly, but genuinely, clueless. “It’s all a blur, man. Musta flew outta my hand and happen to land there, ‘cause I don’t remember doing any climbing. But probably woulda helped to have a lil’ coachin’. Left, right, hot, cold. Anything. You guys suck shit for teammates.”
“Is he kidding?” Dane snaps his head in every direction, asking anyone, everyone. “Is he? I can’t tell anymore. He’s not, is he?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, tears of laughter wetting my fingers, and shake my head.
“We were blindfolded, you mouth-breather!” Yep, Dane’s head’s gonna blow clean off his neck.
“Yeah, that’s right… so you should understand my predicament!”
“Swear to-”
“Babe…” Laney intervenes in the nick of time, hand on Dane’s chest, using her best soothing coo. “Us girls, we’ve got this. Why don’t you and the guys go in your office, have a drink, watch a game. It’s Christmas. No killing your friends on Christmas, Caveman.”
“He’s not allowed in my office until he… PEELS THE EYE SACS OFF HIS FOREHEAD!”
“Dammit, Dane, why’d you tell him? I haven’t gotten a picture with him looking right at me yet,” Evan gripes.
“It’s my fault,” Laney grumbles. “I should’ve had you all tested sooner. I’m taking back the reins though, right now. Anyone with a sac, anywhere on their person, Go. To. Dane’s. Office!”
Sounds like a helluva plan… for the other three. I want to have a drink and watch a game about as much as I want to play another round of “Pin the Dick on the Ceiling Fan,” and the look I shoot Bennett tells her just that.
The sexy grin she sends back tells me she got my message.
“Actually, Laney,” my girl sighs, pretending to wobble on her feet a bit, “I’m not feeling so well.”
I’m on it.
“Sweetness?” I rush to her side. “Come sit down, tell me what hurts.”
“My head. I’m a little dizzy.”
“Oh God, this is my fault too. We sort of had a head-on collision during the game. I’m sorry, B. Lemme get you some Tylenol,” Laney worries, and guilt starts to set in… just not enough to make me abort mission.
We’ve come too far now— we’re getting the hell outta dodge—guilt be damned.
Here we go, time to put my acting skills to the true test… the Crew can smell bullshit comin’ a mile away. “That’s okay, Laney. I don’t think you’re supposed to medicate a concussion. And stop with your feeling bad. Not your fault. Accidents happen… as clearly demonstrated by Sawyer. I think I’d better get her home though, just to be on the safe side. Come on, Red, bedtime for you.” Shit. “But… uh… I’ll have to wake you up every few hours, you know, in case it really is a concussion.”
“Yeah,” she frumps, with just enough dramatic flair, “probably a good idea. Whitley, what else did you have planned tonight? I hate to miss it.”
“Due to the startling turn of events, and by that, I mean the wreckage, not your head, and the fact that the rest of our evening will need to be spent cleaning up, I’m gonna incorporate what else I had cooked up into our next party.”
Well there’s something to look forward to.
“So lemme get this straight.” Sawyer totally abandons his previous worries of out loud versus inside your head discernment. “We’re all gonna go along with this shit? I’m crawlin’ around on my hands and knees”—now he stands up—“tree’s on the fuckin’ floor, Daney’s havin’ a meltdown, Gidget thinks she’s the boss of me, and Whitley’s doing her best not to cry, but Zach gets to duck out on a hunch that Ben’s concussed? And y’all think I’m the one who misses the obvious?”
“You callin’ my woman a liar?” I step to him.
“No, I’m sure her head does hurt. Hell, mine does too! Willin’ to bet everyone here has a headache at this point. Am I sayin’ you’re not a damn doctor and milkin’ an excuse to leave? That’d be a big ol’ hell yes.”
“Okay then, we’re cool.” I smile and slap him on the shoulder. “Just makin’ sure you weren’t mouthin’ on Ben. Now that that’s settled, Dane, Laney, thanks for having us. We’ll see the rest of ya later.”
After he’s made ample production of helping me into my seat, knowing at least one of them are watching out the window, and climbed in the driver’s side, I turn to him. “Kudos on defending my honor, Stud, but you forgot to deny that you were lying.”
“No sense adding a lie on top of another, right?” He chuckles. “No one would’ve bought it anyway.”
“So they’re all gonna be mad at us.”
“Mad they didn’t think of it first, yeah, definitely. Mad at us? Nah. Dane and Sawyer both are always sneaking off to get some ass, every chance, every party. My turn.”
“And just whose ass are you planning on getting? Damn sure not mine. Not if that’s the best sweet talk you’ve got.”
His hand searches for and finds mine, giving it a tender squeeze before lifting it to his mouth for a kiss. “Don’t go getting pissed, Sweetness. You know how much I love you, and ‘sweet talk’ you plenty. But sometimes, a man wants to fuck. Needs to fuck. Not ashamed of it either. You been prancing around all night, teasing me. Your sweater may be ugly, but ain’t nothing ugly ‘bout the way it hugs your tits. And that skirt? You knew exactly what you were doing when you put it on—starting the clock on when I’d peel it off. So yeah, I wanna fuck ya, babe.”
Because he’s right, he does whisper of romance nine times out of ten, and because it’s so damn hot when he doesn’t, I let it slide. And slide my hand down, rubbing his semi-hard dick through his jeans.
He shifts, giving me room to play. “Don’t think I won’t pull over,” he warns in a husky groan.
“Ah, should I stop?” I purr, making quick work of the button and zipper standing between me and his now-fully-hard dick. “If you can’t take it and still drive safe, just let me know.” I sneak my hand inside his boxer briefs and wrap it around him, tight. “I can wait till we get home, if that’s what you want.”
With a quick, brows-raised side glance and cocky grin, he sits a little lower and lays his right arm across the back of the seat. “What I want is your sassy mouth down there helping your hand.”