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The Boys 'Round Here

Two

James darkened Meghan’s doorway, taking up the entire space with his tall, lanky frame. He wore a t-shirt and long shorts with sneakers. She turned toward the sound of his knock.

“Is that my shirt?” she asked.

“No.”

“Is this a plea for me to do your laundry since you’re obviously shrinking things?”

He looked down at his faded, faux-retro Blue Jays t-shirt. “Too small?”

Meghan shook her head. For such a baller, James was secretly self-conscious and doubled checked himself constantly. In truth he looked great - wide torso, tight waist, strong arms with the last few inches of a tattoo showing beneath the sleeve. She walked up and tugged at the bottom hem, which had risen above his waistband when he leaned against the door. The backs of her fingers brushed his stomach, just barely, and he held his breath.

“You’re hot, James.”

He could have kissed her. He often wondered why he didn’t. She always turned down his joking advances, but James had never tried in earnest to win Meghan over. He never had to try that hard with anyone these days. James took the path of least resistance, which generally included short skirts and virtually nothing underneath. Meghan would be a lot more work than any girl he’d meet tonight. And a lot more worth it.

James let his eye roam suggestively over Meghan’s body from his excellent, down-shirt vantage point. He smiled, a typically wolfish grin full of sass and sex. “And you. Tavares will be jerking off in the bathroom all night.”

“Be nice!”

“What? I’m nice! I stroke ‘em out thinking about you all the time.”

Meghan slapped his side. “You are a pig.”

James wrapped his arms around her, pinning her so she couldn’t hit him again. “You are correct, my dear.”
____

They parked James’ black Mercedes next to Steven’s black Mercedes in the parking lot of the bar.

“Awww, his-and-hers cars,” Meghan said. James made a show of opening the door for her, then draped an arm across her shoulders as they walked inside. He nodded to the doorman, who no longer asked for their IDs.

It took two seconds to pick out Steven’s blond head and the gaggle of hopeful girls slowly encroaching on the table he occupied. Three empty beers were on the table but only one other body, belonging to their friend Dan. James broke through the line of girls and every head turned. They took in James at one glance like a tall drink of water, then narrowed their eyes at the girl tucked under his arm.

“I hate you,” Meghan hissed.

“So the threesome is definitely out?” he asked.

Meghan detached herself from James’ side and made a point of hugging Steven and Dan. She didn’t want to get knifed in the bathroom by an upstart puckbunny. With a flourish, she left them to hold their own and headed for the bar.

The place was crowded with happy people enjoying the summer and warmth. Tank tops and shorts were de rigeur this time of year in Toronto. Meghan wove between tables and ducked behind some girls taking a selfie. Bodies were two deep at the bar so she shouldered into an empty space.

“Hey!”

John thought maybe he had wished Meghan into existence: he’d just been thinking about her, wondering when she would arrive, if he should get her a drink, what she would want. Then he blinked and she was there: all five feet nine of her in a white v-neck t-shirt and bright pink shorts. Her hair was long and loose, eyes lined with just a hint of black so they flashed in the low lightning.

“Hi John.” Meghan couldn’t help it, she slid her hand up his bicep to squeeze in next to him. He wore a dark green polo and khaki shorts, his hair half-styled but losing the battle. That quick, shy smile lit up his handsome face. She felt a little skip of breath. His arm flexed in her grip as he slid it behind her, until his hand was at the small of her back. Just like that he made room for her in the crowd. John leaned in to speak.

“You look great,” he said in that low bedroom voice that rolled across her skin. Warmth bled through his touch at her back, his arm around her side, his chest in front of her. Meghan tipped her face up and suddenly another kiss was imminent. She felt it happening. This didn’t seem like John’s style, to grab a girl he barely knew and kiss her in front of an audience. Somewhere behind them James was probably doing exactly that. Meghan’s body betrayed her; a drop of desire spilled between her legs, wetting her panties.

John hadn’t meant to be so close, but there were people on every side. His instinct was to help her. Also to touch her, which felt incredible along every inch where their bodies met and right down to his toes. Her lips parted slightly, so close to his own, and his body roared to kiss her. Why would it do that? He didn’t just kiss people. She looked incredible, good enough to break any rule for.

“Well so far you’ve seen me working out and swimming, so I can’t say those were my best presentations,” she said, trying to get a handle on the situation.

John was grateful for the help. “So far I’ve seen you sweaty and almost naked, so I think you’re wrong.”

He dropped his arm at the same time she stepped back, giving each other a tiny buffer zone. John busied himself waving down the bartender and ordering drinks. Meghan looked at the faces around them, saw how many were eyeing John. He was famous here, at least as much as James. He passed back two beers and she moved outside the crush of people, John right on her heels.

“There you are,” James said, slapping John’s shoulder but looking at Meghan. “Thought you might be in the bathroom.”

Drinks went around, were emptied and refilled. Meghan claimed a stool between Dan and Steven, John across the table. She didn’t want to be next to him after what nearly happened at the bar. She wasn’t even sure what it had nearly been. All Meghan knew was that she thought about kissing John - again - and that joke was only funny once. If she did it again, she would have to mean it.

She might have meant it.

Taking a long sip of beer gave John an excuse to watch Meghan over the rim of his glass. She’d come so easily into his arms, no protest or hesitation. That confused him. It was almost like she wanted it to happen when clearly he’d been the one touching and pulling and holding. Any guy in this place would reach for her like that. How many would she stay close to?

A few of Steven’s friends arrived and he introduced them around. John was part of their conversation, mostly about hockey, but no one really asked him anything. Steven was a better speaker anyway, and James was funnier. Some girls approached, then a few more until they had quite a group of people around a few tables.

Meghan noticed that John was quiet. He got farther away as more people moved into their space. Steven’s friends acknowledged his Hart Trophy nomination and a couple of the girls either recognized him or they could smell money. Meghan watched as he turned them down so politely they probably forgot suggesting whatever it was girls like that suggested to guys like John. She slipped off to the bathroom and when she returned, someone from the group had taken her seat. Meghan stepped up behind John, who was drinking his beer and listening to other people talk. She put a hand on his shoulder.

“Here, have my seat,” he started to get up.

“No no. Stop being so polite, it confuses me!” Meghan leaned in and said quietly, “This is boring.”

John nodded.

“Any ideas?”

John shook his head no. In truth he had a lot of ideas but none involved staying in the bar or in public. He didn’t think Meghan was asking about that kind of idea.

Meghan’s face was alongside John’s, close enough to whisper. She lifted her eyes to find James watching her carefully. His jaw tightened.

I want to, she was thinking.

Don’t you fucking dare, James seemed to be transmitting.

A girl came up, all boobs and giggles, and moved right in against James. James arched an eyebrow in challenge. Meghan made a face. If that girl was the competition, she didn’t want to win. Without taking her eyes of James, she whispered to John.

“I have an idea. Pick a number from one to three.”

That wasn’t much of a choice. “One,” John said.

Meghan pulled him up from the chair. “Okay. Let’s dance.”

Before John knew it, he was following her through the maze of people to the makeshift dance floor at the back. He didn’t dance if he could help it, but her fingers were laced into his and so he really couldn’t help himself at all. Random Top 40 music had been playing all night. Now he realized it was Rhianna, one of the songs they always played at the rink during TV timeouts.

Meghan found room between some other moving bodies. She liked this song. Without getting too close to John she started moving her hips and feet. Dancing came naturally to her, but judging by the look on John’s face he didn’t have the same grace. He moved gamely, doing a pretty good job with the rhythm while still managing to look totally out of his element.

He was dancing because she asked him to. Meghan had a feeling if she asked him to mow her lawn or help unclog every drain in her house, John would say yes then show up five minutes early. The song changed and they kept moving. When she looked up, John was smiling.
____

“I wanna dance.”

The girl was annoying, or maybe James just wasn’t giving her a chance. He felt off his game tonight, like he’d rather be talking to the boys than bouncing this piece in his lap.

“We’re not really the dancing crowd,” he said.

“Your friend is out there,” she tried.

“Who?” James asked absentmindedly, trying to keep in a different conversation going on nearby.

“The nerdy one with the girlfriend.”

Boom. James swung around, scanning the group and counting heads. Sure enough he came up two short. What the fuck? John had been a goober all day, acting like he’d never seen a chick in a bikini. James had not expected Meghan to care, or worse, to want it. That would not be okay with this arrangement. He grabbed the girl’s wrist and plowed toward the dance floor.

It took a minute to make his way through, and another minute to process what he was seeing. Meghan and John were dancing. They weren’t even touching. John leaned in to say something, Meghan laughed, then they both stepped back as if afraid of being busted by the principal at prom. James found this ridiculous. No one danced because they liked it - no guy at least. They danced because it was an excuse to cop a feel, to take a night to the next level. It wasn’t just meant to be fun.

“Hey,” John said as James barrelled up. Neal’s jaw was rigid, his expression hard to read.

As if to prove this thoughts right, James’ date slid right up into his lap. Her thigh went between his, her arms around his neck. He was practically standing still and she was warming up to use him as a stripper pole.

John had the urge to hold Meghan again, the way he had at the bar. Something about other people getting too close and the unfriendly look of James’ face made John want to shield her. That and he just wanted to touch her again. It would certainly seem tame compared to the blond humping Neal’s leg. That girl was pretty but her dress was too short and too tight, trying too hard. By contrast, in her simple shorts and t-shirt, Meghan looked like a ray of light. John edged a bit closer and their arms brushed.

“James!” Meghan said, noticing him for the first time. She glanced at the girl who was already rounding second base and smirked. That was James’ type: no work, all play. Meghan wondered if she’d see this girl in the morning.

Another five songs played. They danced kind of as a group - John and Meghan not touching, James watching them and his date ignoring anything that wasn’t between Neal’s knees and his mouth. When it became clear that James wasn’t going to make out with her for all of Whitby to see, she started getting a little cranky. Her hands started dipping lower and her grinding became more sloppy. Meghan caught John’s eye and tipped her head toward the bar. He recognized the international sign language for escape.

“I could use a drink!” he said loudly.

Meghan fanned herself dramatically. “God, me too! See you guys later!”

They pressed through the people, ending up at the very corner of the bar. John tried waiting, then waving, then wishing for the bartender and was soundly ignored.

“Let me try,” Meghan said. She squeezed past her backside brushing hard against his frontside.

There was no room for John to step away, so he put one hand against the bar on either side of Meghan, made what space he could and leaned against her. Her shampoo smelled like flowers, or maybe it was perfume. It could have been lotion from after her shower, like she’d joked about with Steven at the pool. He better not have really helped her put it on. The idea of her in the bathroom, one foot up on the side of the tub, rubbing something delicious-smelling into her soft, clean skin...

Stop stop stop, John told himself before his brain got to the part where she was naked. It was like slamming on the brakes and hoping to run out of inertia before a crash. Meghan was right here, practically in his arms, and he couldn’t be....

“Oof,” he gasped as she bumped back against him. Was he daydreaming in 3D?

“Sorry,” Meghan briefly wondered why John looked cross-eyed. “I’m not getting anywhere either.”

She shimmied back another inch, right against John’s crotch, and he couldn’t possibly imagine how that would help her get a drink but it might get her an engagement ring if she kept it up. Then he realized she was leaning forward, forearms were on the bar, pushing her boobs up. Meghan tugged the v-neck of her t-shirt down and John was very disappointed he couldn’t see what she was showing the bartender. He’d have to settle for her ass in his lap.

A nervous giggle bubbled up in his throat. John tried to cover it by asking, “Does that work?”

Meghan twisted back against John’s fly. “Is that a roll of quarters in your pocket?”

John grabbed her waist with both hands, separating them by an inch. “I’m sorry, I’m not....”

“I’m kidding!” Megan cried. “Yes, this works. Or it used to. If it doesn’t I’ll be kinda disappointed!”

He was blushing but what the hell. She wasn’t looking. John slowly let go of Meghan’s waist and let her weight settle against him. It wasn’t bad. And he wasn’t worked up - yet. Nothing to be ashamed of.

“It would work on any guy here,” he said, keeping the mood light.

“So... not quarters then?”

Just as John wanted to die, the bartender arrived. He bypassed a lot of people to do it and helped himself to a long, slow look down Meghan’s shirt. She just smiled and cooed her order to him. The guy never looked past her. As soon as he turned toward the taps, Meghan’s hand came back and slapped John’s wrist - he didn’t realize he was holding her side really tightly.

“Oh, sorry! I’m sorry!” He let go.

“It’s okay.” She stood up straight, taking her body away from his and leaving empty space. But she did turn partway and fix her shirt. “Quit gripping the stick so hard, Tavares.”

There was a dirty joke there but John let it pass. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

Meghan almost laughed. Not because John was kidding or she thought he was dumb, but because he was so damned sweet. She’s basically flashed a guy to get them drinks and John wanted to defend her honor. His face was serious - those dark eyes looking right back at her from under thick, straight brows. Meghan turned the rest of the way and pushed her hand up under the sleeve of his shirt again.

Just like in the pool and earlier at the bar, she felt a kiss coming. John never took his gaze from her, but he licked his bottom lip so gently that her knees wobbled. He felt it too. Only this time he looked ready to initiate.

“Drinks!” came the shout from behind.

Meghan wheeled around. Her heart was fluttering. Before she could even think what to do next, John’s hand appeared holding a twenty dollar bill. The bartender took it and finally looked past Meghan’s rack. And stopped dead.

“Hey man,” he nodded at John.

“Hey,” John grumbled.

The bartender turned from John to Meghan then back to John. He put the money down on the bar. “Those are on the house.”

Meghan was holding the two beers so tightly she could have shattered the glasses. They’d been interrupted in mid-highly-likely-kiss-potential. What would she find when she turned around?

John wanted time to stop. He didn’t want to get one more second away from the second that he almost kissed Meghan. He thought maybe she had wanted him to. Why did he say he didn’t like the bartender? All she did was show a little cleavage - the oldest trick in the book. It was fine when she bumped her ass into his lap but one look from another dude and John turned into an overprotective dad. He didn’t want Meghan to think he was uptight. And he certainly had no place being jealous. Hell, she slept across the hall from James - a random bartender was the least of his worries.

But he’d tasted it. Her eyes had dropped to his mouth and those perfect pink lips had parted in anticipation, John was sure of it. Just like the kiss at the gym, it would start soft and slow. Only John wouldn’t stop.

Okay, NOW it’s not a roll of quarters, he thought. He was being rude and gross and lecherous. The situation called for a desperate attempt at comedy.

“Me: one; your boobs: zero,” he joked.
Meghan’s mouth fell open. “Why I never!” she fake-yelled. Thank God he was cracking a joke, because if John had been waiting for her with that let-me-save-you look on his face she would have kissed him for sure. Now the tension was broken.

“Next time I’m only giving him a ten,” he said in a voice full of relief.

She flipped her hair back. “You’re not that cute, you know.”

John smiled. “Says the girl who kissed me.”
____

Notes

Faster -than-usual chapter two because I'm off on vacation tomorrow. More next week!

Comments

Just finished this story and wanted to say that you're an incredible writer. :)
I think you'd write a great MDZ story btw.

I'm so sad that it's over. ): But thank you for spending so much time and effort to write something so wonderful!

OMGEmilyGrace OMGEmilyGrace
4/7/14

Omg poor James :(

hockeywife hockeywife
2/27/14

This story is amazing. My favorite. I love it so much

racheal racheal
2/10/14

I love this story so much!!!

RedWingsGirl2 RedWingsGirl2
1/12/14