Page 7 of The Groupie

“Yeah, Zak. Maybe she needs a few shots before she—”

I cut Nowicki off before he finishes whatever his thought was because I can tell it isn’t going to be flattering or discrete based on the glint in his eyes.

“All right, let’s play, but house rules for a co-ed game of whiskey pong calls for the stripping bonus.” I lift a brow in challenge, hoping she’ll back down, but not too sure she will.

“You’re on,” she says, rubbing her hands together, and I get that spider web sensation again. “This should be fun. I can’t wait to see you guys butt naked.”

“Nowicki’s not—”

This time Nowicki interrupts me, endangering his future roommate status. “I’m most definitely in for this game.” He moves into the dining area to get the red cups and whiskey set up.

Fuck. The only way I’m going to get rid of him is to punch him or beat his ass in the game—hopefully, before Rylee gets wasted. Hell. No way am I letting that happen. Before she has more than two shots, I’ll either throw the game or call it.

“Maybe you better put some more clothes on, Ted. Just sayin’.” Rylee points toward his gym shorts, the only thing the guy is wearing.

“I second that motion,” I say.

He laughs and returns to his room, presumably to put on a shirt.

“Sorry about my roommate. I thought he’d be asleep since he didn’t come out with us tonight.”

“No problem. I’m wide awake with jet lag. Besides…” She moves in close, and I jump at the chance to wrap my arms around her killer body, roaming my hands over the curve of her hips and ass. She tries to stand on tiptoe, but stumbles. I lean in so she can whisper in my ear. “I like to build anticipation.” Her words churn up my testosterone as if it needs any churning, but I notice she’s leaning into me, tilting to one side.

“Your ankle is bothering you, isn’t it?” I help her to a chair, and she lets go of me reluctantly to sit. “Let me check it out.”

“No big deal. I only twisted it.”

“It’s slightly swollen. I’ll get you an ice pack.” I don’t wait for her answer because I know what to do for ankles, and I know she needs to keep off it and keep it iced, or it’ll get worse. It looks like there’s a possible avulsion fracture based on the slight bruising.

Opening the freezer of our giant refrigerator, I take one of the many ice packs out and grab an ace bandage from one of the kitchen drawers. The large up-to-the-minute kitchen doubles as an infirmary and medical supply room, a side effect of playing a contact sport as a profession. As I return to her, Nowicki waltzes out into the open from the hallway dressed up like a clown with garments strewn all over him, including a pair of boxers on his head covered by a hat like it’s a cotton plaid wig.

Rylee laughs, and I pull up a chair to sit opposite her.

“Whiskey pong is on hold while one of the contestants gets medical attention.” I lift her leg gingerly and rest her ankle on my lap with the ice pack while I wrap an ace bandage around it to secure it in place.

“Fuck. What happened while I was gone?”

“An old skydiving injury,” she says. Nowicki laughs, but I watch her face, and I’m not sure if she’s serious, but I’m not sure she’s joking either.

“You’ll have to tell us the story,” Nowicki says.

“Another time.”

“Looks like strip whiskey pong is out for tonight and after I got all dressed up,” he says mournfully.

“Looks like it,” I confirm and warn him with my eyes to make himself scarce. I want to minimize his opportunity to blow my anonymity.

“I can still play,” she says. “On one foot, maybe?” She laughs. “Although I have to admit that ice feels really good.” Her eyes flash an invitation to find another way to make her feel even better, and I swear my entire body’s temperature goes up ten degrees.

“No strip whiskey pong,” I say with an arch of an eyebrow, “but I’m sure we can find another game to play where you’re lying down.”

“Okay, I’m outta here.” Nowicki turns to leave, thank God, then he stops and points at me. “Don’t forget we have—”

“Not a damn worry in the world.” I cut him off before he mentions morning skate.

He shakes his head. “If you say so.” He flashes a smile in Rylee’s direction. “Nice to meet you. Take care of that ankle. Though it looks like you’re in good hands.” He walks back down the hall, and I hold my breath until I hear his door shut.

“So, you have good hands, then?” she whispers, leaning in, and I get a glimpse of healthy cleavage.