Shopping for a CEO's Baby (Shopping for a Billionaire Series Book 16), стр. 23
Neither of us is strong enough to throw the damn tire, but flipping it isn't out of range. Declan goes into a reverse somersault, hooks the soles of his feet on the thick tire edge, and kicks it off him as hard as possible.
It lands with a thick thump on my side of the floor, the edge brushing down my shin, leaving a black streak. When Dec stands, I see his arms have tire tracks on them. He looks like a tank ran over him.
“TIME OUT!” Vince shouts. “You idiots don't even know how to play tug of war right! What the hell did they teach you at that fancy prep school you went to? Needlepoint?”
Dec crouches, rights the tire on its end, and shoves as hard as possible at me while I'm turned toward Vince. The damn thing barrels at me and if I move the wrong way, I cross the line. As I leap into the narrow space I have left as an option, it grazes my bare shoulder, leaving behind a mark and the scent of rubber burning through me.
I grab the thing and send it right back. Dec's prepared, though, so it just hits the ropes and rebounds, halting next to him like a good, loyal pet.
“Douchebags,” old Jorg mutters. “You're ruining the floor!” Our eyes meet and his widen. I know exactly what he's thinking.
I'm the one who owns the place. This is on my dime.
“Do it right!” Gerald shouts, his voice holding enough command in it to make Declan and I give him twin looks. Dec sends the tire into the center again, the beast circling over and over like a kid's slowly spinning top until it flumps down.
And we begin again.
This time, I grab from the top, but Dec grabs from the bottom and the bastard outmaneuvers me, flipping the thing like I did, using my own trick against me.
And he ups the ante, flipping it so the thing ends up on its side, rolling right at me, my legs split, thighs engaged in a squat.
I get a face full of rubber and a sac massage all at once.
Have you ever wanted to kill someone? Really kill them? Watch the light drain out of their eyes, their flesh going limp, all the parts of their humanity draining out of them like water in a bathtub?
Me, neither.
But I'm so damn close right now.
“You are so dead!” I scream, standing and using a roundhouse kick to send the tire back to him, then running after it. I rip my lats and triceps to shreds as he dodges, but I change the course of the massive tire.
Running him over from behind.
“Anyone recording this? Because YouTube'll make this go viral,” one of the teens asks, looking around as Declan's head gets run over by the now-slow tire bounding off the ropes. He sputters and rolls, looking up at me.
“Man, you can really tell you guys are brothers. Look at that hate,” says Vince, who is laughing.
The phone in the office rings, the sound hard to discern from the ringing in my head, but it's clear. Old Jorg answers it, then holds up the receiver.
“Declan!” he shouts.
“WHAT?” Dec screams back.
“Yer wife. Says yer ignoring yer phone. Something about dinner plans and how you and Andrew need to get yer asses to yer house or she's gonna cut off sex.”
“WHAT?” Declan's voice goes up an octave. “She SAID that?”
“Nah.” Old Jorg lets out a phlegmy laugh. “Just the part about dinner plans. You two need to go.”
“Damn,” I mutter. “We're babysitting for you guys. Remember? Shannon and the Hamilton tickets.”
Dec says a curse under his breath. “I forgot. What time is it?”
We look at the wall clock.
“You idiots. Finish this by running all the way to Declan's apartment. Then think about how weak you both are until our next workout,” Vince says as Dec and I run into the locker room, grab our gym bags, and start the run to his place. I slip my arms through the two handles and wear the bag like a backpack, running easily. Dec’s right next to me, huffing harder.
Years of swimming give me the lung advantage. Dec's a better soccer player, but short-distance running doesn't help after that kind of workout.
You need stamina.
By the time I reach the main door to the building where he and Shannon live, I have to wait a good minute for him to catch up and let me in. The doorman, Barry, gives me a wave but doesn't offer.
Smart guy.
Dec uses his card key to take us to the elevator, both of us simmering. It isn't until we're at his floor that I take a look at his body.
And mine.
And realize we're up shit creek with our wives.
“Dec?”
“Huh?”
“Look at us.”
His eyes take me in first, going over my arms, then my legs, bouncing to his own body. He stretches out the arm not carrying his gym bag, chest huffing from exertion.
“Oh, hell,” he says. “We need to go downstairs to the building gym and shower before Shannon–”
Opens the door. Which she does.
Right then, on cue.
“Declan!” she hisses, their toddler daughter, Ellie, on her hip. Dec's wife is furious, and why wouldn't she be? We're nearly an hour late.
Dec's eyes drop as he passes her. “I'll be in and out of the shower in three minutes and we'll be fine, Shannon,” he says.
“It's our first date in months!” She's in the I Can't Believe You Did This to Me zone. My brother is making a huge mistake.
“Let me fix this for you, Dec.”
Dec's back is to me, hunched in anger.
“What?”
“First, tell your wife you're sorry.”
Shannon beams at me.
Ellie's pudgy little fingers reach for me, eyes wide with delight as she catches my eye and shouts:
“Uncadoo!”
Declan falls over, laughing so hard, he starts wheezing. Talk about a mood change.
“There's your nickname for the rest of your life,” Shannon tells me. “Uncadoo.”