Pick Six

by Max Monroe

  “All of the guys, huh? Any side business going on?”

  My heart kicked and flipped in my chest as panic took hold. Had she seen something about Sean and me in a tabloid? I didn’t think I was ready for that.

  “No, why?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Because Cam Mitchell is hot. Because I’d totally jump into bed with him if I got the chance.”

  I laughed. “Cam is nice.”

  “Boringggg.”

  I shrugged.

  “Well, at least you didn’t get caught up in Sean.”

  My throat constricted, and my chest got tight.

  Is it hot in here, or are my hands just clammy?

  “Sean?” I asked, throat thick and drier than the Sahara.

  “Yeah. Sean Phillips. Total dog. Sleeps with anything that moves.”

  I rubbed my hands together, picked at the tablecloth, and tried for nonchalant. “I thought I’d heard that he changed.”

  “Oh, he changed all right,” she said through a huge laugh. “Changed women. Whoever the poor girl is he’s hooked on his line now is in trouble. Because there’s another fish out there lurking, and it won’t take much bait to convince him to throw her back.”

  Stomach nauseous and putrid, I did my best to keep a straight face.

  But if I made it through the rest of the day, it wouldn’t be without consequences.

  The vast ocean seemed so appealing in all its colorful blue glory. Life ebbed and flowed, and new adventures were born. But there’d been one too many bad fishes in this conversation with MJ and me, and no matter how much my stupid heart longed for Sean, I had a feeling I’d never eat seafood again.

  A server stopped by our table, and I ordered a glass of wine as a means of distraction.

  And while MJ dove into what her current vlog plans were, I couldn’t stop thinking about Sean and us and his reputation and my true feelings for him.

  I was deeper than I should be; I knew that much. And soon, I’d be taking my last trip to New York to film the final episode of the Mavs series.

  The reality of it all became more and more apparent.

  When I boarded my flight to Newark, I needed to have a clear head and an expectation-less heart.

  “Ho, ho, ho, it’s Christmas at the Mavericks,” Six explained to the camera, her red suit and big white wig ill-fitting in an entirely comical way.

  I stared hard, trying to find the outline of her body underneath the baggy material, but it was a lost cause.

  Luckily, I had the mental film reel to tap into when the physical recreation became faulty.

  “We’ve been following these guys long enough to know they can expect something more than a lump of coal in their stockings, but what is it they actually want? Lamborghinis? A championship win? How about a pony? We don’t know yet, but I’ll tell you right now, I intend to find out!” A hearty, exaggeratedly jolly variety of a chuckle left her white beard-covered lips.

  I positioned myself in the corner up against a wall but within reach of a table where a group of the guys had gathered. I couldn’t help but be a little sad that the video blog series with Six was coming to an end, but I was trying to work through it.

  Fuck. No one even knew we had anything more than a professional relationship.

  My tie felt tight around my neck as she came toward me, swaying her hips in a way unworthy of Santa or Mrs. Claus. The gleam in her eye was vivid and teasing, and I couldn’t wait to hear what would come out of her mouth.

  It was one thing to connect with her bodily, but I’d never met a funnier woman in my life—and Cassie Phillips, queen of the punch line, was my sister. As much as I’d miss having Six around for the sake of our physical relationship, I feared I’d miss my friend even more.

  “Ho, ho, hello, Sean,” she greeted, winking at the other guys as they laughed at her creative use of the Claus-ism. “Have you been a good boy this year?”

  Sam Sheffield and Oran Wells taunted and howled their boos, but Six and I both did our best to ignore them. Instead, I turned on the charm and embraced my public persona. These videos were important to the success of Six’s blog and good for the popularity of the Mavericks organization. If sounding like a cocksure asshole every now and then benefitted viewership, I was willing to make the sacrifice.

  “I think my fans know I’ve been an excellent boy this year.” I winked.

  Cam hacked and coughed, dramatically faking the need to retch. The other guys laughed and high-fived behind his back, and I realized for not the first time that we might have a slight maturity problem. As I considered the possibility, Quinn found my eyes in the distance and nodded.

  Yes, he confirmed nonverbally. I’ve been trying to point this out for years.

  I laughed at the clarity of Quinn’s Southern twang in my head and turned back to Six.

  “Ah, yes,” she mused. “Touchdowns, completions. Santa loves those things.”

  “If he’s a Mavericks fan, he does.”

  She laughed, high and giggly, and then rolled it into a deep, throaty ending as she realized she was supposed to be playing the part of a man. I laughed at the irony of the womanliest female I’d ever met trying to come across as a man. She wasn’t exactly trying that hard to be convincing, though. “He is. Especially, Quinn Bailey.”

  Six winked as my smile melted and stepped around me to talk to Quinn, who’d been moving closer slowly in feeble acceptance of joining the rowdy group.

  “Quinn Bailey,” she greeted. “I know you’ve been good this year.”

  “Always, Santa,” the fucker replied dutifully, forming his hand into a Boy Scout’s sign and crossing it over his heart or some shit. I’d never been a Boy Scout, instead playing in the woods with Cassie to the theme of straight-up survival games. So I couldn’t be certain, but it sure seemed like something a do-gooder would do.

  “And what is it you’d like as your reward?” Six asked, pointing the microphone in Quinn’s face and winking back at the camera. Joe smiled behind it and bit his lip to suppress his laugh. I knew they’d known each other for a long time, but I wondered idly if he’d ever crushed on her. Six was the kind of woman I imagined most men lusted after. Hot and luscious in all of her petite curves, with bold, defined, goddess-like features and a mouth like a sailor, she was the ultimate prize to carry in your belt. She was fun and funny and she could hang with the guys, but she was also deliciously wild in bed.

  I was completely mesmerized by her appeal, so I couldn’t see a reason why someone else wouldn’t be.

  Especially someone who spent as much time with her as her cameraman did.

  Quinn shrugged. “I’ve already got the perfect little kitten.”

  I rolled my eyes and the guys guffawed, but no doubt the sap was going to make the women who watched this series swoon.

  I walked toward Six, and then I turned her attention back to me with a bold grab of her hips. She startled at the intimate contact but deflected it with a quick and cute reference to her costume.

  “Oh, hello, Sean. Did you want to sit on Santa’s lap?”

  “I’d rather it be the other way around, and I think Santa would too,” I suggested unabashedly. Quinn’s eyebrows rose to his hairline and some of the other guys quieted, but I ignored the scrutiny.

  Six had a harder time.

  She smiled under the beard and played it off, though, using her good-nature as a veil. As far as Six would have them know, my lap was the same as any of the others in the room.

  “Okay, then. Make a chair for me.”

  I sat and pulled her into my lap, and she wrapped her arms around my shoulders without thinking. I didn’t dare call it into notice. The time was short where I could relish her closeness without uncertainty and waiting to see her again.

  Would she be in the New York area at any point in the future, and would she want to see me if she were? What if I went to California? Would she be open to that?

  Questions rose and raced in my mind, but I shut them all down as she asked one of he
r own.

  “What is it you want for Christmas, Sean?”

  The truth was ripe and real, and I didn’t hold back as I let her have it. “Seems like I’ve got it right here.”

  Angels swooned and the stars aligned and everything worked out for the best.

  At least, in my head, it did.

  The reality was much harsher.

  Freshly uncomfortable, Six climbed from my lap and parried my comment with one of her own. “Santa doesn’t offer ego-protection plans,” she teased, but her voice was both playful and annoyed. “Check with Manwhores ‘R’ Us.”

  Damn, that stung a little bit.

  The other players may have heard her response, but they forgot about it as soon as she graced them with her undivided attention.

  I headed for the bar and grabbed a drink, watching her across the room as I sucked it down. The taste of the whiskey was potent and unforgiving, but then again, her brush-off had been too.

  Quinn was quiet as he took a place next to me, a soft, reflective sigh as deep as a crater.

  I knew he’d watched us.

  I knew he’d seen.

  Quinn Bailey was a keen observer and a kind heart, and ultimately, he was the keeper of the team. He looked after us emotionally and physically, and right now, thankfully, he understood that I needed some space.

  The silence lasted the depth of my glass and half of a second before Six moved to the front of the room and climbed up on a chair.

  The crowd went wild for her, just like my heart, and I rubbed at my chest to ease the tightness.

  “Guys, guys!” she yelled over the din of cheers. “Thank you so much. I couldn’t have done this series without you, obviously.” She winked. “But mostly, I couldn’t have turned it into what it is without your willing and witty input. I’m going to miss all of you as I travel back to California, but I hope you’ll all keep in touch.” Her eyes moved to me, and my heart picked up so much it climbed into my throat.

  “I’ve had the best time. And I’ll remember it forever. Thank you!”

  The guys cheered and hollered, but my jaw might as well have been sewn shut.

  Quinn noticed, as he always did, and filled the space with much-needed chatter.

  I felt his hand come down on my shoulder and squeeze as he told me some good news intended to distract me.

  “I’m going to propose to Cat,” he murmured softly. I nodded. “Think you can help me set it up?”

  My jaw felt dangerously close to shattering, so I forced it open in order to answer.

  “Of course,” I agreed and then showed the ultimate return of trust by confirming his suspicions. “Now that Six is heading home, it seems like I’m going to have the time.”

  He offered a short, curt nod, but other than that, knew not to take it any further.

  I moved my eyes across the room, and they latched on to Six like a magnet.

  She laughed at Teeny, and her throat opened as her head went back. She was happiness and freedom and none of the crushing disappointment I felt embodying me.

  I wished I could’ve been okay with her leaving.

  I wished I could’ve been perfectly fine with saying goodbye.

  I wished a lot of fucking things in that moment.

  But, sadly, that didn’t mean any of them would come true.

  The Christmas party had continued on well past midnight, and somehow, someway, even Wes Lancaster had turned a blind eye to the boisterous group of men that had taken over the large reception room inside the stadium.

  And most of those men were more than just a few beers deep.

  Then again, tomorrow was Christmas Eve and the very last week of their season. While most of the teams in the league would be playing their asses off to end their season with a play-off-worthy record, the Mavericks would be sitting pretty with the best damn record in the league and an easy game this weekend against the worst team in professional football.

  “Speech! Speech! Speech!” Martinez yelled, beer raised high in the air.

  First, Cam, then Quinn joined in, and next thing I knew, the team was all but demanding another speech from me.

  I blushed. Which was ironic because I almost never blushed.

  I was the girl who had no issues with making a fool of herself at comedy’s expense. Hell, before I’d changed into a pair of jeans and long-sleeved red shirt, I’d spent the better part of the evening waltzing around in a Santa suit, badgering the guys to tell me what they wanted for Christmas.

  Yet this, right now, it just felt different. But I guessed a room full of bigger-than-life men showering you with attention would have that effect.

  “I already gave a speech, Teeny!” I shouted back, but he just shook his head and waved his beer around a little.

  “That was the sugarcoated, professional version because you were surrounded by the stuck-up suits that make up the Mavs organization. Now, it’s time for you to give us your raw, real speech filled with your usual commentary and rambles fueled by f-bombs and feisty little attitude.”

  The f-bombs? Yeah, he had me there. But I strongly disagreed with the latter.

  “Excuse me,” I said, and with a hand to my hip, I pointed a defiant index finger straight in his direction. “I do not have a feisty little attitude.”

  Cam chuckled. “You might be pint-sized, but we’ve all seen you in action.”

  “Yeah, little lady,” Martinez agreed. “Mitchell is right. You might be small enough to fit into my fucking pocket, but what you don’t have in size, you make up for in sass and the ability to curse like a sailor, drunk and on leave.”

  I rolled my eyes, but then, I took in the sight that was a room full of Mavericks, looking toward me with nothing but acceptance.

  Somehow, I’d done what felt impossible.

  I’d filmed an entire vlog series with these football gods, and more than that, I’d managed to do it and walk away with several friendships in the process. My eyes briefly flitted back to Sean. I took in his handsome face, and I just felt it. All the way to my fucking toes.

  And love. You totally fell in love.

  I nearly cringed at the mental admission.

  If there was one thing I shouldn’t have done, it was that. I never should’ve let myself get so close to him. And most importantly, I never should’ve let my heart get involved.

  I cleared my throat and forced my brain to focus on something less heavy.

  And with my glass raised high in the air, I attempted to bring some levity to the situation.

  “Even though every single one of you was a pain in my ass at times, I’ve had some serious fun with you guys,” I stated proudly. “Now, I hope you all won’t mind, but since this experience has been so wonderful, I’ve decided to accept Pittsburgh’s offer.”

  “What Shitsburgh offer?” Mitchell yelled from the background, and I forced a neutral smile to my face.

  “They want me to film a ten-episode series with their team.”

  “Are you fucking with us?” Sam Sheffield asked, his mouth paused right above the neck of his beer bottle.

  “Why would I be fucking with you?” I questioned and bit back my smile. “They’ve offered me nearly double the amount of money, and they want two extra episodes. It’s a fantastic opportunity.”

  “Say it isn’t fucking so, Sixy,” Teeny demanded.

  “I thought you guys would be happy for me…”

  “I’d be happier if you were heading to Miami… Hell, even Arizona,” Sean said, and his words were a little too firm for my liking. “But Pittsburgh?” he questioned. “I’m not so sure I can let you go spend two months with that team of assholes.”

  Teeny looked at me, eyes narrowed. “Say it,” he said. “Say you’re just fucking with us.”

  Damn, who would’ve thought the Mavericks would be so territorial?

  “All right. So, I might be fucking with you,” I announced and held my index finger and thumb mere centimeters apart. “Just a little bit fucking with you.”

  “Ju
st a little bit?” Quinn asked, and his lips crested into a grin. “Or is this like the time you pranked Sean about his propensity for posting pictures of his abs on social media?”

  I shrugged. “Okay, maybe I’m fucking with you a lot.”

  Several of the guys started to laugh, and Martinez glared.

  “You’re an evil, evil woman.”

  “Oh, get the fuck over it, Teeny,” I retorted and held my glass high in the air again. “I’d like to propose a toast to the Mavericks. The guys who have won my little heart and will forever be my favorite bunch of assholes in the league! Thank you for letting me film your every move, and sometimes, get away with a few little pranks in the meantime.” I winked and took one last, long look at the group of men.

  “So, tonight, I raise my glass with a smile on my face and gratefulness in my heart. Cheers to you guys!” I exclaimed, ending my toast, and then took a hearty drink of my beer.

  The guys joined in, raising their glasses in the air toward me and then following my lead.

  And before I knew it, Martinez had set his glass down on a table and started stalking toward me.

  I attempted to escape him, but for a guy his size, he was too fucking quick. Into his arms and on top of his fucking thick shoulders I went.

  With Marty, one of the defensive ends on the practice squad, playing DJ, the music was turned up as loud as it could go while Martinez attempted to moonwalk across the hardwood of the dance floor, with me on his shoulders.

  “Teeny!” I shouted over the beat of “Get Lucky.” “You’ve got some moves, my man, but fucking hell, I don’t want an aerial view of it!”

  “You like?” he shouted up toward me, and I could see his cheeks lift up in a smile.

  “I’d like it a lot better if my feet were firmly on the fucking ground!”

  He just laughed me off and proceeded to moonwalk and two-step his way around the dance floor for what felt like forever. By the time I slid my fingers into the hair on top of his head and pulled hard, the song had switched over to one of my favorite Rihanna songs and he was breathing heavy from exertion.

  “Ow! Shit!” he groaned and finally got the point. With strong hands and even stronger arms, he lifted me off his shoulders and let my feet touch the ground again.