All the Bold Moves (All The Right Moves 2)

I’m tempted to go over and drag her out of here – doesn’t she realize how much her boobs are jiggling? I sure as hell do, and I’m standing about twenty feet away trying not to stare.

Trying… but not really.

Molly catches me watching and rolls her eyes, but not before elbowing Cecelia in the ribcage. I see Cecelia wince and smack Molly in the stomach.

Good for you, I mouth, grinning when she looks over at me, eyes bright and gleaming. The glance is enough to make me swallow hard, and I can feel the Adams apple bobbing in my dry throat.

As a professional athlete, I have women and girls throwing themselves at me almost on a daily basis. Sorry – as shitty as that sounds, it’s true. Some of the chicks are classy… while others are total sluts, giving it up for anyone with a Pro title in front of their name – something I’ve always taken advantage of in the past.

One thing most people might not think about or give much credence to: professional athletes are full of pent up aggression and adrenaline. Sex for the most part, is vital to an athlete’s performance, especially before a big game.

I know you’re probably sitting there asking yourself why, so I’ll do you a solid and explain why sex is vital (to me anyway):

Regular sex helps get my lead out. If you catch my drift.

It can boost my athletic performance.

It reduces my anxiety before a game (see: completely sated)

It helps me not pound the piss out of my opponents.

Sex is fucking awesome.

Wait. Stop me if I’m wrong, but was number five a bit redundant? Do you see how I used ‘sex’ and ‘fucking’ in the same sentence, and they’re like… the same thing?

Dammit, why do I have to be so clever and good-looking…?

As I stare at Cecelia, I wonder if she’s ever heard the rumor that hockey players bang better than anybody, which could work in my favor. See, it’s all in the hips – and we get a lot of practice swiveling and gyrating on the ice - a lot. If you don’t believe me, I’m sure Kevin would show you…

Someone knocks me on the arm and I’m bumped out of my contemplations and back into reality.

“Jesus Christ, Wakefield. Why don’t you just go over there?” Weston asks casually, taking a short sip from his beer bottle.

Erik grins stupidly. “No shit. Watching you eye fuck her is kind of tragic, dude. Even Kevin had the balls to approach the friend what’s-her-face.”

Jenna. Kevin was over dancing with Jenna… Correction: Kevin was in a corner dry humping my sister’s best friend, his tongue so far down her throat he’s probably hit China by now.

“And we all know Kevin has no game.”

That wasn’t true – Kevin actually has more game than all four of us combined and I’m positive he’s getting more action than I am these days. For some reason, chicks love his goofy demeanor; it draws them to him like moths to a flame. So I’m not about to go knocking him, especially since I personally haven’t had sex - or someone’s mouth sucking my dick - in months.

I know for a fact Kevin got laid last weekend.

Twice.

How do I know this? Well for one - he wouldn’t shut up about it. Secondly, the moron SnapChatted a picture of himself and added it to his Story with some chick’s dirty-ass thong in his mouth - he captioned the picture “Tapping that ass,” and circled her backside, which was sticking high up in the air, with a bright red arrow.

I mean, he was piss ass drunk, but still…

“Know what your problem is, Wakefield? Deep down inside, you’re a giant pussy.” Weston takes another small sip of beer, watching Molly from the corner of his eye.

“He isn’t a giant pussy,” Neve jokes. “He has a giant pussy.”

“Real funny, assholes.”

“Seriously though dude, why aren’t you over there getting all up in that? Guys have been on her all night. Eventually she’s going to hook up with someone else.”

I shake my head and make a scoffing sound, like ‘yeah right.’ “She’s not going to hook up with anyone else, trust me.”

Erik snorts and fiddles with his surgical mask. “How the hell would you know? Aren’t all chicks the same: needy and desperate for attention.”

Weston shoots my friend a look. “Geez, bitter much? What cat shit in your litter box?”

“Meow.” This from Bernie.

“She is not going to hook up with anyone because she already has the hots for me.” I say confidently, arching my eyebrows in an authoritative manner and puffing out my chest.

Bernie laughs. “Whatevah dude. If you’re so sure, you would have been all ovah that. How long you been chasing that tail anyways?” Since it’s so loud in here, he’s practically shouting.

“Would you keep your damn voice down?”