Rate a Date by Monica Murphy Page 0,3

teammate Clayton frowns at me. There’s a pretty girl with giant tits hanging all over him, trying to whisper in his ear, but he’s not even paying her any mind.

This is typical. We’re used to it.

“I said…” I lean in closer to him, my face practically in his. “I’m. So. Over. This.”

Clayton leans back, his expression incredulous, the woman petting his head like he’s a dog. “Oh, come on. Are you serious? Look where we’re at. Look who we are. You’re bound to find someone to, uh, spend a little time with.”

He raises his brows and strokes his chin for emphasis.

Clay sounds like an egotistical asshole, but he’s right. We’re in the middle of the most popular nightclub downtown, and all the women in this place are circling our booth, looking for a way to get close to us.

I honestly don’t care.

“Yeah. No.” I shake my head. “Not interested.”

Clayton’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. “You’re not interested? Really?” The woman with the tits whispers something to him and he nods. Smiles. Calls her baby, strokes her bare thigh, but I can’t hear the rest.

The music just switched to another song, and I swear to God it got louder.

“What’s your problem?” he yells at me once the woman slides out of our booth, heading to the bathroom, I presume. “You not feeling well?”

Clayton hasn’t been on the grind as long as I have. You see, I’m a professional football player. And I play for the motherfuckin’ Raiders. Defensive line. We’re tough as hell, we don’t take any shit, but we sucked. Got into the playoffs the first two seasons I was with the team before we started getting our asses kicked on the regular. It’s awful. A real mood killer.

The women keep coming around, though, so that’s cool.

Clayton is our new pretty boy quarterback. One season in and we’ve turned ourselves around. We even made the playoffs—first time we’ve done that in a few years.

I like Clayton. We’ve become friends. We’re both single, and we both like to go out, have a few drinks, spend our time with beautiful women. It’s easy when we’re…us. Women always want a piece of us. We’re big. Muscular. Rich. Some of us are better looking than others—Clay and his billboard face, for instance—but looks don’t seem to matter to some of these women.

When I first started as a professional athlete, I was young, dumb and full of come. That’s what my grandpa always said. Just out of college, horny as fuck and with all sorts of money filling my pockets, I was down for the one-night stand. The casual hookup. Most of the women I met were feeling my vibe. They knew what the score was. I was blown away that they threw themselves so easily at me—I’m not what they call classically handsome. But I can hold my own, I’m at my athletic prime, and I have a decent-sized dick and a skilled tongue, so yeah. I guess I was considered a catch.

I figured out pretty fast that so many of them were just looking to get their hooks in us. In me. They’re just chasing the dream. And their dream is to find a successful professional athlete to keep them in extensions, Chanel bags and Range Rovers for the rest of their lives.

No thanks.

“Yo, Anderson. Answer me. You feeling okay or what?” Clayton yells, knocking me out of my thoughts.

I blink at him, noting the amused gleam in his eyes. This guy. He gets a kick out of everything. It’s like he’s high on life. “I’m tired of dealing with these women,” I mutter, sounding completely put out.

Clay starts to laugh, shaking his head. “Dealing with these women? Are you serious right now? You can have free pussy whenever you want and you’re tired of it?”

“I’ve been getting free pussy longer than you have,” I remind him. “And yeah. I’m—bored. I can have this.” I wave my hand around. At the club, at the flock of women standing nearby, watching us with hungry eyes. “But I want something real.”

I press my palm against my chest, like some sort of sap, and Clay rolls his eyes. I’d probably do the same thing if he said that to me.

“This is real, bro. This is as real as it gets.” Clay points at me. “There are women everywhere. And we can have any of them. They say the right things, we say the right things, and next thing we know, we’re all snug as