Pick Six Page 21

  Another little sob. Another sniffle. More tears.

  “God, I miss him. I miss him so much. And I’m going to have to see him again soon, and it’s going to hurt so bad. Almost as bad as this gremlin in my uterus. I’m tired of my heart hurting because of Sean Phillips and his perfect penis. It’s a really big penis. But, like, not overwhelming big. Just, like, perfect big.”

  Fuck, I had to stop thinking about him.

  I had to stop thinking about his penis.

  “I think I’m gonna go now, guys,” I announced through a half whimper and half yawn. “I’m feeling really sleepy. And I’m feeling kind of drunk. Or really drunk. I’m not sure. But I’m gonna go to bed.”

  I didn’t even say bye. I just logged out of my live video feed and locked the screen of my phone.

  By the time my feet had reached the couch, I let myself fall like a sack of potatoes onto the cushions and allowed sleep to take over.

  In the too near distance, my phone kept on ringing and pinging and fucking vibrating, and I groaned my irritation into the pillow currently covering my face.

  Eventually, silence took over, but it was fucking brief. And what felt like a minute later, my stupid phone started blowing up with notifications again.

  With a groan and a muttered fuck from my lips, I removed the pillow from my face and opened my eyes.

  What time is it?

  It took several blinks of my eyes to clear my vision enough to check the clock below the television.

  10:32 a.m.

  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it felt earlier than that. But the late-morning California sun blinding me through the windows of my living room said otherwise.

  I sat up on the couch, and instantly, my head throbbed and pulsed and swam with discomfort until it formed into a persistent ache behind my temples.

  “Holy shitola,” I mumbled and rested my head in my hands.

  Although my memory wasn’t too clear on why I felt like someone had shoved cotton balls down my throat and hit me over the head with a sledgehammer, I knew, without a doubt, I was hungover as a motherfucker.

  Swallowing past the discomfort and with the constant annoyance of my phone chiming its presence somewhere in the kitchen, I stood up from the couch and shuffled my way toward its sounds.

  Right there, on the kitchen counter, beside an empty bottle of wine and a half-eaten bag of Doritos, I spotted it.

  And the little bastard just kept on vibrating and pinging and lighting up before my very eyes.

  Jesus. Is the world ending? I mean, what could be so important right now?

  I snagged it from the counter and stared down at what felt like one million notifications scrolling across the screen.

  With one quick tap of my thumb, I unlocked it and proceeded to turn it on silent before I tried to decode why it felt like Armageddon had occurred while I was asleep.

  Twenty missed text messages.

  Twelve missed calls.

  Too many YouCam notifications to count.

  And several hundred missed emails.

  What the hell?

  I decided to start with the text messages.

  The first one I opened was a group message with Everly and Sammy.

  Everly: Holy shit. I thought Mexico was bad. What did you do last night?

  Everly: For the love of God, tell me you meant to post that video last night…

  Sammy: Uh…Six? What is happening?

  Everly: Dear God, do you think we need to head to San Diego to make sure she’s okay?

  Sammy: Maybe? I mean, let’s give her like another hour or so. But if we don’t hear anything by then, we probably need to start planning an SOS mission.

  What video? I wondered. And then an onslaught of memories hit me like a freight train. I’d posted a video to my private YouCam account last night, a full-on tirade about God only knew what, but I had a sneaking suspicion it most likely revolved around a certain man I couldn’t seem to remove from my brain.

  Me: What are you guys talking about? The video I sent you last night? Was it that bad?

  Everly: Sent us? Uh…you didn’t just send that to us.

  Me: Huh?

  Sammy: Sweetie, you posted that video to your public YouCam account.

  What?

  My stomach pretty much fell straight out of my body as I tapped out of the group chat and opened up the YouCam app.

  I didn’t even need to log in because I was already fucking logged in. And right there, on the screen of my public profile, stood a still shot of my face covered in Dorito crumbs, which just so happened to be the image for the latest video I’d posted.

  Last fucking night, apparently.

  I didn’t want to, but I did. I clicked on the video and proceeded to watch a drunken, wine-stained lips, and Dorito-crusted version of myself ramble on and on into the camera.

  It started out as a diatribe about my period.

  Okay, no big deal…

  Surely, I’d done more ridiculous things than this before.

  But then, it took a real abrupt turn down Nightmare Lane when drunk me somehow found a slurred segue from talking about wishing I had a penis to missing Sean’s penis.

  Oh God.

  “No! No! No! Stop talking!” I shouted at the fucking lunatic of a woman rambling on and on into the camera, which, unfortunately, just so happened to be me.

  And then, it all went up in flames.

  “I love Sean Phillips, guys,” I slurred on the video.

  The fucking public, viewable to millions and millions of people, video.

  If I hadn’t been holding myself up with a hand firmly secured on the kitchen counter, I most likely would have collapsed to my knees.

  I’d just accidentally told the entire world I was in love with Sean Phillips. And more than that, I’d even waxed poetic about his penis and how much I loved his penis and missed his penis and…fuck.

  As quick as my fingers could move, I tapped across the screen until that god-awful, embarrassing, fucking terrible video was deleted from my profile.

  But I knew it didn’t matter.

  I’d posted it several hours ago.

  Which was more than enough time for pretty much anyone and everyone to record the evidence of my wine- and period-fueled mental breakdown.

  I was so fucked.

  So fucking fucked.

  I stared down at the screen of my phone, jaw resting on my goddamn toes, and eyes wide from what I assumed was post-traumatic stress.

  And just before I threw my phone across the room, a text message notification from Cassie lit up across the screen.

  Oh, please, for the love of God, tell me his freaking sister hasn’t seen it…

  I clicked open her message with very little hope and pretty much just braced for impact.

  Cassie: Hot damn, girl. I think I’m in love with you. Although I could’ve used a little less commentary about my brother’s dick, I loved every second of your video. You fluffing owned that shit and let your crazy flag fly motherfluffing high in the sky. Hell, even Thatch pretty much has a boner for you at this point. (Obviously, he’s a sucker for crazy chicks.) See? Thatch is basically your number one fangirl now.

  And following that text was a picture.

  Of Thatch.

  He was smiling wide, with a bag of Doritos in one hand, a thumbs-up raised high on the other hand, and his huge chest covered in a replica of the cat T-shirt I’d worn to dinner the first time I’d met them.

  And all I could think was, Has Sean seen the video?

  But, deep down, I already knew the answer to that question.

  Help. Me.

  With the last empty box in my hands, I tossed it into the hallway with the rest of the cardboard that needed to be taken out to the trash.

  Today was a big day for my best friend.

  I stood outside of the room watching Quinn put the final, finishing touches on what would be Cat’s new home office.

  A picture frame on her new desk.

  Paintbrush
es near the art easel by the window.

  The final heartfelt, thoughtful details that proved his love.

  A perfectionist to his core, he had spared no detail or expense. Everything inside of this room had been thoughtfully chosen and planned out.

  And he’d done it all with Cat in mind.

  If that wasn’t love, I didn’t know what was.

  “You think she’s going to like it?” he asked, walking toward the doorway where I stood. He turned to take in the finally finished room, and I didn’t miss the big-ass, love-inspired smile on his face.

  He was a goner. A total fucking goner for his girl.

  “Well, I hope so considering we’ve spent the last God knows how many fucking hours getting it ready,” I teased and he chuckled.

  “True story.”

  I gave him a hearty pat to the shoulder. “Don’t worry, QB, she’s going to love it.”

  I’d watched Quinn and Cat’s relationship blossom and grow over the past several months, and today, together, they were taking a huge step. It was official move-in day, and from here on out, Quinn and Cat would be living together.

  Not to mention, my best friend had another huge surprise up his sleeve.

  One that included a diamond engagement ring.

  It was all part of his big plan.

  And I’d spent the past few days helping him execute it.

  “Fuck,” he muttered and looked over at me. “I’m nervous.”

  That made me grin. “I think that’s pretty normal, dude. You’re about to ask her to marry you.”

  “Yeah,” he said, and his eyes turned soft. “She’s the one, Sean. She’s the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

  I hated that his words made my chest hurt.

  I was happy for him, obviously, but that happiness didn’t make it any easier to watch.

  If anything, it made it even more real that all of the things he had with Cat were what I had wanted with Six.

  Still want with Six.

  Internally, I grimaced.

  You’d think I’d be over it by now.

  You’d think I would have long since moved on.

  You’d think that I, the guy who had been nicknamed the playboy manwhore, would have had at least one fucking hookup since Six had ended things.

  You’d fucking think that would be the case.

  But, sadly, it wasn’t.

  Hell, I’d given it the old college try. I’d even attempted to find a random fuck for the night, but I couldn’t follow through.

  And more than that, my dick couldn’t even get hard.

  What a fucking mess.

  “You have nothing to worry about, QB. She’ll say yes. And you’ll get your happily ever after with the fucking mansion and white picket fence and future quarterback kids. And you know what?”

  “What?”

  Another hearty pat to his shoulder. “I’m happy for you.”

  The words shouldn’t have felt heavy on my tongue, but they were.

  He was a man who’d found the woman of his dreams and didn’t have a care in the world, and I wanted that.

  I wanted that so bad I could fucking taste it.

  Before Six, I hadn’t realized I needed that.

  But I did. I needed it.

  And even though I was happy for my best friend, I was miserable too. Miserable that I was pining for a woman who didn’t want anything more than a fucking fling with me, the fucking manwhore.

  The irony of that situation wasn’t lost on me.

  “Thanks, man. That means a lot.” Quinn grinned. “And thanks for helping me.”

  “Anytime,” I responded. “I know you’d do the same for me.”

  “Honestly, I never thought I’d see the day when Sean Phillips would help me get everything ready to propose to my girlfriend. Even offering up some swoony fucking suggestions in the process. I had no idea you had it in you, to be honest.”

  “Huh?” I questioned and furrowed my brow. “What do you mean by that?”

  His grin grew wider. “Let’s face it, before a certain someone, you would have already been MIA by now. But here you are, making sure everything is perfect. Hell, I probably would’ve had to beg Teeny to bring his big ass over here and help carry that huge desk in. Which, no doubt, with his giant, clumsy self, would’ve ended up leaving holes in the drywall.”

  He had a point about Teeny. The man had the strength of ten men, but goddamn was he like a bull in a fucking china shop. There was nothing gentle or easy about him.

  But everything else Quinn had said felt like total bullshit.

  “A certain someone?” I questioned, and those three stupid words provided visuals of a gorgeous brown gaze and wild hair flashing behind my eyes.

  Or maybe it wasn’t that his words were bullshit, but they revolved around the one thing, the one fucking person, I was trying so goddamn hard not to think about.

  “You know exactly who I’m talking about,” Quinn answered instantly, and I waved him off with a disagreeing hand.

  “Oh, come on,” I responded, and I couldn’t hide the annoyance in my voice. “She has nothing to do with this—or anything else, for that matter.”

  He raised an eyebrow in my direction. “Are you sure about that?”

  No, I wasn’t, but that didn’t mean he had to know that.

  “How about you focus on getting Cat to say yes, and I’ll handle my own shit, okay?” I tossed back, and he just smiled knowingly.

  Fuck, I knew he was only teasing me, but it was striking a nerve.

  A big-ass nerve, at that.

  Instead of getting into a verbal pissing match with him, I chose to take the high road, the smart road, and distract myself.

  “I’m going to take those boxes down to the garage,” I said by way of ending the conversation. “I’m assuming Cat will be here soon.”

  Considering I’d just heard him talk to her no less than fifteen minutes ago, and she had been en route, it was safe to say she’d be here soon.

  He glanced at his watch and nodded. “Any minute now.”

  “All right,” I said and walked into the hallway. “I’ll work on getting all the cardboard and trash out of the hallway and spare bedroom.”

  “And what am I supposed to do?” he asked, and I couldn’t not smirk at him over my shoulder.

  “Get your fucking game face on, son,” I said. “It’s almost proposal time. And then, once she says yes, it’s motherfucking championship time.”

  We were only a few days out from the big game against Dallas, and I was ready to get back on the field. It was the one place I still felt in control of my life

  A man on a mission, I walked into the hallway, grabbed the stack of cardboard, and proceeded to carry it into the garage.

  By the time I came back into the house and was inside the spare bedroom gathering the rest of the empty boxes, I heard Cat’s arrival.

  Even though I was trying to give them their privacy, their voices echoed throughout the big house and made it impossible for my ears not to hear their every word.

  Cat sounded happy, excited, and well, like a woman who was desperately in love with Quinn. I heard the love in her voice when she said hello, and I didn’t miss the very same thing in his when he started to take her through the house and show her all of the personal touches he’d added.

  When they reached the upstairs, I heard her gasp of surprise, and I knew she’d finally seen her new office.

  “Did you do all of this?” she asked, and her voice carried straight to my ears.

  “I did,” Quinn responded, and pride rang loud and clear in his voice. “Without any help either.”

  What a dick. I’d been helping him for what felt like the past week getting all of this shit together.

  “Fuck that!” I shouted toward the hallway. “I helped!” I added, and I couldn’t hold back my raucous laughter.

  And then, as I stared down at the pile of cardboard in the center of the spare bedroom, I decided the credit-stealing b
astard could finish cleaning up his own mess.

  I’d more than done my share.

  Not to mention, I wasn’t sure how much lovey-dovey bullshit I could tolerate with thoughts of Six attempting to consume my brain like a wildfire.

  Without a second thought, I strode out of the room, jogged down the steps, and marched out the front door, pulling it closed with a loud bang behind me.

  I hopped into my Jeep, clicked on the engine, and turned out of Quinn’s driveway in the direction of my house.

  But I didn’t even reach the gated entrance before a text notification pinged.

  “Text message from Teeny,” Siri announced through the speakers.

  I clicked the accept button on the steering wheel and let Siri read the message to me through the speakers of the Jeep.

  “Dude. You need to watch the latest live video Six posted on her vlog,” Siri stated robotically. “Homegirl is talking about you.”

  What?

  Before I even knew what I was doing, I slammed on my brakes and pulled off to the side of the road.

  With uncharacteristically fumbling hands, I grabbed my phone from the dock and pulled up Teeny’s message to read it with my own eyes. Surely, Siri had fucked it up somehow.

  Teeny: Dude. You need to watch the latest live video Six posted on her vlog. Homegirl is talking about you.

  My phone pinged again in my hands.

  With a follow-up text, he even provided a direct link to the video in question.

  My heart started racing inside my chest, and I had no idea why.

  Hell, my lungs even joined in and grew tight with anxiety.

  I had no idea what was in the video, but I had to find out.

  With one quick click to the link, my phone’s screen rerouted to some random gossip website, and there, on my screen, was Six’s face. Apparently, per the now-viral article, she had posted this video last night. And although she had recently deleted it from her YouCam profile, it had stayed live for a good ten hours.

  Jesus. What in the fuck is in this thing?