“He’s a smart one,” Sam muttered as Alice helped him resituate the snake on Blake.
Breathing deeply, trying to clear his mind like he would before a high-pressure game, Blake tried to stay calm. But he nearly freaked when he felt the snake’s scales against the bare skin of his arm. Soon Zeus’ muscles were clenching around him, making every hair on his body stand up in high alert. Then there were the snake’s eyes as its head lifted to peer at him. They really were beady. A cold sweat broke out across his back, where he could feel the snake’s powerful muscles shift and clench around his body.
“Snakes are ectothermic,” Alice informed them all in that instructor voice of hers, “so they really love being warmed up by the human body, especially the waist, which carries so much body heat.”
Thank you for that PSA, Snake Woman, he wanted to say.
But then Zeus darted up his chest, heading straight for his face. He started shrieking even before he felt the slithery tongue on his neck.
“Okay, I’m the Smuck, I’m the Smuck!” he shouted. “Just get this thing off me!”
The guys started howling, and Snake Woman stepped in and untangled Zeus from him.
“Does anyone want to try and lift Zeus over their heads?” she asked.
Grant shivered. “Ma’am, I can dead lift that snake four times over, but there is no way in hell I’m touching that sucker again. I’m going to have nightmares.”
He wasn’t the only one. Someone tickled Blake’s back again, and he swung around to find Jordan smirking at him.
“Twenty-three seconds, Ace. You lose…or should I say you ‘win’?”
“You don’t have to be such a poor sport about it,” he muttered.
“Oh, yes I do. I’ll be back with your award, sunshine.”
Blake steeled himself for the worst humiliation possible.
“This moment has been coming for years,” Sam said with a grin that did little to appease him.
Judging from the grin on Jordan’s face as he sauntered back onto the deck, holding a white box, he knew he was going to pay and pay bad.
“Thank you, Alice. We really appreciated having you here.” Jordan stuck something in her free hand.
“Bye, fellas,” she said with a smile. “I have to say I was a little concerned when I got this request. Usually I visit children’s birthday parties, but I have to admit, you guys are a lot more fun than you look on TV.”
Snake Woman left them without a backward glance, but Zeus watched Blake over her shoulder until she disappeared from view.
As soon as she was gone, Jordan shoved the box at him. “It is my honor as the winner of the last Smuck award to hereby present this one to Blake Cunningham. May you enjoy your weekend in Smuckville.”
He opened the box and cursed as he drew out a black T-shirt with pink letters on it that said Call Me Maybe, a pair of black 1980s Don Johnson Miami Vice sunglasses, hair mousse, and a hideous pair of acid-washed cut-off jeans.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said with a groan.
“The mousse is inspired,” Logan said, leaning in for a closer look and elbowing Blake in the gut.
He was supposed to stick that shit in his hair? “That’s one word for it.”
“I’ll even help you style,” Jordan said, running his hands through his own perfect locks.
According to the gossip and fashion blogs, no one in the whole NFL had better hair than Jordan Dean, and didn’t he know it. He was like James Dean’s hair twin, and they sometimes called him James instead of Jordan. Okay, and Jimmy Dean too, when they stooped for a little sausage humor.
“No way you’re touching my hair, Dean,” Blake said even though he had no idea what to do with that gunk. And they were going out tonight. In public. Usually he wasn’t vain, but wearing this? People were going to think he’d experienced a nervous breakdown and was now living out some 1980s Don Johnson fantasy.
“Oh, stop your bitching,” Jordan said, reaching out to tug his T-shirt. “You knew there was going to be payback.”
He gave him a playful shove. “I can undress myself, thank you.”
“Then hop to it, Ace,” Logan called out. “We don’t have all day.”
He stripped in his backyard, making the guys cat-call and whistle like they were all twelve. As he changed into the outfit Jordan had chosen, he tried not to wince at the tight fit of the T-shirt. If he made any sudden moves, he was going to rip it at the shoulder seams and no way was he turning this monstrosity into a wife beater.
“Too bad you couldn’t find a fake mullet for him,” Zack commented, stroking his chin as he circled Blake. “You could have doubled for Billy Ray Cyrus back in the day.”
Don Johnson was bad enough. “You guys are dead meat,” he ground out.
“Ohhh,” they all cried out, clutching themselves in fake fear.
He was going to unleash practical jokes on the lot of them the likes of which they’d never seen. And lock himself in his bedroom before they could strike back.