Hoops Holiday (Hoops 2.50)

Decker

“So what’s next?”

The question catches me a little off guard. With a Jack and Coke halfway to my mouth, I pause to study Mike Dunlov, one of SportsCo’s most popular anchors.

“I mean now that your co-hosting gig’s up,” he clarifies.

“Little bit of this,” I answer flatly because I’m giving this guy nothing. “Little bit of that.”

I toss back a portion of the much-needed drink. Playing pro ball allowed me to indulge many vices. I’ve had more pussy than any man has a right to in one lifetime, for example. I’m practically abstemious, though, when it comes to alcohol and what I eat. Always have been. This body was my lottery ticket, and I took care of it. But tonight, this liquor is a lifeline. It’s been a bitch of a day. Mainly because my ex is being a bitch. Bad enough she moved my daughter across the country. Now she’s making it harder for me to see her this Christmas. Changing my holiday plans because she’s still playing the same bullshit games she did when we were married had me almost skipping this party tonight. Except . . . I watch the main entrance to see if Avery has arrived yet.

“Guy like you can write your own ticket,” Mike continues. “I mean look at how you scored this hosting gig. How’d you enjoy working with Avery, by the way?”

His eyebrows waggle suggestively. “She’s something else, huh?”

I stiffen, not much liking him or the look in his eyes.

“What do you mean?” I take my time sipping a little more of my drink, watching him over the glass.

“I mean, did you get any? We’ve all tried.” He offers a careless shrug. “Who wouldn’t try with a rack like that, but she was devoted to her fiancé. With him gone, she’s been shut down. I just thought if anyone could finally tap that, it’d be you.”

My teeth clench around an expletive. I know for a fact Twofer blows this douche’s ratings out of the water. The respect of her colleagues is so important to Avery. Hearing him demean her this way sets me on edge.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” I ask, my tone deceptively calm, though my hand clamps around the glass while I imagine his little windpipe crushing under my fingers.

“So I’ve been told.” He flashes his very-white veneers in that fake smile unsuspecting viewers fall for. “But there’s no disrespect. It has been a year, and you know what the final stage of grief is, right?”

“Acceptance?”

“Nope.” He leers over his scotch. “Horny. Somebody’s gotta offer her a dick to cry on.”

I’m two seconds from smashing my glass into his skull when his eyes latch onto something over my shoulder and light up.

“Damn,” he mutters. “I really hope we?

?ve reached the final stage.”

He’s walking off before I process what he means, but it doesn’t take long to figure out. Across the room, he and several other anchors and network executives are buzzing around Avery like she’s a honeycomb. And I can’t blame them. Her hair is pulled up, tendrils of it licking around her neck and ears. Simple gold earrings dangle and frame the curve of her cheekbones. Her makeup is dramatic, but simple, letting her sharply-drawn features speak for themselves. The slick of gold on her lips glimmers against the light copper of her skin.

And that dress.

This dress has to be inspiring erections all over the room. I can only speak for mine with any confidence, but it’s pushing painfully against the flap of my suit pants.

The color, like saffron sprinkled over her firm curves, sets off her dusky complexion perfectly. Sleeveless, the dress showcases the feminine sculpture of her arms, and the neckline dips almost to her waist, the cut of it serving her breasts up beautifully. The bodice flows into a narrow skirt that paints the dress onto the flare of her hips and the tight line of her thighs. When she turns around and walks to the bar, many eyes zero in on her departure. The dress has no back, displaying a stretch of unblemished skin from neck to waist. The skirt strains across the high arc of her ass, and my fingers itch to squeeze it while I piston in and out, anchoring us together with nothing but my hands and my dick.

I take another measured sip, checking myself and allowing the smooth liquid to cool me off. I sound as bad as the other lechers in here. Mike may joke about her grief, but I’ve seen it up close. Even while the air sizzled with lust around us at her front door, I couldn’t ignore the sadness in Avery’s eyes. I won’t take advantage of that. If I can help it, none of these horny sons of bitches will either.

“We do have hors d’oeuvres, you know,” Sadie says from beside me. “You don’t have to eat Avery.”

I smile to acknowledge Sadie’s comment and her presence, but I don’t take my eyes off the only woman I’m interested in.

“I’ve seen the food.” I glance down at Avery’s best friend. “Far less appetizing than she is.”

“You do always look at her like she’s dessert.” Sadie giggles. She’s not usually a giggling kind of woman, so I attribute that tinkly sound to the glass of champagne. Probably not her first.

“I don’t look at Avery like she’s dessert.” I drop the smile so she knows my intentions aren’t of the short-lived, guilty pleasure variety. “I look at her like she’s the main course.”

That penetrates her tipsy bubble enough to widen her eyes with surprise.