Pick Six

by Max Monroe

  Oh, and Sean looked inviting too. Dripping wet, muscular as fuck, mocha-colored skin, and handsome as the devil himself, he looked good naked.

  And when I say good, I mean lick your lips and you don’t even realize you’re licking your fucking lips because you’re too busy gawking, kind of good.

  Get it together, Six! Stop being such a pervert!

  I tried to snap myself out of it, but Lord Almighty, it was hard.

  That’s what she said.

  Holy moly. What was wrong with me? I felt like I’d acquired brain damage somewhere along the way.

  My playlist was no fucking help. It’d switched from Shania to Lil’ Kim and 50 Cent, and they were so right about the magic stick.

  With a back-and-forth swivel of my head, I shook myself out of the trance and found the strength to discreetly slip out of the magical set of doors that had somehow led me to the Penis Promised Land.

  Quiet as mouse and ass fictionally on fire, I moved like my life depended on it.

  Once I’d cleared the exit and didn’t hear any commotion behind me, I rested my back against the opposite wall and tried to slow my erratic breaths. All the while, my heart attempted to climb out of my body at the speed of a race car.

  What in the hell had just happened?

  Surely, Georgia Brooks hadn’t meant to send me into the fucking locker room…? The bit about finding the two big balls had been nothing more than a Freudian slip.

  I took my earbuds out of my ears and pulled my cell phone out of my pocket.

  One more glance at her email and I realized where I’d gone wrong. I’d taken a left instead of a right.

  With a hand to my chest, I tried to calm myself down.

  Holy hell. That was not something I’d planned on seeing today.

  I mean, I hadn’t minded it one flipping bit, but the stress that came from stealing glances at the Mavericks’ dicks was nearly too much to bear.

  But cripes…the urge to share was strong.

  I need to tell the girls.

  Technically, I still had twenty minutes until Georgia would get here.

  Well, not here, but in the actual spot where I should’ve gone in the first place.

  Needless to say, I had some time on my hands, and I needed to use that time to cleanse myself of my penis-seeking sins.

  After a brief fight with the door that had gotten me into this mess in the first place, I squeezed my way back out and stumbled into the small ladies’ restroom at the opposite end of the hall.

  I checked the stalls with little to no shame, bending at the hips to look under the doors and shatter any and all privacy of any people I might find. Luckily, there wasn’t an overpopulation of women in Mavericks Stadium on a Friday, and I moved back to the door and locked it.

  Phone out of my pocket, I pulled up the YouCam app, but instead of logging in to my public account that had millions of followers, I logged in to my private account—the account only shared with my two best girlfriends, Samantha and Everly.

  We’d started private YouCam accounts many moons ago when all three of us had left our hometown of San Diego to head to various colleges across the country.

  It was the best way to keep in touch with each other’s lives without having to spend hours typing out rambling emails or making trips to the post office for stamps. Letters were the way of the past, and videos were the future. At least, as my entire survival depended on the pay I made from people watching my videos, I certainly hoped so.

  Several times a week, we’d upload short videos with updates, and when shit went down and we needed urgent advice, we’d ramble and vent our dilemmas to each other via camera.

  One tap to the live video option for @MySixCents, I rambled into the camera of my phone.

  “Holy fucking shit, I just saw the Mavericks’ dicks. So many dicks. Like, they were everywhere. Everywhere, I tell you!”

  Lucky for me, my girls were all ears. They must’ve seen my live notification and logged in right away.

  Sammy was the first to comment.

  @SammySays: WHAT?

  Then Everly followed suit a few seconds later.

  @EverlyAfter: What is happening right now? Why are you rambling about dicks?

  Eyes serious, I nodded. “Guys, I accidentally walked into the freaking New York Mavericks’ locker room. And I saw everything. It was like…I took a wrong turn and then BAM! Penis party.”

  @SammySays: DID THEY SEE YOU?

  @EverlyAfter: Oh. My. God.

  “No. No one saw me. I dropped it like it was hot and hid behind a big-ass cart of clean towels. And, seriously? It probably shouldn’t be that easy to get inside their locker room….”

  @EverlyAfter: Well, they probably feel like the people they give security passes to won’t be wandering around, trying to catch glimpses of the players naked.

  “I wasn’t trying to do that! It was an accident!”

  @SammySays: Just answer us this, how long did you stay in there?

  “I don’t know…not that long…”

  Way too long.

  @EverlyAfter: LIAR.

  “Okay…so…I hung around for a bit, but that was only because Sean Phillips was in there.” My cheeks flushed ruby red at the erotic visuals already stocked away in my brain, and I had to fan myself with my free hand. “And…like…I have no words….”

  @SammySays: That good?

  I nodded again. “That fucking good.”

  @EverlyAfter: Damn, girl. I’m a little jealous.

  I grinned and preened. “As you should be. I just randomly stumbled through magic doors that apparently led to some alternate universe where you get to stare at hot naked guys for as long as you want, and they don’t even notice you.”

  @SammySays: Aren’t you supposed to be meeting with them soon?

  I glanced at the clock on my phone and saw I only had five minutes until I needed to meet Georgia Brooks.

  “Shit. Yeah,” I muttered. “I better go so I’m not late, but I just had to tell someone about the things I just saw. It was nuts. Literally.”

  @EverlyAfter: Good luck, girl! You’ll be awesome!

  @SammySays: And if you get nervous, just imagine them naked…

  I giggled at that. “Yeah. Imagine them naked. That definitely won’t be a problem now.”

  The door to the meeting room swung open, and the roar of noise only a room full of rowdy football players could produce quieted to a rumble.

  Wes Lancaster, owner of our team, the New York Mavericks, and Georgia Brooks, head of marketing, were walking single file, and the look on Mr. Lancaster’s face said our clever, quirky promoter had talked him into something he regretted once again.

  Quite the opposite, the look on Georgia’s face said I was going to find it entirely too amusing.

  I nudged Cam Mitchell’s elbow, and he startled in the seat next to me.

  “What do you think she has us doing now?”

  He smiled. “Hopefully the adult version of the Miss Teen USA Pageant.”

  About two years ago, we’d all headed to the Bahamas to judge a beauty pageant in the name of marketing and promotion, and it had been a shitshow to say the very least.

  A group of grown-ass men paired with teenage beauty queens? Yeah, that event had been about as ridiculous as one might assume on the idea alone.

  I chuckled and shook my head at Cam’s libido.

  No doubt mine was stronger than his, but I exercised it by using it—not talking about it.

  “By the look on Mr. L’s face, it seems more like Cirque du Soleil.”

  Cam frowned. “I hope not. I’m definitely not delicate enough to fling myself around.”

  Quinn Bailey, our quarterback and one of my best friends, laughed from his seat on the other side of Cam.

  “Yeah, right, Cammy. Delicate is your specialty.”

  “Shut up—”

  A sharp whistle rang out just as Cam was gearing up to fight back. I patted his shoulder patronizingly but turned my attention to the
front. Mr. Lancaster was glaring at us, and Georgia was smirking.

  Basically, things seemed to be right on track. Still, I was employed by the guy, so I did my best impression of contrite, clearing my throat to rid it of any lingering chuckles. “Sorry for the disruption, Mr. L.”

  He didn’t look particularly convinced, but he wasn’t calling me down to fire me either. I counted it as a win.

  Any whispers hanging in the air vanished, and actual silence fell over the room.

  “All right,” Mr. L started. “I know you’re all wondering what we’ve brought you in for today, and no, it’s not another seminar on social media.”

  A small cheer rang out from the front of the room, and Georgia had to tuck her chin to hide her smile. As best friends with my sister Cassie, Georgia always had a higher tolerance for our bullshit than Wes did. After all, she’d spent nearly the entirety of her friendship with my crazy fucking sister training for it.

  Mr. L cut his glare to the vicinity of the sound, and all exuberance died. I smiled.

  “However,” he went on, “it does have to do with social media and a series of vlogs featuring the team with a popular up-and-coming blogger, so a quick recap of the rules wouldn’t be amiss.” He surveyed the room cautiously, and as he got a good look at all of our faces, his expression turned gloomy once again. He didn’t trust us not to turn whatever this was into a fucking cluster—not even a little.

  Knowing what went on in the locker room on a daily basis, I couldn’t blame him. We were all a bunch of vagrants.

  With a jerk of his head, he stepped back and opened the floor to Georgia. Some of the newer guys sat forward in their seats, eager to listen to our very pretty Director of Marketing speak.

  I rolled my eyes and looked to Quinn. We both knew Kline Brooks, billionaire and husband to the fair Mrs. Brooks, and none of these little bullshitters stood a chance.

  As professional football players, we liked to think we made good money. The kind that held allure and attracted women when we wanted it to. The kind we could afford to blow on jewelry or a fancy meal in the name of impressing a woman.

  But we didn’t make jack shit compared to the man Georgia Brooks had legally hooked her star to, and it was funny to watch little rookie, puppy-dog players who had no clue.

  “Okay, guys. I know we’ve gone over this a lot,” Georgia said, working the room by pacing back and forth and smiling into each of our faces before turning a brief, frustrated glance over her shoulder. It was obvious and comical, and its intention was clear—to tell Wes Lancaster, boss or not, she thought having her talk about this again was bullshit.

  “But let’s just go over the basics again.” Still, he was the boss. “No inappropriate comments, no touching, no flirting, and absolutely no sexual harassment. Please, only discuss professional details that have been cleared for discussion, and remember the golden rule I’ve taught you.”

  She put her hand to her ear to indicate we should supply it, and we all responded dutifully. “Always assume your grandmother is watching while at Sunday worship with a member of the clergy.”

  She clapped her hands excitedly. “Exactly! I’m so glad you’ve all been paying attention. With that, I think we’re ready to bring in our guest, a woman you’ll be working closely with for the next eight weeks…Miss Six Malone!”

  Wes moved to the door and opened it, holding it open gallantly as the woman in question stepped inside.

  Pint-sized and packing a smile, Six Malone bounded inside with the energy of a toddler and the body of a woman. A really fucking tiny woman.

  Her skin was a smooth, light brown, and her hair stuck out from her head so far it rivaled the length of her short legs. It curled and twisted, ending in perfect spiral ringlets, and the amber flecks in her chocolate-brown eyes shone noticeably despite the distance between us.

  A new kind of silence fell over the room as her special something captivated us all immediately.

  “Hi, everyone!” she greeted, the corners of her mouth nearly up to her ears.

  The more I studied her eyes, the more I noticed how enormous they were. Her features were all that way, actually—bold and beautiful and large. They’d been told her face was their canvas to fill, and they were fighting valiantly to do it, but the job was virtually impossible.

  She was petite, especially from up here in the fifteenth row of theater seating, and I wondered lightheartedly if she was actually small enough to fit in my pocket or if the huge room full of unnaturally big men made it feel that way.

  “I’m so, so excited for this opportunity, and I’m hoping you’ll all view it with the fun and wonder that I do. This could really be something, and I’m going to need your help to make it that way. If not, I’m going to need some of your money to pay my rent.”

  A ripple of chuckles traveled up from the bottom of the room like a visible wave of sound.

  I glanced at the faces around me, wondering if this weird buzz she made me feel was widespread. Seemingly, it was. Smiles abounded, and men who never listened looked to be on the edge of their seats. Immediately, a spark of jealousy flashed in my gut and triggered some unease—I had absolutely no fucking reason to feel anything but annoyed by this woman. All she was doing was adding hours to my already busy schedule.

  But I didn’t feel aggravated at all. Quite the opposite, really.

  “Now, I know your boss wants you to be on your best behavior, and I totally respect that.” She glanced to Wes with a practiced smile before turning back to us and turning it into a real one. “But bad behavior gets more views. So, let’s do that.”

  My eyebrows shot up as a bark of surprise filtered through the fifty-three men in the room and slapped Mr. Lancaster into displeasure. Georgia laughed outright, grabbing Wes by the arm and pulling him back. I wasn’t sure what he had intended to do—maul her?

  “Kidding, kidding,” Six said immediately, sensing the room’s descent into downright hysteria and the impending risk to her physical safety. “But, seriously, don’t be too boring, okay? If you’re playful, be it. If you’re a big joke maker, tell me some. If you like to collect dolls, I’m officially afraid, but I’m almost certain we’ll get some attention out of that.”

  I raised my hand before I even knew I was doing it. I didn’t know that I’d even spoken in the last dozen team meetings, but something about Six turned me chatty.

  I just hoped it wasn’t a trend.

  “What about you?” I asked without waiting for her to call on me, my voice echoing in the cavernous space. A whoosh of sound bloomed as all of the heads in the room swung to find me.

  “Excuse me?” she replied, unsure what I was asking.

  “What are you into?”

  She didn’t even hesitate. “Being funny and having fun—not the same thing, by the way.”

  I smiled my sexiest smile—the one that always worked on women—and her eyes narrowed. I figured she was squinting to see me better. I was far away, after all.

  “How interesting. I’m into having fun too.”

  “Sean,” Georgia warned, and Mr. Lancaster sank his head in his hands. The rest of the room dissolved into hollers and hoots. Six’s calculating eyes never left mine.

  “Okay,” she said, shockingly loud enough to be heard above the chaos, her eyes never leaving mine. “We’ll get started doing our individual introductory interviews, and I’ll need you guys in your uniform shirts for these. We’ll start with QB himself. And the rest of you…I’ll see you soon.”

  Oh yes, Six Malone… You sure will.

  A sea of burly men exited the meeting room, and I caught the eyes of my favorite camera guy and vlog partner in crime, Joe, standing at the entrance, his wide, captivated eyes watching each and every player leave the room in fascination.

  If I was excited about filming the Mavericks, Joe was one rush of excitement away from defying gravity and rocketing himself right into space.

  With amusement cresting my lips up at the corners, I walked over toward him and had t
o tap him on the shoulder with my index finger before he even noticed I was there.

  “Oh, hey!” he shouted toward me.

  We were three feet away from each other.

  I had to open my mouth like a gulping fish to stanch the flow of ringing pounding against my eardrum.

  In his defense, the Mavericks football team was making their presence known with loud chatter and boisterous posturing I supposed was common of men of their stature as they dispersed.

  My grin grew wider. “Be careful, Joe,” I whispered. “Your inner fanboy is showing. Any second, I fear you might pull out a Sharpie and some glitter from your pocket and start making an I Heart the Mavericks sign.”

  “Smartass.” He shoved me playfully with his hip.

  I laughed and looked down at the black messenger bags sitting beside his feet. “Got the goods?”

  “If by goods, you mean video equipment, then yes, I have most of it. Barry and the rest of the motley crew are toting the other shit into the stadium as we speak.”

  “Fantastic.” I glanced down toward the opposite end of the hall and watched in fascination as some of the players started to file back into that magical place known as their locker room. And, trust me, it took a whole lot of willpower to stop my brain from wandering toward visions of man candy land.

  Now is not the time for penis pondering, Six.

  I cleared my throat and focused on Joe. “Player interviews,” I declared. “Let’s find a nice, quiet place to set up. I don’t think there’s much background shit going on today, but Quinn Bailey should be a pretty good leadoff on his own. But, hey, if you can find a secret room of strippers or something, by all means, ditch my request for quiet and fill the background with classic lap dance song choices like ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’ or ‘Hot for Teacher.’”

  Not that I’d been to a lot of strip clubs, but I’d seen Varsity Blues, so basically, I was an expert in stripper music selections.