Dirty Game

“Long Island ice teas here are pretty good.”

“Isn’t that what you used to fix when we were in high school?” I asked.

I didn’t remember much about them other than that they tasted like ice tea, but made me drunk after just one. I was always a light weight.

“You always did like those fruity drinks.” He grinned.

“Hey, they’re good.”

“All right. I’ll be right back.”

The boat swayed gently in the slip while I waited for Blake.

I wondered how he existed like this. Famous and rich, but walking around in a T-shirt and pair of khaki shorts like any other local. But he wasn’t like anyone else. He had made a name for himself that was unrivaled by anyone in the state.

He was a top QB. He was revered in the sport. Anytime I saw an article with his name on it I always clicked on it. I watched every press conference. All his post-game interviews. He was pushed and pulled in every direction, and yet here he was like everyone else—as if he was a local just hanging out for the night. It was amazing.

I looked up when I saw him walking down the dock, carrying two Long Island ice teas. I took a moment to drink in every toned inch of the man towering over me.

“Can you give me a hand?” He motioned. “Don’t want to slosh all the alcohol out of these drinks before we get the chance to enjoy them.”

“These drinks are huge,” I remarked.

I lifted the lemon from the edge of the Styrofoam cup and squeezed it into the drink. I tipped the cup back and gulped down a few swallows, wanting to feel the warm numbness the alcohol would spread through my body

“Hold on, girl. These are strong.” He swooped in, trying to slow me down.

“I think I can handle my alcohol, thank you very much.” I knocked back another sip.

Blake laughed. “Maybe. But I don’t want to carry my passengers home.”

He took a sip of his tea, and I watched his eyes as they carried over my shoulder, down my collarbone, and dipped between my breasts.

“Are you checking me out?” I blurted out before I had time to cap the filter on my words.

“Darlin’, I’m just takin’ in the view.” He smiled. “You aren’t making this easy.”

“What does that mean?”

He sat and watched a sailboat cruise past them, heading toward the sound.

“Hey, Blake, you playin’ tonight?” a rowdy voice called from the crowd. They were teetering on the railing, which ran in front of the Dock House.

I looked at Blake quizzically.

“Nah, not tonight.” He raised his cup to them.

The guys started to laugh.

“Oh yeah, sorry, man. Looks like you’ve got other plans.” They staggered off to the dark side of the pier.

“What were they talking about?” I asked.

A smile slid across Blake’s lips. “I play a little. Sometimes on open mic night.”

“What? Are you any good?” I couldn’t help myself. I thought I knew everything about him, but he was revealing just how much I didn’t know. We had years to catch up on.

“Well, now I guess you’d have to tell me that. I just play.”