Fortunately, Dwight comes to the rescue. “Man, please. Of course he was. Sawyer’s uncle is the head minister at my church and the only way any dude’s hitting that is with a wedding band. Trust me.”
Cortland’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. “But Covington here told us he can have any pussy.”
Except that one.
“Pick a different girl,” I grind out.
“Why?”
I jut my chin at Dwight. “You heard what he said. Call me crazy, but I’m not about to put a ring on it just to win a stupid bet.”
He thinks about this for a moment before replying, “You have a point.”
I’m relieved…until he says, “So date her for six months.” He looks around. “If she doesn’t give it up by then—I get your car.”
Lennox’s gaze ping-pongs between us. “And what does Cole get if he wins?”
He means when I win.
I should do the smart thing and shut it down, but my pride won’t let me back down from a challenge.
It’s my Achilles’ heel.
Cortland shrugs. “I don’t know. How about—”
“The satisfaction of shutting you the fuck up for good.”
Chapter 10
Sawyer
Oh, that shithead motherfucking son of a goddamn bitch.
I shoot my gaze up to the ceiling. Sorry Jesus.
Anger rolls through me so swiftly I shake with the force of it.
I have to command my feet—which are currently propped up on the stall door so they’re hidden—to not run right out there and give the asshole a piece of my mind.
Cortland’s always been a douche, so his asinine bet doesn’t surprise me.
But Cole?
He didn’t have to concede.
He could have told his teammate to go fuck himself.
He could have told him and everyone else the truth about our hookup so Cortland would drop it.
Cole’s warning from the other night zips around my head like a boomerang. “The second you think I’m capable of changing, or there’s any good in me, I’ll prove you wrong and hurt you again…worse than before.”
Turns out he was right.
But I can’t focus on how much it hurts right now, because I’m definitely going to be late for work if I don’t leave in the next ten minutes.
Attempting to remain calm, I tune into the sound of the showers running along with football talk and plans for the upcoming weekend.
It doesn’t seem like they’ll be clearing out anytime soon.
Pulling my cell out of my pocket, I note the time and mutter a silent curse…just as someone enters the stall next to me.
Holding my breath—because I’m positive the dude must have had roadkill for lunch—I force myself not to move a muscle.
I’m about ready to pass out when I finally hear his stall door open and he leaves.
Think, Sawyer. Think.
Scanning my brain, I try my hardest to devise a plan to get everyone out so I can exit.
My heart squeezes as the memory flits through my head.
As much as I hate thinking about that day—not to mention the irony of using this tactic—it’s the only solution that could work.
I just need a willing accomplice.
An accomplice who’s already here.
With no other options, I send a text to Bianca.
Sawyer: I need your help.
Bianca: Again?
Sawyer: I’m trapped in the boys’ locker room.
Bianca: See any nice peens?
Before I can tell her no, my phone lights up with another text.
Bianca: Is Lennox’s dick as huge as everyone says?
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
Sawyer: I need you to do me a really big favor.
Bianca: You’re shit out of luck. My favor quota for you has already reached its limit for the century.
Brat.
Sawyer: Please, Bianca. I can’t afford to lose my job. I know you don’t understand because you eat off gold platters every night and bathe in diamonds and caviar, but some people don’t have it so easy.
Bianca: Whoa. Passive aggressive and bitchy.
Crap. That’s not going to get me anywhere with her.
Sawyer: You’re right. That was rude. I’m sorry.
Bianca: Don’t be. For a minute I almost liked you.
I want to ask her if that means she’ll help me, but I get her follow up text.
Bianca: I’ll help you, but it’s gonna cost you.
Surprise, surprise.
Sawyer: I already told you I don’t have any money.
Bianca: I don’t want your money, Church.
Sawyer: What do you want?
Bianca: I haven’t decided yet. But when I do, I’ll let you know. Deal?
This has bad idea written all over it, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
Sawyer: Provided it’s not illegal, it’s a deal.
Bianca: We’ll discuss the semantics when the time comes. What is it you need me to do?
Sawyer: Pull the fire alarm at some point in the next three minutes.
Bianca: Just so we’re clear. You’re asking me to commit a crime?
Well, when she puts it like that.
Sawyer: You’re right. It was wrong of me to ask you. Forget it.
Mere seconds after I press the send button the ear-piercing sound of the fire alarm blaring infiltrates my eardrums and my phone lights up with another text.
Bianca: You owe me two favors now.
Chapter 11
My mouth drops open as I watch Bianca saunter down her driveway to my van.
Long dark hair falls down her back in silky waves, her glittery gold shadow and winged eyeliner are immaculate, her impossibly high cheekbones are contoured and highlighted to perfection, and her outfit…
Dear God.
Cole is going to lose his shit when she walks through the door, and every guy at Christian’s is going to duke it out for a chance to stand next to her.
The nude colored low-cut, belly-baring shirt—if it even qualifies as one given there’s so little material—combined with the matching skirt that rides dangerously low on her razor-sharp hipbones, showcases her flawless body.
To top it off, every time she moves, the crystals and rhinestones on the fabric catch the light, making her look like some kind of exotic naked shimmery goddess sent straight from Heaven.
Too bad her personality came straight from Hell.
“Why are you dressed like that?” I ask as she gets settled in the passenger seat.
It’s only then I notice the scar on her lower abdomen. I want to ask her what it’s from, but I don’t want to be rude or upset her.
Annoyance illuminates her pretty face as she adjusts the shawl she brought with her around her waist. “Why are you dressed like that?”
I look down at my purple cardigan and black maxi skirt. I see nothing wrong with my outfit. In fact, it’s one of the better ones I own because it doesn’t draw attention to all my rolls.