Oakley must have finally caught on that I wasn’t amused, because a slight sense of clarity poked through his drunken haze. “What was your name again?” he asked.

I sighed in annoyance while peering around the room. Other girls were glaring at me for hogging the prime real estate. “Amanda,” I replied. Yeah. He was definitely drunk. There was no way I was letting him go home with anyone tonight.

“Amanda,” he slurred. “How about you come home with me? I’ll let you ride my face until I’m drowning in your cum. Then”—he leaned closer to brush his whiskey lips against my ear—“I’ll fuck you until the entire city of Austin can hear your moans.”

Okay. Oakley Davis was a pro at dirty talk. My panties were like the San Marcos river, and my nipples stood at attention. Damn. Even drunk, he was a charmer.

Obviously, this wasn’t the right setting for a professional meeting. Right now, my only priority was getting Oakley home. “Sure,” I replied. My lack of enthusiasm made him pause. “I’d really, uh, like to be fucked, please,” I choked out awkwardly. A couple of people nearby snorted at my lame attempt to seduce him.

He chuckled. “I’ll order us an Uber to my place.”

He pulled his phone from his pocket and struggled to unlock it. I memorized the code.

6969

What a fucking tool.

“One more shot before the road?” I asked with a grin while handing him a glass.

“Bottoms up!” he slurred, tossing it back.

With any luck, he’d be passed out before we even got to his place.

4

Oakley was snoring. I stared at him like a fucking creeper while he slept. His shirt was crumpled on the bed next to him, and his pants were halfway off, leaving his skin-tight black boxer briefs on display. My eyes lingered on the tight bulge that looked like it was about to tear through the fabric. I allowed myself to indulge in just a moment of fantasizing about what I saw during towel-gate on his Insta yesterday. Hell, it was better than indulging in that double chocolate caramel brownie. Right?

The sun hadn’t even risen yet, but I knew we only had a few minutes until he needed to get up and head to practice. It was time to snap out of it. Oakley had an early morning practice, and he was going to make it if I had to drag him there myself. “Rise and shine, princess,” I called out in a cheery tone.

I waited. And waited. Nothing. Oakley didn’t even stop snoring. The steady rise and fall of his chest just annoyed me. I walked over to the bed that we definitely did not share last night and timidly poked him. Again, nothing.

Come on, Amanda. You’re waking up a football player, not playing Jenga. “Oakley, get up,” I said more firmly as I shook him awake.