Sunday afternoons were ******** awesome if you were a dude. Blake Allison was definitely, without question, a total dude. The college baseball season had ended weeks before and they were on their off period before winter training started up somewhere for a week in a warm, tropical location. Everyone had been voting that they throw down and go to Miami Beach this year but the likelihood of that fantastic opportunity was slim at best.
There were very few things in a man’s mind that stuck more than the tourist illusion conjured up by the mention of Miami -- hot sands, hot babes, a party for every hour of every day. He’d done Spring Break in Cancun one year and while it had been great party it had also been a general shithole of a place. Not Cancun itself, it was fine really. But the place they’d stayed, that had allowed a group of Spring Break college sophomores who weren’t legal to drink in their own country, had reeked the whole time. He’d also been passed out a good portion of that and had come back almost sure he had contracted an unnamed STD.
Thankfully he had not. Maybe it was a good thing they weren’t going to Miami.
Lounging around in his DCU Baseball sweatshirt, loose sweats, dropped commando and comfy with it, Blake was doing nothing more exciting than contemplating past hedonism while prodding the channel button his remote. He flipped past it before blinking, jamming the opposite button to return to the fascinating commercial of nubile supermodels strutting down the runway in various types of undress. Victoria’s Secret fashion show...right. That was tonight and Vicks had basically told him that he would show up or he would be out in the cold for at least a week, a place Blake did not ever want to be.
Whatever the hell was on the channel continued to play, some kind of NFL countdown recap bullshit; he couldn’t ever really summon up the energy to be interested in football. It was manly and everything but come on. Tackling was just a bit gay. Just a touch. But that wasn’t what was occupying his brain at the moment, no. What was occupying his brain at the moment was that Blake just thought about not being allowed to cuddle with Victoria Collins on her couch for a week and was
upset about it. Sex not even a factor though it invariably happened.
Cuddles. On the ********
couch watching, probably, Toddlers and Tiaras while Vicky stuffed her face full of ice cream and tried not to rant or cry. Though she also invariably did those two things as well while he rolled his eyes, thinking about how ridiculous and adorable she could be ********. No no he was
not stuck on her. Hadn’t he had this mental conversation a few weeks ago? Hadn’t he and his mind agreed perfectly that there were nice pieces of a** left to tap in this wide, wide world and he was not stuck on this one? It wasn’t like he had done anything more than given her closet space at his dorm. He only had a single drawer at her place.
And a toothbrush. <********> This was not acceptable.
Fishing in the cushions of the couch next to him -- a reasonable place to store anything and everything when you didn’t plan to leave it for six hours straight -- Blake flicked a finger to unlock his phone. There was, beneath the lock and several misdirected icons, his Sexy b***h Book. No, he didn’t call it that out loud but that’s what it
was so why deny it? Inside were a list of fine, fine young women more than willing to spend a very cozy evening being swayed by his charms.
Man, it had been awhile. Flicking through it seven were immediately discarded as being ‘now hooked up with a loser’ and three more were discarded for ‘illegitimate pregnancy’. It wasn’t that he minded kids but he definitely minded a chick who got accidentally knocked up. Some things a man just didn’t need in his life when he was trying to be a scumbag boyfriend! Finally stopping at a number of a lovely coffee-skinned thing with a melodious accent from the Isles he grinned and put the call through.
“Lexi, baby, long time no see and it breaks my heart. Busy tonight?” It was easier than he’d thought, to blow off the plans with his squeeze of almost a year without telling her. To pick up new plans with a chick who was really never anything more than a casual lay for whomever was willing at the time. Lexi was DTF. So was he.
Right?
It didn’t matter. Blake was about to prove to himself that no matter how charming Vicky Collins was, no matter how willing he was to be her squeeze most of the time, he was still his own man. She
didn’t own his balls.
Blake was pretty much in massive denial and headed for a train wreck. He just hadn’t realized it yet.
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