“Of course, you cheap bastard.” He throws his head back on a laugh.
“Cheap bastard?” I question and put a hand to my chest. “Are you talking about me? The guy who told you the Mavericks were going to win that play-off game, and you definitely shouldn’t take that fucking bet?”
This isn’t the first time the two of us have bet on something. Surely it won’t be the last either. Maverick is addicted to trying to beat me, and I’m addicted to wagers and challenges.
He laughs and rolls his eyes, coming to a stop across from me. “Yeah, but the only reason you probably knew is because your sister is married to fucking Wes Lancaster. It’s like goddamn insider trading.”
“Don’t be bitter, dude. I told you not to bet against them. Hell, the team has your damn name, for fuck’s sake.”
“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes at that. “What do I owe you again?”
“One hundred big ones,” I respond. “And don’t try to sweet-talk your way out of it with cries of poverty. Even though you suck ass at dancing, I’ve seen the way women shove dollar bills down your pants. I know you’re good for it.”
Mav waggles his brows. “You jealous, bro?”
“Jealous? Of what, exactly? That you spend your nights letting women fawn over the idea of your dick so you don’t have to cry when they see how tiny it actually is?”
“Fuck off,” he retorts. “We both know there’s a reason why you’re the one who gets the people to the party and I’m the one who entertains the people at the party. Only one of us has real talent.”
A laugh jumps from my throat. “Get real. I could dance. I could fucking dance circles around your ass. You think your tips are good? Ha. The number of tips I could pull in during one night would blow your mind.”
“Man, I’d love to see you put your money where your big, obnoxious mouth is,” he snaps back on a hearty chuckle. “There’s a bachelorette party coming in tonight. It might disappoint the bride, but it’d be a fun opportunity to watch you fail.”
“I’d rock that bride’s world.”
Mav cracks up. “Jude, with all due respect, you’ve never danced a day in your life. Much less danced like I dance. You’d fail spectacularly.”
I waggle my brows. I can’t help it. It’s the thrill I’m always chasing, the high I can’t seem to quit. And this bastard is going to pay for doubting my abilities.
I square my shoulders and lean forward, right in his face, and ask, “Wanna bet?”