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Shane scowled as he strolled back to his house. Being the son of the owner of Cannon's Worth, he wasn't like all the lowly 'peasant' students and didn't live at a dorm.
He couldn't believe what had transpired a bit earlier. Damn his bum luck! He'd been so close - so very close - to scoring on the bet, and... well, scoring in general. Stacy had been very cute and uninhibited while drunk. She had even come back with him to his room, but he hadn't counted on her puking on the carpet right beside his bed!
The truth was, he probably still would have gone ahead and cashed in on a night with the slender blonde. Unfortunately, he hadn't seen an opportunity after she'd gotten sick, and frankly, the mood had pretty much passed when he'd had to clean up after her. He cursed himself under his breath.
Next time, I won't ply her with so much alcohol, he thought.
Shane's mood darkened even more as he neared the mansion his parents had purchased mere blocks from the university. As he reached for his keys, he caught sight of the smug look on the other man's face. Great... This was just about all he needed now.
Paul smirked at him, arms crossed over his burly chest as he leaned against the black wrought iron fence surrounding the massive property.
"So," he said, not bothering with a greeting for his friend, "struck out, did you?"
Shane glared at him, not at all amused with how Paul was enjoying himself.
"Fuck you, man."
Levesque chuckled and held up both hands.
"Sorry, buddy - you know I don't swing that way," he replied, unable to hold back another laugh. He really did find this situation most entertaining. "Anyway," he went on as Shane unlocked the gate, "I know what didn't happen... but why don't you tell me what did?" He nudged his friend in the shoulder. "Come on, Shane, why'd you strike out?"
The dark-haired young man ignored him until he got up the stairs to the front door. After the thoroughly humiliating experience he'd had earlier, all he really wanted to do was hit the sack, fall asleep and forget about it.
He stopped at the very top step and sighed, sinking to sit down. As Paul joined him, he ran a hand through his hair and started explaining as he turned his head away.
"Well, I took her to a club and sorta got her a little drunk."
"Uh huh." Levesque rested his chin on his hand, thoroughly enjoying this.
Shane shook his head.
"She isn't much of a drinker," he said. "It didn't take much for her to get a little frisky. So we came back here, and..." His voice trailed off again. Paul may have been his best friend, but that didn't mean it was any less embarrassing to share this story with him than with a perfect stranger.
"And?"
The other man mumbled the rest of the sentence.
"Huh?" Levesque asked. "I can't hear you, pal."
"And she threw up all over the floor in my bedroom, okay? Are you satisfied now?" Shane shot him an annoyed look, but he knew he was more pissed off at the entire stupid situation than he was at his friend. After all, it wasn't Paul's fault Stacy had vomited in his room.
Booming laughter emerged from the bigger of the two men. He actually threw his head back and held his stomach, as it overtook him. To Levesque, this was pretty much the most hilarious story he'd ever heard!
"Oh, shut up!" Shane snapped, rolling his eyes. And who in hell was Paul for laughing at him? It wasn't exactly as though he'd done all that well himself in this whole scheme! He decided to remind him of that fact. "You're in the same boat as me, wiseguy... It's not like you've scored with that Amy chick yet!"
"'Yet' being the operative word, Shane," Paul said, casting his friend a pointed look as his laughter gradually subsided. "But don't you worry about that! I'll get her, all right, smartass... I've gotten much farther with her than you have with Stacy."
Shane gave a short huff of a laugh.
"Yeah, right... Maybe in your dreams." Paul was delusional. He'd gotten nowhere, not even close. At least he had actually gotten Stacy in his room, on his bed. It was just too bad she'd gotten sick before their clothes had come off.
"The difference between us is you tried to get your chick drunk," the burly quarterback pointed out. "Me? I'm actually getting to know my chick." He laughed again and slapped Shane in the back. "Don't you get it, buddy? Chicks dig that."
Neither one of them realized that a certain someone was listening to every word they spoke.