One

Shepard

Around these parts, I’m a king.

That’s not me being cocky; I’m just being realistic.

No matter where I go, people stare. They look at me like a fucking celebrity or some shit. Pictures, my autograph—begged for. People go out of their way to gain my attention, even if only for a moment—especially women.

In fact, it’s about to happen right now.

At 10:30 PM on a Wednesday night in the middle of Smart Shoppe, aisle three.

I see the thirst in her eyes the moment I turn the corner. Her back snaps up straight when she notices me, a hungry grin stretching across her red-painted lips. She tosses her perfectly curled, long locks over her shoulder as she forms her plan of attack.

She’s hot as fuck, I’ll give her that. She’s not quite what I normally go for in a girl, but I’m not one to say no to pussy.

It doesn’t hurt that she knows how to wear a pair of jeans like a second skin.

I bet her legs would look pretty damn great wrapped around me.

My lips—and dick—twitch at the thought.

She thinks that’s her cue and begins her approach, taking long, exaggerated steps toward me, her hips swaying back and forth as she moves closer.

“Hi.” Translation: You’re hot. “I’m Brandi, with an I.” Stripper name. “You’re Shep Clark, right?”

I try not to snort at her I’m so innocent act. She knows exactly who I am—everyone does.

Just like I know she wants me to take her back to my apartment and fuck her until the sun comes up.

Though I’ve sworn off meaningless flings, I’m considering it. It’s been over a month since I acquainted myself with anything other than my hand, and it’s getting old—quick.

“I watch all your games—you’re good.”

“I know.”

She takes a step closer and laughs. It’s one of those playful, slightly husky laughs girls do that don’t sound genuine.

Another step closer, our feet now touching.

Her fingers trail along the arm I have outstretched against the shelving. “I haven’t seen you on the field lately, though.” Her lips jut out in a frown. “What gives?”

I gnash my teeth together, jaw clenching tightly at the inquisition.

It’s true, I’m taking some time off from the game—but not by choice, just so we’re clear.

You get into one little bar fight, cause a measly couple thousand dollars’ worth of damage, and suddenly you’re “troubled” and “need a break”.

It’s bullshit.

“None of your business.”

She either doesn’t hear the bite in my tone or chooses to ignore it.

“It’s a shame, so much talent being wasted. But…” Her eyes flick to mine, another grin dancing on her lips.

They’re plump, kissable. I bet they’d look even better wrapped around my cock.

Based off the pulsing Shep Jr. does at the idea, I’d say he agrees.

She pushes onto her tiptoes, bringing her mouth to my ear. “Baseball isn’t the only thing you’re talented at, right?”

Fuck no, it isn’t.

I slide an arm around her waist, pulling her tight little body against mine.

She purrs—literally fucking purrs like a cat—at the move. I want to shove her away for that alone, but honestly, my dick is lonely.

“How about we get out of here?”

She giggles. “I’d like that, baby.”

Baby.

I stifle my groan at the pet name. I fucking hate pet names. To try to get myself in the mood a little more, I run my nose along her jaw, and she giggles.

I also hate giggling.

Good thing sex doesn’t have to involve talking. It’ll be a whole lot of moaning and orgasms, just like I like it.

“I know a—”

“Really, universe? Really?”

The words are muttered, but there’s no denying who is standing behind me, her cart mere inches from ramming into the back of me, and I’m sure that’s entirely on purpose.

My chest feels like it’s about to explode. It always does when she’s around.

It doesn’t matter the situation, doesn’t matter what insults she’s hurling my way—anytime Denver Andrews is near me, my attention is solely hers.

Like now.

Stripper Brandi doesn’t notice her, or the change in my demeanor. She continues to try to paw at me while I work to disentangle myself from her grasp, trying to escape because whatever this was going to be isn’t going to happen. I’ve lost all interest in going home with her.

Especially now that I’m reminded there’s so much more out there for me.

Like Denver.

The only good thing to come from my…leave of absence from baseball is coming back home. I knew Denver didn’t move after graduation, knew she’d still be here…knew we’d eventually run into one another.

I was counting on it, actually.

I have a lot to make up for, especially to Denny. I planned to seek her out, get her to forgive me—I just didn’t realize I’d be starting my I’m sorry for sucking so much ass apology tour tonight.

“Can you not have sex in the middle of the grocery store? It’s disgusting.”

I grin and spin toward the intruder, still holding on to Stripper Brandi for show.

“Is that jealousy I detect, Denver?”

“Your name is Denver? Like the state?”

Holy fuck. My standards are shit.

I drop my arm from around Stripper Brandi’s waist and take a step away from the stupidity, unable to handle it any longer.

“Look, Brandi with an I, it’s not gonna happen tonight.”

Harsh? Possibly, but I’ve done this enough times to know getting straight to the point is the only way I’ll be able to get a girl like Brandi to back off.

Her mouth falls open. She quickly slams it shut and rolls her shoulders back. “She can join. I don’t mind.”

“While that’s a lovely offer, Brenda,” Denver says, butchering her name on purpose, “that would be a hard pass from me. I’d rather peel my own toenails off than ever—and I mean ever—see Shep naked.”

I smirk at the vivid imagery. “Now, now, Denny, we both know the lie detector would determine that’s a lie.”

“You wish it was a lie, Slug.”

I grunt in distaste at the nickname, because she of all people knows how much I hate it, and I know what it means when she uses it.

“What are you even doing here, Andrews?”

“Grocery shopping. This is the grocery store, isn’t it? That’s what you’re supposed to do here—not other people.”

Stripper Brandi gasps at Denny’s words, and I can’t help but laugh.

She always did get right to the point. There was never any pussyfooting around with her, and it’s something I’ve always loved about her, even when I was supposed to be hating her.

“You have a point there,” I concede.

“She does?”

“She does,” Denny tells my…well, whatever Brandi is. Potential hook-up? Ex potential hook-up?

“Listen, Strip”—I catch myself at the last moment—“Brandi, like I said, it’s not going to work tonight.”

Her lips fall into a pout. Suddenly they don’t look as kissable as they once did.

And it’s all fucking Denny’s fault.

I glance over and can’t help but compare her to the girl I had plans to use as a distraction tonight.

It’s late, and we’re at the grocery store, yet Stripper Brandi is dressed to impress, right down to the studded boots on her feet.

Denny…well, she’s dressed all right, but it’s clear she isn’t trying to impress anyone with what she’s wearing.

She’s clad in bright teal yoga pants and a soft gray sweater hanging off one shoulder. Her dark hair is twisted into a messy knot, not an ounce of makeup is on her face, and with the way I can see her nipples straining against the thin cotton of her sweater, I’m fairly certain she isn’t wearing a bra either…and I’m not going to argue with that.

It’s simple, and she even looks a little homeless, yet I can’t stop my eyes from lingering on her. It’s not because of the homeless thing, either.

It’s simply Denny. It’s always been that way with her. No matter how much I want to, I can’t hate her the way she hates me.

Honestly, I never hated her at all.

“Can I at least give you my number?” Brandi asks, pulling my attention back to her.

I won’t use it, but… “Sure.”

She holds her hand out, waiting for my phone, but I know a whole hell of a lot better than to hand my precious over. When it finally dawns on her that I’m not going to give it to her, she digs into the oversized purse dangling off her arm and pulls out a wad of receipts and a pen. She quickly jots down digits I don’t plan to use and folds the scrap of paper, dragging this out longer than she needs to.

“I hope we can pick this back up…” Her eyes dart toward Denny. “Later tonight.”

“It’s after ten thirty—don’t you have school tomorrow?” Denny taunts.

Stripper Brandi huffs then stretches onto her tiptoes to press a kiss to my cheek. “I’ll be up.”