Page 36 of Whiskey Wednesdays
He grinned. “Are you still set against hooking up with a player?”
“Wyatt, do you have a medical issue?”
He straightened up. “Well, darling, I’ve got this ache in my dick here–”
Titus growled from the ice tub. “Tell me you did not just fucking say that to her.”
Wyatt’s head jerked to the corner where Titus sat with his eyes closed, submerged up to his shoulders in the tub.
Wyatt folded his arms. “Hey, man. I didn’t know you were here.”
Titus opened an eye and looked at him. “If you don’t need medical treatment then get the fuck out.”
Wyatt was either stupid or crazy. Probably both. “You marking her, Tremblay?”
From the team roster, I knew Tremblay was Titus’s last name.
Titus sighed, sat up, and opened both eyes. “You make it sound like I’m a dog who’s going to piss on her leg.”
Wyatt straightened. “You know what I mean.”
Setting my laptop on the counter, I folded my arms. “Wyatt, quit being stupid. I’m not interested, and this is my livelihood you’re messing with.”
He reared back. “You’ve been flirting with me since you got here. I’m getting mixed signals.”
“You’re joking me, right? I’ve told you exactly four times since my first day I won’t get involved with any players. And this is the second time I’ve asked you not to use a term of endearment.”
Titus stood up, water cascading down his chest. I had to admit, his body was hard and muscular, and his scars only added to the package. But I considered Titus my friend, and I didn’t think we saw each other that way.
Grabbing two towels off the counter, I threw them at Titus, who caught them easily and started drying his chest off. Wyatt watched us with narrowed eyes.
I tried again. “You need to take a hint. You wouldn’t be such a bad guy if you weren’t so… smarmy sometimes.”
Titus chuckled, and it sounded rusty. “Smarmy. That’s the perfect fucking word.”
Wyatt glared at Titus. “I’ve heard you called worse than that.”
Titus shrugged, completely unaffected. “She’s not mine to piss on, but I’d watch yourself if I were you.”
“Really? Why’s that?” Wyatt asked.
“McCoy would rip your fucking head off if he knew you were saying shit like that to her. It’s not my career though.”
Wyatt straightened. “I know about McCoy. And you. You’re both messed up, deviant fuckers.”
I’d had enough. “Oh for the love of–I’m not a fire hydrant, for God's sake. No one’s going to piss on me. Or mark me. And we’re all messed up in some way.” I picked up my laptop. “Now, do you have a medical issue I can help you with? If not, I’m sure you’re busy.” I couldn’t tell him to get the fuck out like Titus had done. But I wanted to.
Titus stripped off his compression shorts. Then he threw the wet towel in the hamper while I carefully studied my laptop.
Wyatt watched us for a few seconds. “Isa, you need to watch yourself with these two. And McCoy’s nickname, The Hammer? It isn’t just from hockey.” He turned and strode out.
If Wyatt thought his warning was going to scare me off, he didn’t know me very well. I tried not to think about why Connor’s nickname was The Hammer off the ice too, and looked back down at my laptop.
Titus shook his head and gathered up his clothes. “He’s young and stupid. I hope he grows out of it.”
“Me too.” I set my laptop down again. “Why did you bring Connor up? We’re not even friends.”
Titus studied me. “Jackson told me what happened with Noah. He also said he’s seen you and McCoy together. You’re not stupid.”
